ur mum gay

ok. real talk

flashy spells and abilities are cool and all, and I know Asia is the undisputed healer, but i wanna dig deeper

An Issei that is primarily built for support. Much like an ugly strippers must work harder, this guy must be twice as creative when shit hits the fan. And I wanna poke around on DxD's lesser touch front; the magicians. So some characters from Slash/dog are gonna nicely skim around in the story, though the dominant one is definitely going to be Lavinia

it'll borrow off DnD's Spells and certain rules but not all, because I'm not that creative, and it's free real estate so why not

the primary focus of this story isn't going to be anything lore-deep or Tolkien level of expansive daunting lore. just branching out what dxd already have (and never touch anyway) so that means character and world building, with Issei bumbling by the sideline. I try to keep him true to his character, though. It's going to feel OOC nevertheless because he's not this snarky, and his perversion level is in managable level. more 'normal'ish, so to speak, though higher than your average joe

so somewhere with the residents of the internet, which is still pr high

ANYWAY. Let's jog on

Don't Hurt Me, I'm Just a Medic

[Prologue]

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! SAVE ME, PLEASE!"

A high-pitched scream shatters the serene silence through the forest. A ghoul, its grotesque appearance marred by bulging, bloodshot eyes and jagged, yellowed fangs with way too many hands lunges at him. Its gnarled claws outstretched, it slashes through the air, aiming to rip him apart. Its grotesque form disrupts the tranquility of the woods, and it seems hell-bent on shredding him to pieces.

In his modest mage robe, he cowers beneath the dark canopy of trees. The gnarled claws of the ghoul slash the air, threatening to rip him apart, and the forest's natural beauty quickly turns into a nightmarish prison.

But then, in one single, decisive and grateful strike, the ghoul is completely obliterated, its malevolence vanquished. The creature's true form, a twisted and grisly nightmare, is revealed as it dissipates into the ether, defeated by the power of a spear whose tip had been sanctified.

Like a vision from another realm, a figure has appeared before him, stretching out a hand clad in silver armor.

"Are you alright, Issei?"

"Miss Jeanne!" Issei, clad in his basic dull gray mage robe, offers a profusion of gratitude, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" his voice quivering as if his life had truly been on the line. His eyes well with crocodile tears, his face contorted in well-practiced distress.

The legendary incarnation of the Maid of Orleans herself, Jeanne d'Arc, La Pucelle, stands before him. Her armor, a combination of divine steel and battle dress, shines like a beacon of hope amidst the shadows of the forest. Her azure eyes, reflective of the clear French skies, brim with purpose. In her hand, she wields a gleaming spear, a symbol of hope, poised to strike down the infernal menace.

A sigh escapes her lips. "Whatever shall I do with you, Issei? You need to be more cautious; I cannot be your guardian at all times." Jeanne, the embodiment of compassion, gave him the talk. Her words were well-intentioned and had all the flair of a Shakespherean character, but her tone and her wagging finger basically said, 'You dolt.'

With a humble nod and his best impression of a remorseful puppy, Issei accepted her wisdom. Taking her outstretched hand, they were ready to move forward on their current quest: investigating a rumored Necromancer lair.

[Chapter 1]

|| Dreams of Luxury ||

In this magical side of the world, where stars shine, heroes flex their muscles, villains offer career opportunities, and legends are born. And then there's me: Hyoudou Issei, the undisputed grandmaster of indolence and the delicate art of mooching. If the wizarding union ever held a "Slickest Bootlicker" competition, I'd have a gleaming, slobbery trophy proudly displayed on my perpetually cluttered bookshelf.

You see, I once had a dream of becoming one of those high-and-mighty mages who cast awe-inspiring spells, hurling fireballs and summoning tempests with a flick of the wrist. But alas! Human Magic is like calculus for mathematicians, and I, with my minuscule Mana reservoir, my limited brainpower and a mind that fogs up like a windshield in a rainstorm, couldn't be bothered to unravel its intricate mysteries. Seriously, I think my noggin would turn to goop if I tried.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no magical powerhouse. No siree! I'm the trusty old armchair tucked away in the corner. Even among the Grey Wizards, or as we fondly call them, the Grauzauberers, I'm chillin' below the standard. But hey, that's just fine by me. Magic is this colossal, chaotic jigsaw puzzle, and I've discovered my cozy niche. I might not be slinging firestorms or whipping up hurricanes, but hand me a broken leg or a nasty gash, and I'll have you patched up quicker than you can say "Abracadabra."

Healing and most support-oriented Spells are like the lowest-hanging fruit on the magical tree – easy to pluck, hard to mess up. All you need is a basic grasp of human anatomy and biology, knowledge a middle-schooler could rock. But I'm not complaining; I thrive on the simple joys.

I've always been a fan of the sidelines; they offer the best view. If life's a grand theatrical production, then I've snagged the ultimate VIP seat. A front-row vantage point that lets me savor every spectacle at once.

I wouldn't say I'm profoundly lazy. I just do what I'm told. I'd get the boot if I didn't otherwise. It's just that I have a profound appreciation for life's finer pleasures: a cozy chair, someone else doing the heavy lifting, and, well, staying alive while making a bit of sweet, sweet dosh. Those strippers won't dance for free after all.

Call me a moocher or a bootlicker, and you know what? You're not entirely off the mark. I've got no shame in that game. I've got a knack for lurking just beneath the radar, cozying up to the right crowd, and making sure I'm never the one stealing the limelight. I'm like a phantom, slipping in and out of the shadows. Or perhaps a chameleon – I blend seamlessly with my surroundings.

My golden ticket to this game is Lavinia, a supernatural world-renowned Archwizard who keeps me around because, well, she finds my antics amusing. She's been assigned because apparently my Grandmaster, my Big Boss, Mephisto Pheles, sees something in me. Or so she claims, and with her endless patience, she's taken it upon herself to mold me into something greater. But in my book, being greater only means I can mooch with more finesse. I'm not complaining; she's quite the mentor – when she's not terrifying me with that icy gaze of hers.

As if that weren't enough, I got roped into a party of so-called "heroes" or Heritors. They're strong, no doubt about it, but they're also walking catastrophes, always getting into life-threatening situations like the goddamn heroes they are. It's like a rite of passage for most Grey Wizards that aren't special—like yours truly being the shiniest lackluster example.

We get assigned according to our strength, so while there's a band of Heritors out there with their crowning Mage taking on the scary monsters, I get the aspiring ones. My clients are often Heritors that tend to get hurt because they can't keep their goody-two-shoes nature at bay without really knowing how to operate a stove or set up camp. So I tend to their scrapes, magically build their camping tents, boosting their egos with well-timed flattery, and ensuring their bellies are well-fed with a simple Create Food And Water.

I may have received mixed responses, and I'm still someone easily replaced, but at least I don't have to jump into the frontline.

But when I heard that the dang La Pucelle herself is in need of a support-centric Mage, it instantly pinged on me that she was my calling. The ultimate meat shie— ahem, companion. The fact that she's got racks and cute looks and somewhat shy demeanor are just welcome bonuses. But no, I keep it professional with my 'clients'. Let's just say there have been more tragic cases when my fellow Mages got attached to a Heritor, only to lose their sanity as said Heritor died in their line of duty.

Mhmm. Love is the leading cause of heartbreak. I'm fine with one-night stands, thank you very much.

Besides! She's a Saint. She surrenders her chastity to the almighty lord or whatever.

So, a few palms greased, a few shoulders rubbed, and a couple of boots impeccably polished, and voila. Here I am, walking next to one of the hottest prospect.

Pity, my dear, has become my finest tool of the trade. It works like a charm, especially when you're dealing with someone as soft-hearted as Miss Jenny over here. Who needs courage when you have the legendary Jeanne d'Arc as your personal guardian angel?

So as blondie and I meandered through the hushed embrace of the moonlit forest, I couldn't help but think to myself, 'Who would've thought that I'd stroll through a forest with a literal Saintess?'

"So, Issei," she begins with a hint of sacred solemnity, "how's your training in the Arcane Arts coming along?"

I sigh inwardly but keep up the charade, my voice oozing faux humility. "Oh, Miss Jeanne, your guidance has been an epiphany. I can't thank you enough for showing me the way… Because it's getting really dark in here," I say, sounding skittish.

"Influence of the dark power, no doubt," Jeanne replies. "Don't worry, Issei. Stick by my side, and I'll protect you."

Ah… those magical three words. Ever the sweet melody. Nearly as sweet as the tinkling of golden coins.

I've been in cahoots with this illustrious lady for a solid month now. Well, "cahoots" might not be the precise term. More like "contracted." She's my client, even though sometimes it feels like I'm just her luggage boy.

Most Heritors have this uncanny, supernatural sense for sniffing out evil, kind of like a spiritual bloodhound. Way more potent than us average Mages and our detection Spell. In her case, it's all thanks to her faith in the big boss upstairs, the Abrahamic God. Yehuwahu or YHWH, but I just call him Big Daddy. Only because it makes the Angels and holy persons physically recoil.

Her whole aura is like a moral GPS, pointing her toward wickedness as if she is a cosmic detective for the heavenly department.

My role in all of this? Essentially, I'm the sidekick with a snarky side. You know, the guy who looks like a damsel in distress when ghoulish monsters come a-knocking. So, while Jeanne follows her divine GPS for evil-doers, I tag along, keeping my snark at bay (most of the time) and ready to mend any bumps and bruises that come our way. You might say I'm her personal 911 hotline with a side order of ego-boosting compliments. Heritors (mostly) LOOOOOOVE compliments. More than my love for money and tig bitties.

The forest's rustling leaves and the soft glow of fireflies bathed us in a tranquil ambiance. Jeanne would occasionally look around, her expression a mix of resolute determination and zealous righteousness. Her faith was her guiding light, and she wielded her spear like the fiery sword of an angel.

"Your light guides me, Miss Jeanne, and your faith shines like a supernova of—"

"Issei," she interrupts with a kind smile, "speak your mind freely, my friend."

"Of course," I reply, grateful for the temporary reprieve. "It's just that basking in the glow of such divine power, one can't help but be a little...inspired."

And just like that, a hint of the snarky Issei shines through. Jeanne, ever gracious, takes my banter in stride, mistaking it for genuine reverence.

"You're overexaggerating me…"

Well, you say that, but I can see your blush you chaste maiden. I've often wondered why she hasn't formed a party with other Heritors. I mean, I wouldn't mind. More able bodies mean more walking shields for me. But she must have her reasons, even if they remain a mystery to me.

I walk a few steps behind, adding my thoughts as only I can. 'Yep, seems like another night in the office. Me, the underappreciated support mage, and Frenchie, the holy beacon of justice.'

I resist the urge to voice my thoughts. After all, snarky comments aren't on the menu for the evening. Those can be showstoppers I can't afford. So I observe in silence, allowing Jeanne's unwavering faith to illuminate our path.

.

After a few peaceful minutes of strolling through the forest, we stumble upon the remnants of a decrepit bunker. Its crumbling walls seem to have a personal vendetta against architectural integrity. My unease grows, wrapping around my stomach like my nonexistent clingy ex. I shift uncomfortably on my feet, as if I could tiptoe my way out of anxiety's clammy grip.

The place exudes the aroma of ancient secrets, like a library of hush-hush whispers and locked diaries. For once, my snark takes a backseat, silenced by the oppressive atmosphere. As we venture deeper into this dark abyss, the eerie echoes play a chilling tune on the strings of my anxiety.

"This place," I mumble under my breath, "gives me the creeps."

Jeannifer, her divine sense of righteousness in full swing, surveys the scene. Her armor gleams like a lighthouse, warding off the shadows that dare encroach upon her presence. And there I stand, left to ponder my own mortality in the eerie darkness, where the idea of becoming a late-night ghoul snack starts to sound like a very probable horror story. Maybe it's time to retire the snark for a while and get real about the looming survival game.

But hey, in the grand scheme of things, this is just another night at the office, right?

With a bit of magical grease, I lube up the steel door enough so that she can push it in easier. I'd do it myself, but hey, I'm a mage. I have reason to be lanky.

We crawl deeper into the rusty building, where the shadows seem to be doing their best impersonation of sneaky spies. This forgotten bunker is like a time capsule of wars gone by, hidden beneath layers of history like a secret treasure trove. The air itself carries the weight of battles fought around the Maginot Line.

The remnants of rusty artillery stand as sentinels in the corners, their silent testimony to past struggles. And all the while, I trail Jeanne's soft, radiant spear-light, my apprehension growing with each step. I'd prefer to be in a cozy chair, or maybe even back in one of Lavinia's lectures, but here I am, in the thick of it.

'I didn't sign up for this… wait a minute, I did. Fuck.'

As we delve deeper into the bunker, the world seems to close in around us. Shadows loom, and every creaking floorboard sets my heart racing. The air is heavy with unease, and for the first time in a long while, my snark seems to consider deserting me.

"It's here… Let's go," she mutters, her voice both reassuring and commanding, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere.

I'm legit uneasy as we tread through the ancient warren of tunnels. The echoes of a tumultuous past accompanying our every step. I can't help but feel the weight of history bearing down on my shoulders like an invisible anvil. My usual snark, my go-to defense mechanism, lies dormant, temporarily surrendered to the unsettling aura of the place.

The tunnel stretches deeper into the heart of this forsaken relic, and Jeannette's divine sense is turned up to eleven. She turns to me, her gaze laden with gravity. "Issei, keep your eyes peeled, and stick close."

Well, keeping close is my middle name tonight. She's my getaway car out of this historical horror movie set.

The further we delve into the tunnel, the darker it becomes, as if the very shadows conspire to smother our progress. This isn't just your everyday gloom; this is advanced gloom, the kind that gives even the bravest of men the heebie-jeebies.

But Jeanne is no man, it seems like. She marches on.

Around this time, the tunnel's dirt walls decide it's a great moment to shift and crumble, as if they've suddenly remembered they're supposed to be spooky. Out come long-forgotten soldiers, looking like they've just binge-watched one too many zombie flicks. Some of them are so mummified, they're basically auditioning for a starring role in "The Mummy 4: The Bandages Strike Back."

As the stench of rotten flesh blitzkrieg up my nostrils, my unease morphs into full-blown panic as I glance at Jenny.

"These poor unfortunate souls… we should put them to rest," she says, with a sad look in her eyes, and I can practically hear the choir of angels warming up. Or maybe it's just my overactive imagination.

So, with a flick of my hand and a hastily muttered "Toll the Dead" incantation, I conjure a magical bell into the air. It's red, ornate, and looks way too Christmassy for this horror show. With a soft, eerie chime, the bell releases a soothing tune that dances through the air like a lullaby.

And what happens next is like a dance-off with the undead soldiers. They pause, their outstretched hands retracting as if they suddenly remembered they left the oven on. Their hollow eyes blink with momentary confusion, and they begin their slow, very casual retreat, shambling back into the earth like they just realized they're late for an important appointment with some dirt.

With each chime of the magical bell, they inch backward, limbs creaking, like a bunch of extras who got the memo that the scene's a wrap. And I'm the director who just called "cut."

Why did I snatch the spotlight, you ask? Because I've learned one thing about Jeanne – if undead start crawling, she's going to kick off a full-blown prayer session, and that would be like an extended stay in this historical ghost house. Not my idea of a grand time. I fear her impromptu sermons more than these smelly raggedy shamblers.

Jeanne looks at me, her blue eyes filled with something that resembles admiration. "Issei," she says, her voice a mix of surprise and praise, "that was quite brave of you."

"Haha… I did it out of panic, I'll admit…" Brave? Me? Well, maybe not in the traditional sense. More like practical – anything to leave this place sooner. So, I'll take the "brave" label with a snarky smile and press on, my personal record for pretending to be a hero still intact.

As we advance deeper, we spot a room at the far corner and Jeanne Valjean stops abruptly, her gleaming spear pointing at that room with the uninviting chill.

"That's it," she says with a sense of solemnity that makes my skin prickle.

Taking that as a cue from my tiny corner of the magical world, I cast Mage Armor on myself, wrapping a shimmering, protective layer around my less-than-impressive physical form. After all, I might be here for moral support, but that doesn't mean anyone waiting there will adhere to Article 9 of the 1906 Geneva Convention. Us walking hospitals are prime targets to our foes, and I doubt the creatures lurking about, probably more ghouls, will listen to 'parlay'.

Next, I extend my hand and mutter a soft incantation, and a spectral hand springs to life, ready to deliver a helpful touch should Jeanne need a magical pick-me-up or some enemies that've gotten too close needing a magical trip-me-up.

With that done, I cast Shield, creating a mystical buckler that hovers around her. It's my way of saying, "I've got your back. Sorta." It might not be a gleaming sword, but it's the best I can offer.

And then, a little something for the finale. I cast Haste, enhancing Jeanne's speed and reflexes. After all, she's about to face off against a vampire who dabbles in some seriously dark arts. Anything to tip the scales in her favor.

"Thank you, Issei," she mutters with a smile.

"Thank me later once we deal with this…" I can't help but say.

"Indeed." With a nod, she ambles on.

It's a chamber filled with eerie candles, floating ancient tomes, and the unsettling ambiance of a field hospital turned crypt.

And there, in the heart of this macabre display stands the Vampire, an unnaturally pale figure with elven-like ears and menacing fangs that would put any orthodontist out of business. But what sets him apart is his choice of hobby – Necromancy. A Vampire who's into raising the dead, how original.

I can't help but marvel at the curious choice of hobbies this vampire has settled on – Necromancy. I mean, really? Can't these supernatural baddies pick up a less bone-chilling pastime? Knitting, perhaps? Or collecting stamps? But no, it's always dark magic and the undead.

However, my snarky commentary is kept in check as we're here to deal with a genuine threat. This isn't your ordinary vampire, and this sure as hell isn't your average evening.

The vampire greets us with a sardonic smile. "Welcome to my humble abode, weary travelers," he purrs, his fanged grin oozing menace. "And welcome to a place of your eternal rest."

Suddenly, it's like the worst Halloween ever. The ground erupts, and ghouls crawl out like they're late for the party. I take an involuntary step back, cursing my life choices, my lack of bravery, and my penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

My saving grace is Jeanne.

At least, I thought it would be.

Green unnatural fire bursts from the surroundings, casting an eerie, otherworldly glow, yet it lowers the temperature of this already chilly graveyard. It's the kind of sight that makes my heart race and my mind scream, "Oh crap." But fair play for presentation. It's like they've taken a master class in villainy entrances.

But what truly rattles me is Jeanne's reaction. Her usually unshakable demeanor cracks, and the fear in her eyes reveals a glimpse of haunting memories. It's like I can hear the echoes of her past life, the pain of burning at the stake, the scars of unjust persecution.

This is no ordinary fear; it's a deep-rooted terror that triggers her past trauma. And I, the self-proclaimed master of mooching, can't heal that kind of wound.

"Uh… Jeanne?! This is the part where you do your heroic stuff!"

The Vampire, with a wicked grin, takes a seat on a grotesque throne, enjoying the chaos and fear he's sown. He gestures to his ghoulish minions and utters a single word, "Feast."

She stands rooted when the ghouls lunge with unnatural speed, their twisted forms a horrifying blur in the ethereal green firelight. It's the kind of moment where your fight-or-flight instincts kick into overdrive, and all I can think of is flight, flight, flight. But I can't run; even though the pit in my stomach feels like it's trying to digest me, Jeanne is my designated armor and there are still years of luxury I can gain from just being her acquaintance, let alone her personal first-aid kits!

Jeanne, valiant and unyielding as ever, battles on against the ghouls, taking her usual stance in front of me. Her movements, however, are slightly off-tune, a ghost of fear dancing in her eyes. She wields her spear with determination, but I can see the unease, the shadow of past horrors haunting her every move.

It's an agonizing sight, to see the hero I'm supposed to support fighting not just against the ghouls but against the fear that's threatening to overwhelm her. And in the midst of the chaos, I have to double my efforts as her support. Through my levitating Mage Hand, I cast Protection from Evil and Good on her, trying to offer some sanctuary from the malevolent forces at play.

I'm not built for frontline heroics, so I stick to my role as the medic. Whenever Jeanne needs a pick-me-up, I cast Healing Word, doing everything in my magical arsenal to ensure she doesn't succumb to the fear that's gnawing at her and, by extension, me.

The ghouls continue their relentless onslaught, and the Vampire watches with his chilling smile. It's a moment where I can only hope that our combined efforts will be enough to triumph over the looming darkness, and the fact that I'm starting to hallucinate my sweet memories flashing before me.

But the situation grows increasingly dire. The ghouls press on without fear, and Jeanne, while brave, struggles against the resurfacing trauma. She misses her marks and moves with less of her usual grace, and the rising flames of the ethereal fire only add to the chaos.

It's a race against time, and the odds are stacked against us. We're faced with a cunning and powerful adversary, and my own survival instincts are on the brink of panic. But I hold on to the hope that somehow, against all odds, we'll emerge victorious from this nightmarish encounter.

Aaaand that's another nick on her pretty face. She hisses, blood dripping down her cheek as she runs her spear through a ghoul's face, before wrenching it out with a disgusting slush.

The battle rages on, and it's clear that Jeanne's resilience can only hold for so long especially when she can't unleash her ultimate attack when her faith in her god is shaky. Heritors are grossly-decorated one-trick ponies, sadly, and it seems that even La Pucelles falls into that category.

She fights valiantly, but the ghouls keep swarming, and her injuries are piling up. Every wound she sustains is like a dagger to my heart, knowing that I can't heal her fast enough to keep up with the relentless onslaught.

I've been Jeanne's support, her personal paramedic, and I've thrown every bit of magical aid I could muster. But the ghouls keep on coming, more and more without signs of stopping, and it's evident that our chances of emerging victorious are growing slimmer by the moment. The thought of leaving Jeanne behind goes against everything I've stood for – bootlicking and mooching – but it's become painfully clear that if I don't act, we'll both meet our doom in this cursed place.

So, as the level-headed and as the guy that isn't immune to fear of death, I make the call to bail.

"I-Issei?!" her wide-eyed look of disbelief stings, but there's no other way.

"Scold me when we get out of here, preferably alive!"

With the help of my trusty Mage Hand and the Shield hovering around her, I push the ghouls away from her, allowing me to grab Jeanne and start to pull her away from the ghoul-infested chamber. And expending the last reserves of my Mana, I cast Expeditious Retreat, warm blue lights encasing our forms and enhancing our speed as we race away from the pursuing ghouls. Jeanne's pain is evident, and she's not fully out of her trauma, but she can properly mull her PTSD once we get the heck out of here.

As we make our frantic escape, the ghouls are sent scrambling from the room, their hollow cries fading into the distance. But there's no time for relief. The Vampire, with a chilling whistle, calls forth a new terror.

A deafening roar shakes the very foundations of the decrepit bunker. And then, emerging from a side chamber, a monstrous Crypt Horror barges into our path.

"WOAH—! HELLO! GOOD BYE!" Its grotesque form and guttural roar sending yet another shiver down my spine, and I quickly change direction, steering Jeanne away from the hulking nightmare. And— Ah great. Bastard nicked my satchel. There goes my stuff. Bye bye my sweet concoctions.

Oh well. Better my potions than me.

As we sprint through the warren of narrowing tunnels and chambers, the Crypt Horror's nightmarish presence looms ever closer, and I can only hope that we can find a way out of this labyrinthine nightmare before it catches up to us. The shadows close in around us, and the sounds of pursuit and gnashing teeth echo through the darkness, reminding us that our ordeal is far from over.

"Leave me, Issei," Jeanne suddenly says, her voice filled with determination. "I'll hold them back."

I spare her a glance, a mixture of incredulity and stubbornness. "Yeah. Right. No."

I'm well aware of you Heritors and your heroic sacrifice. I don't get paid if I come back empty-handed and trauma-stricken, so no.

I push us both forward, refusing to even entertain the idea of leaving her behind. We're in this mess together, and we'll get out of it the same way.

.

We stumble out of the oppressive darkness of the bunker, back into the eerie forest, the night still casting long shadows. I can't help but feel like we've traded one nightmare for another, but at least the threat of the Crypt Horror is behind us for the time being…

But the ordeal is far from over. My heart is pounding, and every gasping breath feels like a lifeline, but I know I can't keep up this pace for much longer. With my Mana completely spent and my body physically untrained, I'm quickly reaching the limits of my endurance. Jeanne, on the other hand, despite she's the one with wounds, is somehow able to jog on like we just didn't have a sprint.

"Hold up…" I manage to gasp out, doubling over as I try to catch my breath. "Jeanne… I… I think my legs turned to jelly…"

Jeanne stops, concern etching her features. "...It's alright, it's my turn to protect you."

This again? My eyes widen as she prepares to face the approaching threat. "...Hey you better not think of going in there. I drag you out once, dunno if I can do it twice."

"I won't have to. And I'm sorry. I was too scared." Jeanne's voice trembles with genuine gratitude and an apology that seems so out of character, given her usual unyielding demeanor.

My protests die in my throat, and I can only look on as Jeanne finds her courage and draws strength from her faith in her God. She seems ashamed that someone as cowardly as me must take the brunt of her wavering courage, but there's no time for words.

As the ghouls are about to burst from the narrow tunnel behind us, Jeanne plants her spear firmly in the ground, and a white banner with golden accents unfurls, stretching out before us. As she closes her eyes, the air crackles with Divine Energy, and the very ground trembles beneath us.

"Oh flag of mine, protect our comrades! Luminosité Eternelle!"

Her words spoken with unwavering resolve are like a thunderclap, reverberating through the forest. The banner erupts in blinding radiance, a brilliant halo that stretches far and wide, enveloping us and everything in its path.

The divine barrier, initiated by a Seraph's blessing, shatters the darkness and expels the malevolence that had threatened to consume us. The ghouls, once menacing, are now powerless, and I can hear their scream as they perish. Even the formidable Crypt Horrors falter, unable to breach the encroaching barrier, its growls silenced as it turned to scattering ashes. Hopefully permanently.

In the heart of the light, Jeanne stands resolute, a beacon of hope and unwavering courage. The forest around us seems to exhale in relief, its sinister secrets banished by the purity of Luminous— something. It is a breathtaking spectacle, a testament to the incredible power of faith and the indomitable spirit of the woman who stands before me.

For a moment, we are bathed in the divine radiance, and in that sacred space, we find our sanctuary, a testament to the enduring power of light over darkness. That sort of stuff. Once I catch my breath, I can't help but quip, "Well, that's one way to clean house… Could've done that earlier, y'know…"

Hey, and my snark is back, and it feels good to be back to our usual dynamic, despite the lingering sense of awe for what Jeanne has accomplished.

Jeanne glances at me, a hint of her usual smile returning. "Yes, but it's not every day that I get to see your brave side, Issei." Her voice is gentle, and for a brief moment, the burden of her own fears seems to have lifted, leaving only admiration in her eyes. "...Thank you. …That's what gave me courage."

I chuckle, relieved to be back in the familiar territory of banter. "Well, you're welcome. I'll consider it an early Christmas gift. You can pay it back by giving me a five out of five stars Yelp review."

Jeanne's smile widens, and there's a sparkle in her azure eyes. "Consider it a glowing recommendation. Five out of five stars, and I'll even throw in a few heartfelt words."

We share a moment of light-heartedness, the tension of the previous encounter slowly dissipating. The radiant afterglow of her barrier continues to flicker around us, casting a warm, gentle glow, even as she takes out her spear and its fancy flag rolls back to its invisible sheath.

But then, Jeanne's words bring me back to the grim reality. "But we're not done here yet."

Oh come on!

I can't help but sigh internally. As much as I was hoping for a break, it seems the night is far from over. It's just another reminder that when you're teamed up with someone like Jeanne, you're bound to be knee-deep in trouble until the credits roll.

"Can't we do this tomorrow…?" I try to protest, though I know it's a lost cause. "I'm out of my magical juice. I need a rest. Eight hours, to be precise."

"If we wait, then he'll likely have more sinister creatures waiting for us. The village folk are relying on us, Issei."

With my mana reserves still in shambles and my body drained from our hasty retreat, I'm in no condition for another battle. But, when have I ever had a say in any of this?

I let out an exasperated sigh, but I can't deny Jeanne's logic. "Of course, always the responsible one," I mutter under my breath.

She chuckles, her laughter offering a glimmer of warmth amidst our daunting circumstances. But the simple truth remains: my magical well is dry. "Still, I'm practically useless in a situation like this. I can't heal you, and my combat skills are nonexistent. I'm just dead weight. Not trying to self-pity here, just stating the facts."

She places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, her touch gentle. "Your role is important, Issei. Without you, I wouldn't have made it out. You've shown courage in the face of danger, and your quick thinking saved us back there. I'm grateful to have you by my side. And this time, I won't fail you."

Oh. How touching. Yeah, right.

"Look, Jenny, I'm touched, really. I truly appreciate your words," I say, my voice tinged with genuine gratitude. "But without my Spells, I'm a serious liability. At worst, I'll be used against you."

Jeanne, understanding the predicament, concedes with a somewhat sad tone. "I see... that is true... Well, I won't force you. Take care on your back, Issei. I'll see you again tomorrow morning."

As Jeanne turns to head back inside, presumably to face the impending danger alone, my concern for her safety and my own reservations can't be ignored. I can't just let her charge back into the fray when she's already injured.

"Are you seriously going back there?" I blurt out, my concern and my reservations tangled into a mix of genuine worry and, well, a dash of self-preservation. I will seriously cast Sleep on her ass if I can.

Jeanne turns to face me, a mixture of determination and a tinge of sadness in her eyes. "I have to. We're the only ones around. I can't let that Vampire carry on with his dark practices. I have a duty to protect the innocent, even when the odds are stacked against me."

With a reluctant sigh, I run a hand through my hair, knowing I can't convince her otherwise. "You're stubborn, you know that, right?"

She musters a gentle smile that tugs at my heartstrings. "Sometimes, it's the stubborn ones who make a difference."

Uh huh. And what got you skewered by the Inquisition, for heaven's sake… Why are Heritors like this?

My concern for her safety is genuine, and playing dirty is sometimes the only way to make stubborn people like her to reconsider. "What about the flames, Jeanne? You can brave the Vampire, sure, but those flames back there? You froze. It's not something you just shrug off and charge back into."

There's a brief pause, her eyes holding mine, and I can see the conflict within her. In that moment, it's as if we're on the precipice of a critical decision.

But my words have struck a chord, and Jeanne's hesitation becomes apparent. She glances back at the bunker, and I can see the war within her, the memory of that burning terror warring with her sense of duty.

With a sly grin and a dash of genuine concern, I add, "Look, you're incredibly brave, like a warrior angel sent from above. Literally in your case. But even angels need their guardian demons sometimes. You can't protect the innocent if you're charred to a crisp. Let's face your fears together, but how about after I've recharged my magical batteries?"

Her response is somewhat perplexed, and she asks, "Why are you suddenly so insistent?"

The hell? "What do you mean why I'm so insistent— you mean a lot to me, y'know?"

You're my heroic ride for my comfortable living, and I intend to ride on your billowing cape and polish your quirky head armor until I get that life. Can't do that if you're dead. And, admittedly, she's my ideal client. Never ask much while doing too much.

Her cheeks flush with a soft blush, and she stammers slightly in response, "I… I see… I appreciate your concern."

I flash her another playful wink, my grin taking on an extra layer of charm in spite of my average, punchable face. "Well, you're my top client, Jeanne. You've got that special VIP status that comes with a complementary sidekick, a rare breed, I might add. And there's no way I'm letting my star client turn into a pile of ashes, figuratively or not."

The tiniest hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she finds herself at a loss for words.

I might be laying it on a little thicker, but there's a kernel of truth in my jests. We may have different roles, but I value this fearless yet cautious heroine's presence more than I let on.

For now, let's head back to the inn… Can't believe I'm lounging in a rustic inn in a covert village, as if I've been plucked from one of my cherished RPG games but here we are. Thanks Jeanne.

Ah, the sacrifices I make in the name of future luxury… I wanna go back to Old Kyoto and chummy up with Tobio and Suzaku… Guy knows how to make the best cocktails, I swear.

To be continued…

Tee hee

Jeanne is Jeanne from Fate, because DxD Jeanne sucks balls

My on-and-off Beta pointed out this and Redo of Healer, and after a quick google, i can declare this story is never heading in that direction. My shitposting standards are low, but not that low

Issei's personality is inspired by Lloyd, the MC of The Greatest Estate Developer. He's as based as MCs can be, and so extremely hideous that a dragon recoils in fear (fact). And I try to keep him as close to his canon personality as possible without making him grossly centered on tits. Let's just say he's a slightly grown up and mature version of Issei

And, of course, with a dash of danzy's penchant for snarky characters, because overly serious protags are boring and makes me question my will to live whenever i have to write them, because i tend to suck at them

Anyway. It's been ya boy, danzy, follow this story and shit, because it's basically a rewrite of A Tale of Flame and Frost with less-OP Issei yet more chad than any of you can ever hope to be

REVIEW, YOU LAZY FOOLS, AND ANNIHILATE THAT FOLLOW AND FAVORITE BUTTON. ONLY THIS 'ISSEI' IS ALLOWED TO BE LAZY. I BRING PROMISES OF FLUFF. FLUFF FOR THE FLUFF GOD. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA