High School DxD: Fox of Ill Omen

Yuki

I had to cross back through the garden in order to head to where the sheet Azazel-sensei had given me said my training would be. 

The path away from the garden led into a quieter section of the estate, far enough from the main residence that the air felt less inhabited.

That suited me.

I reached an old stone gate and stopped.

Beyond the gate stood a separate building from the main residence.

It looked smaller, older, and much less interested in impressing anyone at first glance.

It had dark stone, narrow windows, and enough old wards around it  that the walls seemed to hum faintly around it.

A good place for real work.

I stood there for a moment and let the silence settle around me.

I thought back to my talk with Koneko.

It had went well.

She had opened up to me and told me about her past, her sister, her Nekomata heritage, how she entered Rias’s peerage, and most importantly helped with fears of embracing her full Youkai half.

Her story and mine had some similarities, which meant I could easily empathize with her.

I think that helped her, knowing that I understood her better.

Not just because we are both Youkai, but because I had felt pains similar to hers.

I had gotten her to agree to try and use her Nekoshou powers.

I didn't want to force her to use them, and I hope that I had made that clear to her.

I also don’t think that this means that she will be able to fully accept that part of herself yet, but it’s a start.

And I appreciated that she showed me her Nekomata features.

I had been telling the truth when I said they fit her.

Her white cat ears and tail seemed natural on her.

I had been surprised when she asked me to touch my tails, but I didn’t mind letting her.

I didn’t know if she needed to be comforted after talking about everything and that was her way of asking for it or if it was because of something else, but we had spent some time with her petting my tails and me rubbing her ears.

It had been pleasant.

I took a small breath and then I stepped through the gate.

I entered the building, and found the inside was cool and spacious.

The floor was marked with layered circles and what looked like training arrays that had been worn smooth by long use.

Shelves lined the walls farther in.

Books, catalysts, instruments, sealed cases, all arranged with the precision of someone who actually practiced serious magic rather than merely collecting the signs of it.

A woman waited near the center of the room.

She was beautiful in the refined way many noblewomen were.

She had dark hair that was pinned back from her face, pale skin, deep wine-colored eyes, and clothes elegant enough to signal status without sacrificing movement.

Her dress was black and violet, fitted through the sleeves and shoulders so nothing would catch during training.

She had no visible weapon and didn’t wear any unnecessary ornaments.

She watched me enter with the patient stillness of someone who already knew she would not need to repeat herself often.

“Shiramine Yuki,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I am Lady Mireia Paimon”

Her voice was smooth and level, neither especially warm nor cold.

Merely exact.

“You are late.” She stated.

“I apologize. I had a matter that had to be addressed first.”

“And it was more important than my time and your training?” She asked, cocking a brow.

“Yes.”

She was quiet for a few seconds after my response.

“Very well. Do not make it a habit though.” She said, “Azazel has told me about you. Not everything I would like to know, but with enough information to be useful.”

That almost pulled a smile from me.

“Then I’m sorry you had to hear it from him first.”

The corner of her mouth moved by the smallest amount.

“Good. It would be dull if you weren’t interesting to speak to.”

That was encouraging in a strange way.

She gestured toward the largest circle in the center of the hall.

“Stand there.”

I obeyed.

She walked one slow circle around me.

Her eyes took in my visible ears and tails first, then my hands, shoulders, and face.

She stopped in front of me again.

“Azazel says your magical talent is exceptional,” she said. “He also says your curse backlash is severe enough to become significantly dangerous in prolonged battle.”

It was interesting to hear that Azazel-sensei had praised my talents.

“Yes.”

“But he did not fully explain the cause,” she went on. “So you will.”

I held her gaze.

“I have several seals placed on my body. Those seals placed on me are the main cause for my issue.”

That got her full attention.

“Explain.”

I folded my arms lightly, then lowered them again when I remembered that would only make my posture more defensive than I wanted.

“My curse spells carry backlash naturally,” I said. “They always would have. But the current severity is not normal. I had seals placed on me in the past that are still present at the moment. The seals force too much resistance into the casting process. They obstruct the output, the shaping, and the way the power settles after the spell is released.” I let one breath out slowly. “The result is exaggerated backlash.”

Lady Mireia was silent for a moment.

Then, “And as the seals are released?”

“It lessens.”

“By how much?”

“Not evenly.” I considered the cleanest way to phrase it. “Each release reduces it. My output rises at the same time, but the increased backlash from the seals becomes less severe. The spells still push back. They simply have less resistance to my spell. It changes a backlash that should char my arm into one that merely burns it”

That, perhaps, was too vivid.

Lady Mireia did not seem bothered by it.

“So the flaw is doubled,” she said. “A natural recoil made far worse by imposed magical obstruction.”

“Yes.”

“And I am assuming that you cannot remove the seals for some reason.”

“Correct.”

“And until every seal is removed, the additional obstruction remains.”

“Yes.”

She looked me over again, but this time less like she was assessing a student and more like she was testing the shape of the problem itself.

“Good,” she said.

I blinked once.

“Good?”

“Yes. I dislike having to work through assumptions or unknowns. An aggravated flaw can be worked on. A guess as to the cause of a problem can’t.” She stepped back and folded her hands behind her. “We begin at the beginning. Show me your general magic first. Nothing fancy. No curse work yet.”

That part was almost insulting in its simplicity.

I started with shaping exercises.

Simple magic circles first, then layered ones, then split circles rotating independently.

Magic held steady at fixed intensity and then divided into multiple points.

Demonic power condensed into edges and threads, I formed movement constructs, sensory spells, and summoned foxfire.

She would change parameters without warning by giving orders as we went.

“Again.”

I did.

“Now while walking.”

Again I listened to her command.

“Now collapse one into another without tearing the outer ring.”

And again I did.

She would  interfere with the exercises too, which made them immediately more worthwhile.

One ring destabilized if another was held too tightly.

A barrier line failed if I let a foxfire drift too close.

Fine control was demanded not under ideal conditions, but under layered irritation.

It was much more interesting than just forming spells over and over. 

After several rounds of this, she finally said, “Enough.”

The circles dissolved.

“You are what he said,” she murmured. “Fast. Precise. You waste very little effort. Good fundamentals. Very good instincts.”

I said nothing.

Praise too early usually meant nothing.

Then she gestured toward the far side of the hall where several warded targets rose from slots in the floor.

“Now show me your curse work.”

That was different.

I felt myself focus more sharply.

“Only the curse spells?” I asked.

“Yes. I want the curse work itself. Not your tail abilities. The spells that you specialize in.”

Now we would start to approach the purpose of the training Azazel-sensei had planned for me. 

I nodded.

Then I let power settle properly into my hands.

“Azazel told me about the two spells you’ve made for yourself. We will look at Stillmark first,” she said.

I cast it directly onto the nearest target.

The mark bloomed dark and subtle across its surface, and I felt the answering reaction at once.

The familiar cold began low in my chest, spreading slowly outward like numb winter through the ribs.

Lady Mireia watched the target, not me.

“Again. This time place it in the air.”

I did.

Not on the target itself this time, but as a visible mark suspended in the line of its path. When the target moved through it, the curse would take hold all the same.

The cold spread a little farther.

“Good,” she said. “Again. Show me the difference in shaping between direct imposition and free placement.”

I did.

Again.

And again.

My chest started to go numb as she had me continue to cast Stillmark. 

Only when she had clearly seen the structure of Stillmark did she nod toward me.

“Now Baleful Bolt.”

This would be less gentle.

I shaped it and fired.

Black-violet curse light lanced across the hall and struck the marked target cleanly through its core.

The impact shattered the warded construct in a spray of cracked stone and collapsing magic.

Pain flashed up my arm immediately.

Sharp, familiar, and uglier than it really should have been for one cast of that size.

Lady Mireia’s eyes flicked to my hand.

“Again.”

I shaped the spell once more and fired at the second target.

The bolt struck true.

The pain came harder this time, though still manageable.

“Again,” she said.

We repeated until I stopped.

She looked at me.

“Why?”

“One more at that strength is possible,” I said. “But the strain is already climbing. If I continue without adjusting or pausing, my control will start to deteriorate.”

“That much from only a handful of spells?”

“Yes.”

“And if your seals were not a factor?”

I considered it.

“Stillmark would still spread cold through my chest. Baleful Bolt would still hurt.” I looked at my hand. “But not like this.”

Lady Mireia nodded once, as though something had clicked into place.

“Then show me the next cast anyway.”

I did not argue.

If she was going to help me she needed to know my limits.

I laid Stillmark on the next target first.

Not because she asked, but because it was the easiest way to show the interaction of the spells.

When the curse settled and took hold, I fired Baleful Bolt through it.

The strike landed.

The target shattered.

This time the backlash hit hard enough that my fingers seized for half a breath before I forced them straight again.

The pain in my arm sharpened viciously.

The cold in my chest spread wider, slower, meaner.

Lady Mireia saw all of it.

“Enough,” she said.

The remaining targets dimmed.

For a few seconds neither of us spoke.

Then she walked closer.

“Stillmark and Baleful Bolt are enough to show me what I needed.” She said.

I let the breath out slowly.

“As I said, I’ve heard of your other abilities, but they are not curses.”

“No,” she said. “They are not.”

She understood the distinction.

“Then we will not focus on them. You would likely need another Kitsune to help you with those.”

Lady Mireia stopped just inside the outer ring of the circle and watched me with a look I was beginning to understand.

The specific interest of a teacher who had found a problem worthy of work.

“You have designed interesting curse spells already,” she said. “Stillmark is efficient, elegant in a hateful way, and shaped by someone who understands how to make misfortune useful. Your bolt is cleaner than I expected. You cast it like a scalpel, not a bludgeon.”

That was praise, then.

A strange kind.

I accepted it.

Then she continued.

“And Azazel was right. Your backlash problem is severe.”

“I know.”

“No,” she said. “You know the pain. I don’t know if you completely understand the issue.”

That irritated me.

“Then explain it.”

She did not seem offended.

“Gladly. You have two overlapping issues. The first is natural. Your curse spells are built in ways that create recoil. That is normal. They are malicious, penetrating, and powerful. Such spells often demand a price.” She lifted one finger. “The second issue is imposed. Your seals worsen the exchange at every stage of the spell. The formation, release, and settlement. They magnify what should already be there.”

I stayed still and listened.

“That means,” she said, “that when you cast Baleful Bolt, you are not suffering from one backlash. You are suffering from your curse spell’s inherent recoil, and your body is interfering with the magical structure due to the obstruction of those seals.”

I had always looked at it as if it was a single backlash that was amplified by my seals.

I hadn’t thought to look at it as two separate sources that were getting added together. 

Worse, it sounded obvious once spoken.

She went on.

“Each seal release reduces part of the obstruction. That is why the backlash becomes more bearable as your seals come off even while your output rises. But until all of them are gone, the distortion remains.”

One of my ears twitched.

“I understand.”

Lady Mireia folded her hands behind her back again.

“So. The answer is not merely more tolerance or looking at a single source of backlash. Nor can the answer be waiting passively until every seal is gone, because that would leave your potential crippled in the meantime.”

That was also true.

I had no interest in waiting passively for anything.

“You need a state,” she said, “or something close to one. A controlled magical posture that reorganizes how your body receives and channels the output of your curse spells. It won’t be enough to erase the natural backlash. That would be foolish to promise. But enough to reduce the distortion from the seals and stop the backlash from tearing you apart quite so fast.”

I stopped at that.

A way to use my curses more effectively.

Not just a trick like using less power in a spell or finding a less painful casting method.

A way to circumvent the backlash of my seals.

This is what I needed.

I kept my face still.

“What would that require?” I asked

Her eyes narrowed slightly, pleased perhaps that I went to the point instead of asking too many questions.

“Compatibility,” she said. “And honesty.”

That was a strange pair.

She must have seen it in my expression, because she elaborated at once.

“Your curse magic requires a more specialized body-state than you currently allow it. More aligned with what the spell actually is. Every time you cast now, part of you reaches for that shape and another part resists it.” She tilted her head slightly. “The seals make that resistance worse, but they are not the only source of it.”

I said nothing.

Lady Mireia did not soften.

“This is not a moral problem,” she said. “Nor is it a matter of becoming a monster. It is a technique. You are trying to cast curse magic. It is violent and nasty by nature.  And you will need a state to reflect that, and support your curse spells. If not, you will continue to suffer more than you should for your spells.”

She raised one hand and the larger training circle beneath my feet lit again, but differently this time.

The pattern inside it was more complex, with inner rings nested under the main one like a second structure waiting beneath the first.

“We will not complete anything today,” she said. “Today, I want to find the boundaries. How far your magic can be shifted before the seals fight back too hard. How much alignment your body will tolerate before recoiling away from it. The future state will be built from that knowledge.”

Future state.

The phrase settled heavily into me.

I had a clear goal in my training now.

The backlash was no longer just something to be endured nobly or cursed at and worked around.

It was something with anatomy.

Something that could be studied, cut apart, and rebuilt around.

And more importantly, something that did not have to keep deciding the limits of my fighting alone.

“The backlash from my seals will still exist. What form will it come in when I enter this state?” I asked.

“I don’t know exactly.” Lady Mireia replied. “I can only assume the effect will either be mental or affect your demonic power in some way.”

That wasn’t perfect, but if it allowed me to be more active in combat, then it would be worth it. 

“What do you need from me?” I asked.

“Precision,” she said. “Obedience when I ask for restraint. Brutal honesty when I ask how something feels. And enough discipline not to romanticize your suffering.” Her eyes sharpened. “Your seals may be the reason the backlash is exaggerated. That does not make enduring it well a virtue.”

That was similar to what I had been told before by the peerage.

They wanted me to value myself more and not hurt myself if I was able to. 

But pain meant little by itself.

Weaknesses needed to be overcome.

I wanted to make myself useful to my peerage and if I hurt myself in the process, that had been acceptable to me.

Lady Mireia gave me the smallest of smiles.

“Good,” she said. “Now let us begin discovering what shape your curse magic will take when it stops fighting you.”

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