DxD: The Pale Puppeteer

"…the next subject."

The voice came before consciousness.

A dry, tired voice.

Distant, yet close.

Then came the sensations.

Cold.

Weight.

Restraints.

He tried to move.

His body wouldn't obey.

Something bound him, locking his limbs in place.

His mind was slow, clouded.

Where am I?

Who…?

A flood of half-formed thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, but one emotion broke through the haze—

I don't want to be tied down.

As if responding to that single thought, something shifted.

A faint, barely audible whisper in the air.

Then—snap.

The restraints… were gone.

The weight that pinned his arms and legs disappeared in an instant.

Not broken.

Not torn.

It was as if the material itself had simply ceased to exist.

He froze, his mind struggling to catch up.

What just happened?

Then he saw them.

Threads.

Thin, nearly invisible strands danced around his fingers, writhing and curling like silk caught in a phantom breeze.

They pulsed with a dark, muted energy—strange, yet familiar.

He stared at them, transfixed.

This was real.

He could feel it.

The threads weren't an illusion, nor a trick of the light.

They belonged to him.

His heart pounded.

An instinct buried deep inside him whispered—Do it again.

He obeyed.

Slowly, carefully, he twisted his fingers.

The threads shivered, responding to his command.

They stretched outward, weightless, reaching beyond his immediate vision.

His gaze followed their movement—

And then he saw it.

A robed man, standing a few feet away.

A researcher.

And on the man's sleeve…

A thin, black line.

A perfect incision where the thread had brushed against the fabric.

The cloth peeled apart soundlessly, like a wound opening itself.

His mind spun.

What the hell is happening?

He barely had time to process before the voice spoke again.

"Tear him apart and extract the core sample."

Tear?

Extract?

The words slammed into his brain like a hammer.

A primal, visceral fear surged through him.

They were going to kill him.

His breath quickened.

Think.

Think!

He forced himself to focus.

He needed to survive.

How?

Fighting wasn't an option.

He had just woken up.

He didn't know his limits.

Running?

Impossible.

There were too many of them.

That left only one choice.

Submit.

A lesson drilled into him through years of school, family expectations, and corporate hierarchy.

In his previous life, he had learned how to bow, how to obey, how to survive beneath those who held power over him.

His body moved on instinct.

He lowered his head slightly.

A silent gesture of subservience.

The air in the room shifted.

The lead scientist regarded him, then scoffed.

"You will serve us, then. A prototype."

The tension eased.

He wasn't safe, but he was alive.

For now.

But deep inside—

His heart burned.

Not again.

He had spent his past life trapped under the weight of others' expectations.

Forced to kneel, forced to endure.

He had vowed to never live like that again.

And yet—

He clenched his fists, feeling the threads tighten around his fingers.

For now, he would obey.

But one day—he would cut these bindings himself.

And they would never see it coming.