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High School DxD: Alternate

Vincenzo 'Vin' Corsetti should never have volunteered at the Vatican. Now, he's been drafted into an elite order of Exorcists in-training, facing insane beasts and monsters and he's got a 'Sacred Gear to figure out too. Hey, at least the girls are cute, right? --------- want to read ahead or want to support you can join my patr-eon and u will be able to read ahead by 10 chapters patr-eon.com/Rias_gremory174

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36 Chs

Chapter 33 : The crackle

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Yeah, safe to say that it left an impression on him, but still, for the life of him, Vin had no idea why the feeling was so strong.

It wasn't like he knew Xenovia super well. For crying out loud, he'd only learned her favorite color two weeks ago.

There was no denying that Xenovia was incredibly beautiful, elegant, and captivating in an intimidating way; but still, none of that should have translated into such… intense feelings before.

Maybe it was just puberty. Yeah, that was probably it: super crazy puberty which was making up for it's relative lack of presence on a sexual front for the last few years in a big way. Yep, that was the hypothesis that Vin was going to run with.

Giving his face a light clap with his hands in order to shake himself out of his stupor, Vin peeled the clothes off his body, before grabbing the next stack of clothes. It was… a swimsuit. Sighing, Vin yanked back on the jeans wrapped around his ankles, and walked out of the stall.

"Vanessa, why are there swim trunks in these clothes? It's October," Vin asked, pointedly ignoring Irina covering her own eyes, and the sharp wolf-whistle that Vanessa gave off upon seeing Vin's exposed, slightly scarred torso.

"We have a pool in the dorms," Vanessa shrugged.

"But how did you know that I didn't have swim shorts?"

"Same reason why I know that you only have band shirts. I checked your closet," Vanessa declared in a way that was decidedly too proud for someone admitting to rifling through someone else's clothes.

Vin pinched his nose with his free hand, muttering, "Of course you fuckin' did."

Vanessa made shooing motions with her hands, "Now, go try on the trunks for me. I wanna see if I got the size right."

"I'm afraid to ask how you have my clothing sizes," Vin grumbled, as he marched back into the change room.

"Oh, I stole one of your shirts," Vanessa answered.

"I knew I didn't misplace my Iron Maiden shirt!"

"Just put the trunks on, Vin."

"Fine, fine…"

The long process of buying clothes continued on for another hour or so, from one store to another, the group managed to scoop up a sizable amount of clothes, games, and other items. Finally, they decided to make a final stop at the second floor food court to eat some food.

Overall, the group had a fun time. Despite Vin not being too keen on clothes shopping, he still couldn't deny that it was fun to hang out with friends, and although he would never admit it based on principle, Vanessa had a good sense of style, and he'd ended up buying most of the stuff that she recommended.

By the time they were nearly done, even Xenovia came out of her shell more, and actually started to actively give opinions on the clothes that Irina was finding, and by the end, she was walking around with four nice stuffed bags of new clothes; something definitely nice to see.

Yep, there was nothing quite like this. A quiet, uninterrupted peace to unwind to…

*Blam* *Blam*

Oh you had to be fucking kidding…

The sounds of gunshots silenced the chatter along the food court, as all eyes turned to the far end, where ten people wearing ski masks, armed with a variety of firearms stood.

Three security guards on the ground; two of them conscious, alive, breathing. One was face down, a pool of blood oozing out from under him.

Vin sucked in a breath at the sight. The man was dead. Around him, his comrades tensed up, prepared for combat at any moment, but the tense situation left them unable to act.

All of them knew it, this wasn't a properly administered mission against an inhuman enemy, this was a hostage situation, and judging by the fact that one guard had been shot dead, this situation was a volatile one.

The crackle of a megaphone filled the air, as one of the men passed the megaphone to a man in a distinct skull-themed ski mask. The leader, most likely.

"Greetings citizens. I'll be blunt, this is a hostile takeover," 'Skull-Mask' declared, "Right now, you are all our hostages, make one move, and you'll end up like this."

Skull-Mask made a motion with his hand, and another shot rang out, as another goon shot one of the two remaining security guards, the body falling against the floor with a splat.

Vin felt a distinct helplessness and fear rise within him, until he realized something.

He could fight back. Hell, they all could. The problem was simply managing to take them all down without getting anyone else killed. Vin looked at his friends, locking eyes with them, as they all reflected the same idea.

Only problem was, aside from Vin, everyone else was completely unarmed. Not a great situation when you're in a gunfight. Underneath her breath, Xenovia whispered, her eyes locked to Vin's.

"If you can get me in close enough, I have a holy sword I can use."

What? But Excalibur Destruction was sealed in the vault at the Vatican…

"I think I can make a barrier to protect everyone here," Vin whispered back; although his whispering voice was unfortunately too loud, as a gunshot rang out in the air, and Skull Mask leveled his rifle in Vin's direction.

"You there, you little fucker! When we tell you to shut up, we mean it!" Skull-Mask spat, "Come on up here, huh? You got something to tell to the whole fucking class?!"

Well, that certainly helps things out... Just doesn't get rid of how scary walking towards a group of unhinged gunmen is.

Slowly, Vin stood up, his limbs shaking as he slowly paced his way up to the front of the food court.

He could smell the metallic tang of blood and lead in the air, which spurred the bile in the back of his throat. Eventually, he reached the front of the room, as he turned his back to the gunmen, distinctly feeling the invasive presence of a rifle's muzzle press up against his lower back.

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