Touch a woman and know—know if she was hungry, know if she was starving, know if some useless man had been neglecting her until her body screamed for attention louder than a car alarm at 3 a.m.
It didn't level up.
Couldn't level up.
It was like the other DxD Elements—fixed, fundamental, part of what made a dragon a dragon. The instinct to recognize treasure that was being discarded. To sense the women that lesser men had failed to handle, failed to protect, failed to satisfy.
Abandoned jewels, just waiting for someone worthy to claim them. That's me, Phei thought. The worthy one.
Humble as ever.
[Healing Touch: Level 1]
Now this one bothered him.
Given its importance—given how it had saved his arse, how many injuries it had mended, how useful it would be in the fights to come—he should've leveled it up ages ago.
Should've pumped it full of EXP until it was stronger than any ability he had, until he could heal bullet wounds with a handshake and cancer with a high-five.
