DxD: Born Again in Flame (Riser si)

[abel targayen]

POV: Riser Phenex

The days had all started blending together.

Soft wind, warm sunlight, and expensive silence filled every corner of the manor. The garden always smelled like roses. The food was always perfect. The servants never spoke unless spoken to.

It should've felt like paradise. But to me, it felt like stagnation.

I was sitting in some ornate chair, sipping wine I didn't ask for. Apparently rare. Fire-blood vintage. Meant something to devils. Didn't matter. It tasted fine.

Fifteen years old, noble devil, member of House Phenex. The third son. Not the heir. Not even the spare worth watching. As long as I didn't embarrass the family name, I could do whatever I wanted.

There was no pressure here. No responsibilities. And, honestly, no point.

That thought lingered longer than it should've.

I had woken up in someone else's body. In a world that used to be fiction. A literal harem anime. Bright colors, over-the-top powers, boobs physics, and war between devils, angels, and dragons. What the hell was I supposed to make of that?

At first, it was exciting. Novelty. A power fantasy come true.

But then came the silence.

The gap between the adrenaline and the action. The moment where you're alone, and the only thing in the room is your own mind asking the obvious: Why?

Why this world? Why this body? Why me?

Was I chosen? Punished? Glitched into reality by a god with a sense of humor?

And if I was reincarnated… then what was death?

I leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. The painted phoenixes looked back at me like smug bastards.

Maybe reincarnation wasn't just real, but mechanical. Endless. Looping.

"Eternal recurrence," I muttered.

Nietzsche described it as the ultimate test. The idea that everything would repeat: every joy, every failure, every breath—forever. Would you still live your life the same way if you knew you'd have to live it again, and again, and again?

Now imagine doing that not in your own life, but in fake worlds. Game worlds. Anime worlds. This.

I gave a half-smile.

"So… the Hindus were right? Buddhists too? Hell, maybe the Scientologists."

I said it as a joke, but it didn't feel funny. Just… empty.

If I died here, would I be born again somewhere else? Another story? Another role? Would I just keep hopping from world to world? Was there any meaning left at that point?

Or was this just cosmic noise?

That's the real problem. Not death. Not power levels. But meaning. Once you know this world isn't the world, everything you do starts to feel cheap. The stakes are fake. The victories temporary. And morality? That's the first thing to go.

But Nietzsche didn't just talk about despair. He offered a response too.

"Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Overman—a rope over an abyss."

We can't rely on gods or systems to give us meaning. Not anymore. Not if the universe is this random.

That leaves one option: create your own values. Define your own purpose. Not as a coping mechanism, but as an act of rebellion.

To stare down the abyss and say, "I choose this."

To shape your own meaning, even if you suspect it doesn't matter.

And to keep shaping it anyway.

I had everything. Power, luxury, status. And none of it meant anything. Not when I wasn't even supposed to be here. Not when I had died and woke up in a world that was once just a fictional setting on a screen.

But reincarnation was real. That's what this meant. Somehow, I had crossed over. That changes everything.

Because if reincarnation exists, then death doesn't matter. It's a revolving door. You die, you respawn. New world. New body. New name.

And if it keeps happening, endlessly: then welcome to Nietzsche's Eternal Recurrence. Not a metaphor. Literal. You live again and again, in infinite variations, until you lose count. Until meaning dissolves.

So what's the point?

There isn't one.

That's the conclusion. At least, the default one. Nothing matters if everything ends. Nothing has weight if it's all temporary. The lives you save, the people you love, the power you gain, it all resets eventually. You lose it. Or they lose you. Or the story ends and another one begins. Infinite reincarnation makes all meaning into noise.

But—

This world has magic.

Real magic.

And here's the thing: devil magic is different. It's not just fireballs and rituals. It runs on imagination. That's the core principle. The only real limiter is what your mind can conceive and manifest as well as having enough power.

Theoretically, there is no upper boundary. It's not just a tool; it's a creative force. Maybe even a metaphysical loophole.

So I started asking myself: what if this isn't just a playground?

What if this world is a testbed?

What if I could use it to build something permanent?

And there it was.

Immortality.

Not the cheap kind. Not healing factors or paused aging. True immortality. Something untouchable. Indestructible. Beyond time, beyond cause and effect. A being that doesn't get erased when the universe resets. Something that stays. Even when the wheel turns again.

In this world, even the strongest die. Even Great Red, the Dragon of Dreams, one of the top beings in the setting, was killed. So strength alone isn't enough. Power isn't permanence.

I'd have to go further.

Beyond dragons. Beyond devils. Beyond gods.

Omnipotence. That's the goal.

Even if it sounds impossible. Especially because it sounds impossible.

I don't care if it's achievable. That's not the point. The point is that this—this—is the only goal that might mean something. The only thing that might outlast the cycle.

It's not about becoming stronger than Issei. Or ruling the Underworld. Or winning a Rating Game.

It's about rewriting the rules from the top down.

I want to become a being that even eternity can't erase. A constant across all iterations. A law unto myself.

And if I fail in this world?

Then I'll start again in the next one.

Same goal. Same path. Until something finally breaks. Until I either succeed or the cycle itself runs out of worlds to throw me in.

That's my purpose now.

Not because some god gave it to me. Not because it was written in a light novel.

But because I chose it.

Nietzsche said that when the old values die, when meaning collapses, we have to make our own. Forge new ones. Become more than human. A creator of values. A self-directed will.

A yes to life, even in the face of its absurdity.

So here's my yes:

Push everything: magic, knowledge, power—to the absolute limit.

And keep going.

No matter how many lifetimes it takes.

No matter how many universes.

I will become the end of recurrence.

I will become the thing that death cannot touch

And to keep shaping it anyway.

I looked down at my hands: smooth, unscarred, powerful. Not mine. But mine now.

Riser Phenex was a joke character. A loser antagonist. A stepping stone for someone else's road to greatness.

But I wasn't here to follow their script. Not this time.

I had no destiny, no gods, no karma system. Just my own will. And that would have to be enough.

I stood up, breathing in the warm, fake-perfect air of House Phenex.

Peace was easy.

But peace was meaningless.

And meaning… I'd have to build that from scratch.

First step: build a real peerage. Not a harem. Not some disposable girls shoved into Evil Pieces. Real allies. Fighters. Thinkers. Monsters, if necessary.

I turned to the black box on my desk. It held the remaining Evil Pieces. Two Rooks. Two Bishops. Two Knights. Eight Pawns. The Queen piece was already used.

Didn't matter. I had options.

I grabbed a notebook and started listing names.

Valerie Tepes.
A dhampir locked up in Eastern Europe. She held the Sephiroth Graal — a Sacred Gear with healing and resurrection capabilities. She was a walking cure to the weaknesses of devils. If I could get her, I could fix our race's holy vulnerability.

Problem: she came with baggage. Dragons, Church agents, the son of Lucifer. All would come looking.

Gasper Vladi.
Valerie's close friend. Wielder of a time-stopping Sacred Gear. Emotionally unstable, maybe even dangerous. But powerful. Could be valuable, especially if paired with her.

The Nekomata Sisters.
Kuroka and Shirone. House Naberius had turned them into lab rats. Kuroka especially was lethal, if I freed her and earned her trust, she'd be a massive asset.

Rossweisse.
A Valkyrie cast aside by her own pantheon. Brilliant, underappreciated. If I offered her the respect and value she deserved, she might join me willingly.

Ingvild Leviathan.
Distant relative of a Maou. Holder of a Longinus Sacred Gear that could control dragons. Still dormant now. But with time, she could become unstoppable.

Meredith Ordinton.
Sacred Gear wielder. Currently under the radar. Hard to track down, but worth the effort.

These were the kind of people I wanted. People with rare powers. With something to prove. With reasons to fight.

But I knew names weren't enough. Recruiting them would require leverage. Strength. Influence. Planning. And the ability to protect them once they were mine.

So before anything else, I had to grow.

Devil magic was just the beginning. I needed versatility. Elemental training. Ancient rituals. Sacred Gear science. I'd tear through the Phenex family library, find old research, maybe even look into what the Super Devils were doing.

The Underworld operated on power. Influence. Fear. If I wanted to rise, I had to stop thinking like a side character. And I couldn't afford to wait for Issei Hyoudou's story to start.

I had to be ahead of him. Way ahead.

Step one: master everything Phenex fire and wind manipulation had to offer.
Step two: expand my arsenal , not just combat, but politics, magic theory, and knowledge of other races.
Step three: find my pieces. Recruit the right ones. Build loyalty. Train them. Protect them.
Step four: move. Slowly at first. Then fast. No mistakes.

I sat back down, poured another glass, and looked at the fire.

"To the top," I said quietly. "And I don't care who I have to outplay to get there."



Author's Note: Alright, after whining about how everyone's stories refuse to follow my brilliant plans, I've finally mustered enough courage (and caffeine) to post something. Fingers crossed it doesn't crash and burn. I already have a plan for how it should go but, spoiler alert, only the first arc is locked in — the rest is just me winging it like a pro. Feel free to drop feedback, ideas, or even insults. Seriously, I can take it — bring on the roast!

 

[abel targayen]

Yubellana had always loved the way he played.


The first few notes rang out through the manor's music room, rippling across air perfumed with fresh lilac and firewood. She stood in the doorway, caught, no, captivated, as his fingers danced with impossible grace over the ivory keys. Franz Liszt, she recognized. Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.


It wasn't just performance. It was poetry. Every motion, every note, perfectly controlled, yet filled with passion. This was not the careless, smug noble devil she had served for a while—this was someone transformed.


Riser Phenex sat in the golden sunlight, his blond hair catching fire in the light, his eyes half-lidded, and entirely focused on the piano. He didn't look up, but he knew she was there. Of course he did.


"Ah, Yubellana, I love you," he said as the music swept into a playful crescendo, "when I am with you," he said.


Her lips curled into a small smile, cheeks already warming.


"I become what you call a... hipdevil. I am hip, to the jive. I am in the groove, darling."


She laughed softly, covering her mouth. "Riser, you sound like one of those human jazz phonographs trying to flirt."


The notes slowed, playfully exaggerated, as he turned just enough to cast her a look full of theatrical longing.


"And now," he sighed, letting the piano linger on a sweet, low harmony, "you set my soul on fire. It is not just a little spark. No, it is aflame! A great, roaring flame. I can feel it now, burning, Yubellana, burning."


"You're incorrigible," she murmured, stepping into the room with her hands folded. She tried to sound disapproving, but her voice trembled with a poorly hidden giggle.


He rose, letting the final note of the Rhapsody echo gently behind him like the closing breath of a storm. Then he walked to her, not with the lazy swagger she'd known before, but with the composed confidence of a man who had chosen every step.


She blushed as he took her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles.


"Your cheeks betray you," he said, eyes gleaming. "You wear crimson better than any noble banner."


"You are impossible," she whispered, heart racing.


"And yet here you are, enchanted all the same."


Their faces drew closer, her hand pressed lightly against his chest. He leaned in—


But she turned her face away, flustered. "Riser, wait, there's something you're forgetting."


He paused, expression caught between mock disappointment and amusement.


"You're due to visit your parents at the estate today," she said quickly. "You told Lord and Lady Phenex you would attend tonight's evening meal."


He sighed dramatically, resting his forehead against hers. "You wound me, Yubellana. Interrupted at the very height of passion—for family obligations."


"You're the one who made the appointment," she replied, smirking shyly.


He laughed, stepping back. "And that is why you're my Queen. A beautiful woman with an inconvenient memory for my own convenience."


She flushed again, but said nothing.


He turned away, retrieving his coat with practiced grace. His movements were purposeful, elegant. Everything about him lately had changed. It wasn't just charm, it was a kind of focus, a clarity that unsettled and thrilled her in equal measure.


Once, Riser had been all fire and laziness. A noble devil with too much power, too little ambition, and no direction but the bed and the banquet.


But now...


He gave the piano one last glance before they left the room. "You know, Yubellana," he said quietly, "music is what the soul would say if it were free from the body. When I play... it's as though I remember something I never learned."


She tilted her head, intrigued. "You sound like a wannabe philosopher. It seems you have been thinking a lot."


"I have," he said simply. "Something... cosmic. Like I've stumbled across the answer to a question older than my bloodline. And now I can't stop seeing it: truth, purpose, wonder. Even in the smallest things."


She watched him as they walked down the hall. He paused to admire a painting he'd ignored for years. Complimented a servant's stitching. Yesterday, she'd caught him smiling at the simple act of eating a slice of fresh-baked bread, as if it were a ritual worthy of reverence.


"You're different," she said softly. "Since last month. You carry yourself like a man who's found something or someone—that woke him up."


He glanced at her sidelong. "Maybe I did."


Her heart skipped. For a moment, she wanted to ask more, to pry even. But she was afraid the answer might pull her deeper than she already dared to fall.


They reached the teleportation room. A Phenex sigil shimmered on the obsidian floor.


He took her hand again and smiled, less like a flirt, more like a man.


"Don't wait up," he said. "If my father tries to assign me another engagement to some nobleman's daughter, I may flee the mansion entirely."


She chuckled. "I'm sure you'll manage."


"Of course. I'm a hipdevil, remember?"


The teleportation circle flared to life beneath him, firelight licking at his coat.


And then he was gone, off to the Phenex estate, where power slept beneath old stone and politics simmered in gilded cups.


Yubellana stood alone, hand to her chest, wondering.


He was changing.


She only hoped she would not be left behind.


------------------------------------------------

The Phenex Estate stood like a monument to arrogance and eternity.


Riser gazed upward as the teleportation circle faded beneath his feet, boots touching down on polished volcanic glass inscribed with ancient noble seals. Before him stretched the ancestral palace of House Phenex, a sprawling gothic marvel of obsidian towers, sunstone domes, and fiery wards that shimmered in the dusk like auroras. Miles of enchanted gardens surrounded the main hall, where flowers bloomed with demonic fire and songbirds sang in infernal tongues.


It was the kind of splendor that made human monarchies look like peasant circuses.


He adjusted the collar of his coat with quiet precision. He might be the third son, but he was no afterthought.


A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.


"Lord Riser, welcome home."


The voice belonged to a dark-haired woman in a tightly fitted French maid uniform. Her presence was crisp, elegant, her features refined—likely a noble devil in service, as was often the custom in ancient houses.


She bowed. "The family is awaiting your arrival in the dining hall."


"Well, lead the way," Riser said smoothly, and followed her inside.


The dining hall was vast, vaulted ceilings of ruby glass, a table carved from firestone stretching the length of a cathedral nave. Fire-elemental chandeliers bathed everything in warm, flickering gold. The Phenex crest, a flaming bird wreathed in demonic script, burned gently on every wall.


Seated at the head of the table was Lord Aurelius Phenex, regal in flowing crimson robes. A man of classical devil nobility, with eyes like burning coal and an expression carved from obsidian.


To his right: Rionas Phenex, the second son and self-made media mogul—handsome, laid-back, already sipping wine with a bemused smirk.


To his left: Rahella Phenex, both wife and sister to Aurelius—refined, powerful, and poised with the ease of a woman used to commanding lesser devils with a glance.


And beside her sat the youngest Phenex: Ravel.


Twelve years old, dressed in a pristine blue gown with a golden sash, her expression desperately serious as she sat straight, trying to appear as proper as possible.


When Riser stepped into the light, all heads turned.


"Well," Rionas grinned, swirling his glass, "look what the wind and his vanity dragged in."


"Apologies," Riser replied as he moved with effortless grace to his seat. "I was busy being in the groove. You know, hipdevil business."


Rahella stifled a chuckle. Aurelius arched a brow. Rionas only laughed louder.


"You're getting poetic. Been spending too much time with your Queen, I take it?"


"She brings out the classical romantic in me," Riser said smoothly as he sat beside his brother. "And unlike some of us, I don't spend all day manufacturing scandals just to boost magazine sales."


"Scandal sells, little brother. Beauty is temporary. Profits are eternal."


"Tragic words from a man with hair that expensive."


Before Rionas could counter, a tiny voice piped up.


"Riser!"


He turned to his sister, smiling warmly.


"Ravel. Still trying to look like a grown-up, I see."


"I am a grown-up!" she pouted, puffing her cheeks. "And I should be your Bishop!"


Riser placed a hand on his heart dramatically. "Alas, my peerage accepts only beautiful women."


"I am beautiful!"


"You're eleven."


"I'm mature for my age!"


Rionas leaned in, stage-whispering to Riser, "That's exactly what an eleven-year-old says when they try to get into noble clubs with illusions."


"I heard that!" Ravel snapped, throwing a bread roll at her older brother.


Rahella reached over gently and adjusted her daughter's hair.


"My little Ravel will be the fairest maiden in the Underworld," she said with a soft, dangerous smile. "And frankly, Riser, it's not a terrible idea. She's talented, and the Bishop piece's demonic power boost would aid her development. She could learn much under your guidance."


The tone shifted. Rahella's suggestion wasn't just maternal—it was a sign of trust.


Riser tapped the table gently with his finger. He had to tread carefully here. Accepting his sister into his peerage could increase their bond—and future influence—but it would also mean giving up a precious piece. Still…


He turned to Ravel, grinning like a fox.


"Tell me, little sister. What year are you in at the Devil Academy?"


"Fourth!" she said proudly. "Already top of my class in Enchantments!"


"Very good," Riser nodded. "Then here's a challenge."


He leaned in, locking eyes with her.


"If you graduate with ten DAEMONs—and I mean ten, with the highest score in each subject—I'll give you my Bishop piece. No take-backs."


The room went silent. Even Aurelius looked faintly impressed.


Ravel blinked. "Ten…? But that's…"


"The record is seven," Rionas pointed out.


"I want to be more than a record!" Ravel declared, fists clenched.


"Then do it," Riser said, smiling. "And I'll welcome you to the team with open arms."


"Promise?"


"On my pride as a Phenex."


Ravel beamed, and Rahella gave a small nod of approval.


Dinner began, servants bringing in seared chimera steak, abyssal salad, and demonic nectar wine—flavors refined over centuries of tradition. As they ate, the conversation drifted to territories, noble gossip, and the upcoming Rating Games.


But Riser listened more than he spoke. His thoughts wandered—not with boredom, but with purpose.


Demonic Leyens.


That was the term. Ancient regions pulsing with raw, condensed demonic energy. Sacred land for devils. Living currency. From these leyens grew what devils called Infernal Crystals—stones that shimmered with chaotic energy, able to be absorbed to increase a devil's demonic power.


The Phenex family owned hundreds. Some low-class, many mid-class, dozens high-class—and more importantly, they had two ultimate-class leyens under their domain. That alone placed them among the richest families in the Underworld.


That wealth translated into power. The reason noble families stayed noble. The reason so many lower devils remained powerless.


Even a talentless devil could become mighty if fed enough Infernal Crystals.


And he had access.


He chewed slowly, savoring the wine. One day, he'd harvest their highest-grade leyens for himself. Not just for power, but for his ambition.


If he wanted to build a peerage that could stand against gods, he'd need it.


He glanced at Ravel, now happily sketching a study plan onto her napkin with one of the enchanted forks.


"Yes," he thought, amused. "She may just earn it."


But the greater game had already begun.


And Riser Phenex was no longer playing to lose.

----------------------------------------------------

After the last wineglass was drained and Ravel had proudly declared her study schedule with ten DAEMONs like a knight swearing an oath, the evening came to a gentle end.


Most of the family dispersed to their private wings, but Lord Aurelius Phenex gave his son a look—a subtle lift of his brow, nothing more. Riser understood.


He followed his father down the obsidian halls of the estate, their boots echoing like distant war drums. At the end of a corridor guarded by silent marble golems, they came to his sanctum.


The doors opened without a sound, yet they carried weight, a silence thick with generations of ambition.


The study of Lord Aurelius Phenex was not a room. It was a statement.


Oil paintings of long-dead ancestors, battles, phoenixes rising from infernal oceans—works so rare even the Louvre would weep blood to house just one. There were statues from the pre-Great War, enchanted glass bookshelves that whispered knowledge in ancient tongues, and a fireplace that burned with golden flame. At the center of it all sat a desk, not ornate, not gilded, but a flawless slab of Void Obsidian and Celestial Ore, mined during the Second Satanic Rebellion. Its value? Enough to bankrupt a human empire. And yet, in this room, it was as natural as air.


So was Aurelius Phenex.


The Lord of the House stood tall, with golden eyes like suns darkened by smoke. His presence filled the room without effort. He had no need to raise his voice. Power hung on him like an heirloom blade: well-worn, deadly, and absolute.


"Sit, Riser."


Riser obeyed.


Aurelius studied him for a long moment, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Then he spoke.


"You seem different."


Riser said nothing.


"Less dulled. Less trapped in the rhythms of idle hedonism. You carry yourself like a devil who has found his purpose."


Riser looked his father in the eye. "I was blind," he said dramatically, "and now I can see."


Aurelius didn't blink. Didn't smirk. But something in his gaze approved.


He stood, slowly circling his son, and then said:


"Tell me, Riser.
I hold no sword.
I build no wall.
Yet when I speak, gods pause and kings kneel.
What am I?"


Apparently, dramatics ran in the family.


Riser smiled. "Power."


The fire behind Aurelius flared, not with rage, but with recognition.


"Well answered," the old devil said. "Power is the first and last currency of our world. All else is inheritance."


He gestured to a map carved into the wall, a three-dimensional projection of the northernmost reaches of Phenex territory.


"Our high-class leyen field in the Varruk North is under siege. A wolf tide—massive beasts drawn by the leyen's pulse. They're devouring it faster than the ritual wards can regenerate."


Riser studied the region. "That's Uncle Ryzephar's domain."


Aurelius nodded. "He's doing what he can, but they're multiplying faster than expected. The leyen itself may be swelling beyond stability. Such things happen. The Underworld resents us, even if we are its children."


Riser gave a wry smile. "Even Hell wants us dead. It's oddly comforting."


His father let the corner of his lip twitch. "I want you to go. Aid Ryzephar. Fight. Burn. Learn."


Riser raised a brow. "No heir's paranoia? No concern for my tender youth?"


"You are a devil, not a flower. If you die to wolfspawn, you were unworthy of the name Phenex."


Riser exhaled through his nose, more pleased than anything. "And if I live?"


"Then you earn the right to claim something greater."


The two locked eyes. There was no need for dramatics. This was the devil way.


"I accept," Riser said. "I want to see the leyen. I want to test myself, and I want to know what it means to face a tribulation."


Aurelius gave a single nod. That was all the dismissal required.

---

The hallway beyond led to the Solar Garden Wing, where moonlight and firelight coexisted in an enchanted grove built into the estate's heart. There, in her private salon, sat Rahella Phenex.


His mother.


Tall. Glorious. Golden hair cascading down her back like woven sunlight. Emerald eyes that glittered with mirth, cruelty, and centuries of wisdom. Her curves were precisely sculpted by generations of superior bloodlines, refined magic, and perhaps the sheer will of perfection.


She was sipping something from a crystal flute. A swirling pink liquid that glimmered like stardust.


"Not of Earth," she said when she caught him looking. "The fruit only grows on the floating gardens of the Agares. Delicious and expensive."


She rose gracefully and pulled him into a hug, burying her face into his chest.


"My baby," she whispered. "My baby."


Riser stiffened for a moment, then melted slightly. She kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and then—lingering—his mouth.


Such things were not uncommon in noble devil circles. Hell had no god. Only power made sin.


"You've grown handsome," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "Too handsome. I may have to put a ward on your heart."


"You already have one on mine," he replied, half-serious.


She laughed. "Oh, how charming you've become. Tell me, darling, what did your father say?"


"He wants me to aid Uncle Ryzephar. There's a wolf tide threatening the leyen."


Her gaze sharpened instantly. "He's sending you?"


"He's testing me."


"He's gambling you."


He stepped away, hands tucked behind his back. "I accepted."


"You shouldn't have to—"


"I wanted to."


She blinked.


"I need to know what I'm made of, Mother. We devils live forever, but how many of us ever live?"


She looked at him strangely, and for a moment there was almost fear in her gaze. Not of death, but of change. Her little boy had left. Someone older had taken his place.


Still, she smiled, a devilish, perfect thing, and poured him a glass of the forbidden drink.


They talked for a while. Of gossip. Of scandal. Of which noble had recently been caught siphoning leyen power from another's territory. Rahella laughed like a queen at a play. And Riser, ever the gentleman, matched her wit with ease.


When the time came to leave, she pulled him into a final kiss—this one passionate. Her hands gripped his collar as her lips played on his own, whispering promises and half-spells in an ancient tongue.


"My beautiful boy," she said breathlessly. "Come back to me in one piece."


"I always return, Mother," he said with a smirk, brushing her cheek. "The world hasn't yet found a fire that can consume me."


And with that, he stepped through the teleportation portal, bound for his private mansion to prepare for the trials to come.


For the leyen.
For the wolves.
For power.


Authors Note: Alright folks, things are starting to pick up speed. Second chapter of the night, proudly brought to you by the two glorious likes I received — yes, two. Fame is a wild ride. This chapter includes a bit of family drama and some good old-fashioned demonic world-building. You'll also get your first taste of some spooky lore, because what's a story without mysterious ancient legends?

Oh, and quick fun fact: DAEMON is not just edgy branding. It actually stands for Demonic Arts, Evocation, Manipulation, Occultism & Nobility. Basically, it's the VIP class schedule for magical elites. Think potions, combat, and other fun ways to get expelled with style.

Anyway, this is the last chapter for tonight. I'll post more tomorrow if I don't get distracted by snacks or existential dread.

As always, feedback is welcome — praise, criticism, dad jokes, whatever. Also, if you've got peerage member suggestions (High School DxD universe only, no crossover madness), drop them in. This is my first story, so I'm keeping things chill and simple for now. Although, knowing me, that could change by next week.

 

[abel targayen]

The forest whispered as they entered it, an oppressive murmur that seemed to come from every gnarled root, every warped tree, and every direction but forward.


Riser walked ahead, his crimson cloak billowing slightly despite the stagnant air. The forest was a leyline wildland, grown atop rivers of demonic energy, untamed, unstable, and steeped in malevolence.


It hated them. He could feel it.


"It's like it's mocking us," Riser murmured, brushing his fingers over a tree whose bark twitched slightly in response. "Mocking us for trespassing… or daring to believe we're in control."


Yubellana, her violet hair glowing faintly in the gloom, stayed close at his side. Her eyes flicked nervously through the trees.


"Are you sure we shouldn't go to your uncle's camp first?" she asked softly.


He shook his head. "No. There's something here. A ripple. A warping in the air. I feel… devouring intent. Something's wrong."


They pressed deeper into the forest, past stone roots shaped like twisted skulls and shadowy thickets that seemed to shift behind their backs. Riser's senses, far sharper than any middle-class devil should possess, prickled as faint pulses of wild demonic energy flickered at the edge of his awareness.


Hours passed in the warped dusk. And then, he stopped.


Ahead, in a clearing ringed by black thorns and spiraling ley-crystals, a battle raged.


A towering minotaur with six muscular arms, three horned heads, and eyes that danced with malice fought a group of eleven devils. Their clothes bore noble sigils, their auras flickering with desperation.


Among them, one figure stood out.


A blonde-haired woman in elegant combat attire, commanding the team with sharp, tired gestures. Her golden aura flickered with the signature flame of the Phenex bloodline.


"Seorin," Riser whispered. "Uncle Ryzephar's daughter."


She was older than him by a decade, but she moved like a woman born to fire.


Still, she was cornered. And when the minotaur feinted left and lunged right, its wicked axe sweeping toward her neck, Riser moved.


He blurred forward, suppressing his energy as only he could, the way he'd been training since his awakening.


His strike landed cleanly at the base of the creature's thick neck. Not fatal. Not even near it.


But enough to shift the monster's focus.


The minotaur staggered slightly, confused.


And then it turned its many heads and roared.


Riser met its eyes and grinned.


"Boo."


The creature lunged, and Riser danced backward. He wasn't foolish. He couldn't win head-on. But he wasn't here to win.


He was here to stall.


The minotaur's attacks were brutal, raw power fueled by high-class rage. Each strike shook the ground, cracked trees, and split the earth. Riser dodged as best he could, slipping through patterns of destruction like a flickering flame.


He remembered every lesson, every painful sparring match with his older brother, every cruel correction from his tutor.


"Stay alive."


Still, the power difference was staggering.


A punch landed. He blocked it, but was sent flying, crashing through tree after tree. When he stopped tumbling, he was barely conscious and armless.


His limbs were already regrowing.


The pain was suffocating.


And yet, he laughed.


Because the plan was working.


The minotaur loomed over him, lifting him by the neck with two grotesque hands. Its other arms flexed, preparing to rip him apart.


But Riser smiled and looked past the beast.


"You've already lost," he whispered.


The minotaur turned


just in time to see Yubellana, her entire body glowing like a star about to go supernova.


And then:


BOOM.


The forest exploded in light and fire.


A crater the size of a stadium was carved into the earth. Trees vaporized. Shadows screamed. The air itself rippled with power.


When the smoke cleared, the battlefield was a scar of ash and glass.


From the molten dirt, two figures rose.


Riser, burnt, limbless, half his face gone, intestines dangling from his ruined torso, stood grinning, fire flickering in his one remaining eye.


The minotaur, far more intact, still reeled, burnt, broken, its hide split and steaming.


The explosion had worked. Not because it killed, but because it wounded.


And now, the others moved.


Seorin and her team surged forward with everything they had. Magical formations flared, swords struck, lightning crackled. The minotaur roared and lashed out, injuring several, but it was too late.


The collective assault brought it down.


A brutal, final strike from Seorin's flaming blade cut through its chest and it collapsed in a heap of blood and dust.


It was over.


Seorin was the first to run toward him, kneeling beside his now-regenerated form.


"You reckless idiot," she hissed. "What the hell were you thinking?!"


Riser smirked through his ruined clothes and bloody face. "I thought I'd drop in and say hi. Surprise family visit."


She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the relief. "Are you… okay?"


"I'm always okay," he said, rising. "Takes more than a high-class beast to ruin this hair."


He turned, eyes scanning for Yubellana.


She was kneeling on the ground, exhausted, barely conscious.


He crossed the scorched battlefield and gently picked her up in a princess carry.


She blinked, cheeks flushing bright red. "M-my Lord—"


"You earned it," he said softly. "You burned half the forest for me. I should carry you through a city square."


Seorin was already barking orders to her team, tending to the wounded, checking wards.


"Before more things crawl out," she said sharply. "We need to move. Now."


Riser nodded. The chaotic energy in the air made teleportation impossible. They'd have to move on foot.


As they trudged through the ashen forest, several devils came to thank him.


"A noble risking himself like that," one whispered. "I've never seen it."


"He didn't even hesitate," said another.


Riser didn't bask. He simply nodded.


Seorin walked beside him as they moved toward her father's camp. She glanced sideways.


"We were pulled into this forest," she explained. "Tricked. Enchanted. The minotaur or someone else wanted us dead."


"We lost twelve in the first ambush."


Riser said nothing. He offered no comfort. Death was part of this world.


"We make for the main camp," he said quietly. "Before this cursed land decides to feed again."


And so they marched, past ruined trees, the burnt corpse of a monster, and deeper into the infernal unknown.


Riser Phenex, once a joke of a noble, now a man with fire in his blood and a plan in his eyes.


This was only the beginning.

---------------------------------------

The moon was high and sickly red when Riser finally arrived at the stronghold of his uncle, Ryzephar Phenex. The structure loomed out of the leyline-shadowed hills like a grim crown of stone and obsidian, glowing slightly with warding sigils etched deep into every wall, tower, and parapet.


This was not a palace.


It was a fortress.


A place meant not for comfort, but for survival.


Riser landed lightly at the gates, still carrying Yubellana in his arms, her form slack with exhaustion. Seorin had guided the rest of her wounded subordinates ahead, and now they were being whisked away to the medical halls by the castle's healers and alchemical staff.


As Riser approached the inner courtyard, his uncle was already waiting.


Tall, narrow-eyed, and wrapped in a cloak of gray fire, Ryzephar Phenex was every inch a noble of Ars Goetia, his gaze polite but sharp, his stance like a drawn sword.


"Riser," he greeted, nodding once. "I bid you welcome to our fortress."


Riser inclined his head respectfully. "Uncle."


"I've had quarters prepared for you and your Queen. You should rest tonight. We'll debrief tomorrow morning."


"I appreciate the hospitality."


A silent gesture, and a steward in black and silver livery led Riser down a corridor of volcanic stone and reinforced arches. The air here was cooler than in the southern territories, tainted by the leyline energies, less gentle than the luxury of the main Phenex estate.


Yubellana stirred faintly as he laid her in the bed of their chamber. Riser knelt beside her, pulled a small crystalline vial from his jacket, and uncorked it with care. A single drop of a Phenex tear glowed with golden-white warmth, liquid life itself.


The moment it touched her lips, color returned to her cheeks.


Riser watched her sleep for a moment, brushing a stray strand of purple hair from her brow.


"You did well," he murmured.


Then he retired to his own room. His body ached, but the pain was useful. It reminded him he was still far too weak.


As he lay down on the stiff military bedding, he closed his eyes and mentally replayed the entire battle. Every mistake. Every advantage he'd failed to exploit.


He should have angled left instead of right on that fifth feint. Should have taken the tree line instead of the crater ridge. And Yubellana's explosion, too delayed, nearly too late.


It wasn't enough.


He needed more training. More tools. More control.


Sleep took him soon after.

---

Riser awoke with the second dawn. The red skies above the northern leyline territory shimmered faintly with demonic radiation.


A servant greeted him promptly, offering a platter of bloodfruit preserves, abyss bread, and eggs cooked over soulfire, a rich, nutritious devil breakfast.


As he ate, he was informed of the debriefing in one hour.


He nodded and dismissed the servant.


Afterward, he checked in on Yubellana. She was still fast asleep, her breathing even, her demonic signature stable.


Good. She needed the rest.


Riser left quietly and began to explore the stronghold. Its halls were reinforced with obsidian runes and alloyed with anti-magical latticework, no decorative excess like the Phenex estate. This place wasn't meant to impress, but to endure.


It had seen attacks. He could feel it in the walls.


Eventually, the meeting bell chimed. Riser made his way to the meeting chamber.


Seven captains had already assembled, seated at a long, circular table of black stone. Their house crests shimmered in subtle color, House Saeros, House Wystel, and others lesser but loyal to House Phenex.


All talk ceased as Riser entered.


His uncle gestured to the seat at his right. "Nephew. Please."


Riser sat with practiced elegance, clasping his hands before him.


Ryzephar rose.


"For the benefit of Lord Riser, who is newly arrived, I will summarize our position," he began, voice calm and sharp like a winter blade. "We are facing what we've designated as a Wolf Tide."


He tapped a rune projection. Glowing red sigils shimmered into a forest outline, dotted with icons of demonic beasts.


"Demonic wolves are not rare. They come in various strains, typically low to mid-class. Dangerous in numbers but predictable."


He turned toward Riser.


"However, these beasts strategize. They attack with feints. They retreat when overextended. They bait and break formations."


A pause. The captains nodded grimly.


"This suggests they are not acting alone. Something or someone is guiding them. And that is the root of our problem."


He flicked his fingers, and a new projection bloomed, mountains, ruined temples, leyline fractures.


"We believe their 'shepherd' may be hiding in the far northeast ridge. Our plan is as follows."


He outlined a new unit: 30 devils.

• 14 Peak middle-class
• 12 Low middle-class
• 3 Low High-class
• 1 Peak High-class

Elite, mobile, and experienced.


They would be the forward team. Their goal: track the intelligence directing the wolves, uncover its nature, and, if possible, eliminate it.


The captains began proposing names. Volunteers. Trusted agents.


Riser listened, silent. Calculating.


And then, when the list was nearly complete, he raised a hand.


"I volunteer," he said calmly.


The room quieted. A few glances flickered between surprise and concern.


Ryzephar's brows lifted. "Riser, this isn't a controlled exercise. It is very dangerous. You would be under live threat."


"I know."


One of the captains, a gray-haired noble from House Saeros, cleared his throat. "My Lord, with all due respect, this is no place for young heirs. There's no dishonor in allowing others to take this burden."


"I appreciate your concern," Riser replied. "But I am not porcelain. And if I wish to walk among the mighty, I must first crawl through the dirt."


He met his uncle's gaze evenly.


"I will go."


A long pause. Ryzephar studied him, eyes narrowing slightly.


"So be it," he finally said. "You are Phenex. And you walk your own fire."


The rest of the plan proceeded with fewer objections, though tension still hung thick in the air. Once all names were confirmed and strategy agreed upon, the meeting was adjourned.


The captains returned to their posts or their preparation.


Riser remained.


His uncle, as expected, did not move.


Seorin stayed as well, arms folded, her expression half-proud, half-worried.


Ryzephar stepped closer.


"You're serious about this."


"I am."


"You could die."


"I know."


Seorin interjected quietly. "You don't have to prove anything, Riser."


He glanced at her. "I'm not trying to. I just… refuse to be a man who lets his fate be decided by others."


Ryzephar nodded, slowly. "Then I won't stop you. But if something goes wrong, I'll be the one to inform your mother."


"I pity you for that," Riser said, half-grinning.


His uncle smirked. "As do I."


Ryzephar paused again.


"You saved Seorin's life. You have my gratitude, and my debt."


"You don't owe me," Riser said smoothly. "We're family. Besides, she handled herself well. I merely made an opening."


That earned him a snort from Seorin. "You were missing half your body by the end of it."


"And yet, still devastatingly handsome."


Ryzephar chuckled softly. "Go prepare. You leave at sundown."


Riser bowed his head.


"Yes, Uncle."

And with that, he left to ready his weapons, reinforce his wards, and walk willingly into the wild unknown.


Author's Note:
Just like I promised (and shockingly didn't forget), here's the new chapter! This officially kicks off the first arc. Yes, I have a plan. Yes, there's an antagonist. Yes, power-ups are coming. Basically, I've done the writer equivalent of meal-prepping for chaos.

I'd love to hear what you think. Praise, criticism, roast-level insults, dramatic poetry about my plot holes—whatever you've got, toss it my way. Any tips on how to improve my writing are also very welcome. Help me level up before I start giving side characters tragic backstories for no reason.

 

[abel targayen]

Riser sat alone in the dim chamber, the only light coming from a single soulflame hovering above his desk.


His thoughts were not idle.


They were of power.


Not for vanity, not for prestige, though those were inevitable, but because he had to. Because in this world, power was the only absolute. And without it, he would always be just a pawn in someone else's story.


That was the tragedy of the old Riser Phenex.


But not him.


It had been just over a month since he had awoken in this body, reborn under gilded feathers and ancient Castles. Since then, he had been relentless, an obsessive student of the devil arts.


The pure-blood devils of the Underworld believed demonic power came naturally. That with lineage and waiting, one could bloom like fire.


But they lacked ambition. They relied on talent, on privilege.


Riser had no such illusions. And so, he turned to something else, to the power system in a show he watched back in his first life—Nen.


He thought of it as he closed his eyes, letting his demonic power still, his breath shallow. Zetsu: the shutting of his aura nodes, the absolute nullification of presence.


Devils never used this. They despised the very concept of vulnerability. But that was why they lacked true control.


Riser could now do it in his sleep.


He trained daily, following the concepts of Ten to reinforce his form, Ren to increase output, In to conceal. He practiced Gyo to hyper-focus his senses on a single point. And En, a personal favorite—his domain of perception, reaching meters out like a spider's web. He layered all these over the devil system's inherent malleability and imagination-fueled application.


That wasn't all.


He had gone further.


Through ritual and experimentation, Riser had created potions—blends of infernal chemistry, law-bound contracts, and the structured logic of the spiritual. The original Riser was decently talented, and he inherited all of his knowledge and took it further.


Which culminated in his first inventions: potions of power. Each potion, once ingested, rewrote a part of his very essence. His soul adapted, contorted, evolved.


The first was Hunter.


The moment I drank the Hunter potion, it was like someone cracked open a vault in my head. Suddenly, I just knew how to survive, how to move, how to hunt, how to live in the wild like I'd been doing it since birth.
Plants I'd never seen before, I could name them. I knew which ones would stop bleeding, which ones would kill, and which ones would keep me standing when my body wanted to drop. Animal organs? I knew what to keep, what to burn, and what to eat raw if it came to it.
Traps? Oh, that came too. I could walk through a forest and my eyes would just highlight the best spots. Slopes, branches, pressure points, like the terrain itself whispered to me where the trap should go.

I could rig a tripwire that would take out a demonic boar or blow a path to pieces if I needed. Yeah, explosives. Don't ask me how, but I suddenly knew the blast radius of a homemade grenade, the delay of a fuse, the best way to turn a pile of rocks into a minefield. It didn't stop there. I could feel danger spots, unstable cliffs, hidden sinkholes, quicksand. Nature's own traps, just waiting to be used. And I remembered places, like my mind took snapshots of every tree, every bend, every hiding spot. I didn't have to think, I just knew where to lead someone to make sure they wouldn't come out again.
Then my body changed. My strength surged, solid, feral. Like a bear's raw power mixed with a cat's precision. I could punch hard enough to crack the air and leap like I had springs for bones. My body just obeyed, tight control, fast reactions, quick healing. A cut closed faster. Pain dulled. I didn't feel stronger. I was stronger.
And the senses? That's the freakiest part. I don't even need to try most of the time. But when I focus, I can smell the difference between two people by the sweat on their shirts. I can see the faintest scuff on the ground and know who passed by and how long ago. I can hear a whisper across a field and tell if the speaker is limping, tired, or lying. Even footsteps tell me weight, stride, confidence.
But unless I want it, it stays quiet. Background hum. No overload. Just waiting.


The second was Provoker—a social weapon.


After I awakened the power of Provocation, something in me changed. I could read people better, spot the little cracks in their pride or patience. Just by watching and listening, I knew what to say or do to get under their skin. When I activate it, it's not just words. It's calculated humiliation, sharpened like a blade. My insults don't just sting, they dig deep and make people reckless. Even beasts and mindless monsters feel it. I don't even have to speak—sometimes just being near me is enough to make them charge.
It's not always fancy. Even a word like "ugly" can hit the right nerve if I say it right. And once they're mad, they're easy to bait, easy to lead—straight into a trap.


The third was Conspirer.


This one had nearly broken him.


After taking the Conspirer potion, my mind just... sharpened. Thoughts came faster, clearer. I could see connections, spot flaws in logic, and spin convincing lies on the fly.
With a few words, I can stir desire or doubt in someone's heart—make them chase an idea that wasn't theirs to begin with. That's Incitement.
But the real weapon? Misdirection. Confusion. Deception. I lead people to their own downfall without ever touching them. That's the art of conspiracy.


And last… Reaper.


As a Reaper, I see weaknesses—no matter where they hide. Flesh, stone, storms, even supernatural barriers. If it has a flaw, I can find it. And when I strike, I don't just hit hard. I hit where it hurts most.
That's Cull. Every blow is aimed at a vital point, and if I land enough, even an opponent mightier than I will fall.


He was not yet at his peak.


But the foundation had been laid.


When others see me, they see a young lord playing at war, he thought.


Let them.


He smirked to himself, eyes glowing faintly with internal power. The Hunter senses told him someone was coming.


Three... two...


A knock.


He didn't need to check. He already knew.


"Enter," he called lazily.


The door opened to reveal Seorin, blonde, composed, clad now in a knight's formal gown of the Phenex house crest. She looked regal. Yet the slight hesitation in her step betrayed something softer beneath.


"I came to thank you," she said. "And… say goodbye."


"Already trying to get rid of me?" Riser asked with a raised brow. "And here I was, preparing an emotional farewell with a sonnet and tragic violin."


She laughed softly, stepping closer.


"You saved me. I haven't forgotten."


"I told you. You handled yourself well. I merely stepped in before your charming head rolled off."


She rolled her eyes, but there was color in her cheeks.


"I still owe you."


"You could name your firstborn after me," Riser offered. "Or build a statue."


"Tempting," she murmured. Then, her tone changed, quieter. "But I think I'll thank you properly… now."


She stepped closer.


The mood shifted.


Riser tilted his head slightly as she reached for his jacket, eyes glinting with something between flirtation and promise. He caught her hand gently but firmly, just before things could go further.


For a moment, they stood in silence, heat in the air.


But Riser, ever the conspirer, simply smiled.


"You're beautiful when you blush," he said, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.


"Shut up," she whispered, redder than before.


But she didn't pull away.


Not yet.


-----------------------------------------------

Thirty devils stood at the forest's edge. The expedition had begun.


Leading them were the high-class devils:
• Zarkaura Saeros, Rank 6 and the overall commander, stoic and composed, with a stare like sharpened obsidian. And what his intuition told him to be wary of.
• Abygral of House Mengis, Rank 5, known for his battlefield valor.
• Tenebrael Silase, Rank 5, a silent strategist with unsettling calm.
• Mizraketh of House Hizbi, Rank 5, the strongest in raw strength among them.


Riser Phenex was the outlier, young, only still middle-class in power, yet unshakably present among the seasoned warriors. His face betrayed no fear.

---

A Week Later


They had gone deep into the Leyen Mountains, following no maps. There were none accurate for this region. At first, they found nothing. Then the signs began.

A rotting elk, skin pale and translucent, as if the color had been drained like juice from a fruit. Corpses of devils, some crucified upside down, others bent into grotesque sculptures that defied biology. An entire platoon's gear scattered as if torn from their wearers mid-scream, but no bodies.


Riser said little. He merely walked beside Zarkaura, watching, listening, calculating.


They followed the trail of horror for nearly half a day when the first attack came.


A pack of demonic wolves—over a hundred strong. They descended from the cliffs and treetops like a storm of teeth and muscle.
The devils reacted immediately, decades of training snapping into place. Formations were called. Magic was cast. Blood painted the forest floor.


But the wolves didn't stop. Another wave came the next night. Then another.


A grim pattern emerged: they were being herded, guided. Every time they made camp, even with careful precautions and magical concealment, the wolves found them.


By the fifth night, they were exhausted. At their latest makeshift camp, the captains met in hushed tones around the flickering campfire.


"Something's wrong," said Abygral, his armor streaked with dried blood.
"They're coordinating. They don't behave like wild beasts."
"we are being guided," said Zarkaura. "Or worse, led."


They formed a rotation. Zarkaura would take the first watch. Riser noticed how his eyes never left the dark horizon.

---

Riser's Thoughts


He remained quiet, but his mind churned.


This isn't a hunt.
It's a culling.
We are the prey.


The signs were too perfect. Tracks covered. Magical cloaking. Stealth practiced down to the breath, and still, the wolves came.


Someone is feeding them our locations.


But he kept his suspicions to himself.


If there's a traitor, the wolves are the least of our problems.

---

The Final Ambush


On the tenth day, Zarkaura's shout shattered the morning air.


"Form up! We are surrounded!"


They had been boxed in. A valley of dead trees. Jagged cliffs on three sides. Too late to reposition.


Hundreds of wolves emerged from the shadows. Their eyes glowed red with unnatural intelligence. Riser counted five alpha wolves, huge, pitch-black beasts wreathed in shadowflame. High-class in power.


Zarkaura barked orders. "Form the pentacle! Don't break the line!"


The devils obeyed.


The battle was hell itself.


Wolves attacked with maddening speed. Devils countered with flame, blade, and family magic. The formation held for a time.


Abygral Mengis roared, unleashing a burst of lightning that incinerated a dozen wolves.


They rallied.


Until Tenebrael Silase broke rank.


"It's hopeless! We're dead if we stay!" he shouted, eyes wild with fear. He vanished into the forest, unlikely to survive.


That was the crack the wolves needed.


One of the alphas leapt through the gap, straight for Abygral. The noble devil screamed once before the beast's jaws closed over his chest, crushing him like glass.


Then the panic began.


The formation broke. Screams. Blood. Chaos.


Idiots, thought Riser coldly. They've turned this into a massacre.


He dashed north, trailing Mizraketh. If anyone could survive, it was a Rank 5 captain. He suppressed his demonic energy to nothing, completely hidden.


After what felt like hours, he found Mizraketh—but he was not alone.

---

The Real Enemy


Six tall figures emerged from the trees.


They were shadows made flesh, burning with internal fire. Humanoid only in outline. Gaunt and shifting. Their forms bent reality around them.


Shadow Warlocks.


Demonic entities of fire and shadow. Normally solitary. But in rare cases, they formed groups, hive minds, amplifying their power.


Six of them meant near-invincibility.


Mizraketh flared his aura in defiance. "Come, then!"


The Shadow Warlocks didn't answer. They moved as one.


Whips of shadowfire lashed from their arms. Mizraketh screamed. His armor melted. His limbs turned black with rot.


It was not a battle. It was an execution.


Riser crouched, unmoving, suppressing his every breath. For the first time since his reincarnation, he felt true fear.


Then pain. Something slammed into his neck.


His vision went dark.


Author's note:
Well, that happened.
Hope the battle was at least mildly satisfying. I didn't want to spend ten paragraphs explaining how one character unleashed their special sparkle beam while the other activated their ultra-mega-final-form. Just quick chaos, a few explosions, and boom—we're back to the plot. Otherwise the pacing would slow down so hard it might start growing moss.

So, Riser has officially blacked out. Who could've possibly done it? He suspects a traitor. Is he right? Is he just paranoid with heatstroke? Who knows. But if there is a traitor… who is it? Dun dun duuun.

Anyway, I'd love any feedback. Praise, criticism, savage burns, or conspiracy theories about the plot. Let me know what you think, how I can improve, or if I accidentally broke grammar beyond repair. I'd really appreciate it!

 

[abel targayen]

Pain.

It was the first thing Riser felt. A searing, gnawing ache in every part of his body, as if even his bones protested their continued existence. A mocking voice followed.

"Good morning, princess."

The voice was familiar. Cruel. Self-satisfied. Riser's vision returned in swirls of red and darkness, and his eyes met the smirking face of Zarkaura Saeros.

"You're awake. Good. We've got a long walk ahead."

Riser tried to move, only to find his limbs limp—dead weight. His body did not respond, as though something in him had been caged.

"A seal," Zarkaura said, almost casually, as if reading Riser's thoughts. "Don't worry. You're too valuable to harm. For now."

Riser didn't show the panic crawling up his throat. Instead, he met Zarkaura's gaze and forced a sardonic grin.

"I didn't think you'd be the traitor, Lord Saeros. Too predictable, really."

Zarkaura chuckled. "Observant. But too slow. Now get up."

He released the seal with a snap of his fingers, and control returned to Riser's limbs like cold water rushing through empty pipes. Weakly, he stood. No point running, he wouldn't get far. Zarkaura was peak high-class, and Riser, for all his training, wasn't ready to match that yet.

Not yet.

They began ascending a narrow mountain path. Jagged rocks jutted from the sides like teeth, and the wind howled through the peaks like a lament. The sun was gone—hidden behind bruised clouds. Hell's atmosphere was worse than bleak: it was hateful.

"What do you want with me?" Riser asked.

Zarkaura smirked. "Me? Nothing. But… an old friend of mine is eager to meet you."

He said it like the punchline to an inside joke. Riser felt a chill crawl down his spine. Then, unexpectedly:

"Have you ever heard of the tale of Kelzior the cruel?"

"No."

Zarkaura's voice turned reverent. "Then you are more ignorant than I thought. That name should echo in the bones of every living devil. Kelzior the Cruel. Kelzior the Great. Founder of our House. My blood. My grandfather."

Zarkaura's eyes gleamed, and his voice dropped to a reverent hush, like a priest before a sacrificial altar. "He was born low, vermin to the noble houses. No bloodline, no wealth, no patron. But within him burned a will not of this world. Where others bent, he endured. Where others faltered, he slaughtered. During the Great War, he rose—through grit, through slaughter, through brilliance. Became High-Class by merit alone. And still, it wasn't enough. Because Kelzior didn't just want power. He bore the pride of the First Light, the pride of Lucifer himself. And just like his creator, he too wanted to overtake his creator. He sought transcendence. To be a Suzerian of creation."
Riser blinked once. Slowly. Great. I've been kidnapped by a mad fanatic with a martyr complex.

He glanced at the narrow passage they were walking through. Still bound. Still watched. Escape seemed unlikely. But maybe… maybe if he kept this zealot talking, something might slip. A plan. A weakness.

"And what happened to him then?" Riser asked, tone feigning curiosity.
"Surely someone so 'great' would be famous. Yet I've never heard his name whispered outside this dusty little bloodline."

Zarkaura stiffened, nostrils flaring but he didn't lash out. He wanted to tell the tale.

"The fools of history remember only victors. And Kelzior did not fall in battle—he was betrayed by time. During the civil war between the Old Faction and the New Satans, he chose neither. He instead declared himself Prince of Hell. Sovereign of devils. The One Above All. And for his vision, he was besieged by the traitor Sirzechs Gremory."

Riser's brow arched. "Not Sirzechs Lucifer?"

Zarkaura hissed.

"He is no true successor of Lucifer. He is a spineless coward who listens to the voices of the weak and the words of mortals. A peace-broker. A politician."

He spat the word like venom. "Sirzechs Gremory may be powerful, but he is no devil. He abandoned what we are."

Riser kept walking in silence for a moment, watching the torchlight flicker across Zarkaura's face—twisted with disgust and pride.

No true devil, he thought with a trace of amusement. How convenient. It never matters what they say when they lose. Only when they win.

Zarkaura could foam and rave about "true devils" all day. But Riser knew better.

Power defines truth in the underworld. And Sirzechs? Sirzechs Lucifer is monstrously powerful. The strongest devil that has ever lived. Maybe the strongest that ever will.

Zarkaura might have his delusions. But Riser wasn't in the business of ignoring reality.

He was in the business of surviving it. Riser's eyes narrowed.

"Besieged," he repeated silently. Not defeated. Not slain.

Zarkaura spoke with too much certainty. Too much present tense. It wasn't how one talked about a long-dead ancestor. It was how one spoke of a sleeping god—or a weapon still waiting to be drawn.

The air seemed colder now.

Riser kept his tone casual.

"You keep mentioning your grandfather like he's still alive."

Zarkaura grinned, teeth like daggers. "Who said he isn't?"

They climbed in silence until they reached a flat cliff face. Zarkaura performed several arcane gestures. The rock shimmered, then cracked open with a groan like a dying beast. A circular passage revealed itself, carved into the mountain like a wound.

"After you."

Riser entered.

What greeted him was not a hall, but a nightmare.

The Halls of Rebirth.

Despite the name, there was no life here. Only death, rot, and madness. The air was damp, stinking of blood and decay. The walls were lined with ancient, crumbling murals—grotesque images that seemed painted with human fat and blood.

One showed a devil wearing a coat stitched from baby faces, grinning with jagged teeth.

Another depicted a woman stretched on a rack made of children's limbs, her eyes gouged out and sewn into a cloak.

Yet another: shoes made of scalped human heads, their mouths frozen mid-scream.

The centerpiece of the chamber was a black river—thick, viscous, and crawling with things that should not exist. Rats the size of cats floated belly-up beside bloated snakes and eyeless, twisted things that might once have been infants.

"Welcome to the Halls of Rebirth," Zarkaura announced with pride, arms spread wide.

Riser stared in revulsion.

"You call this the hall of rebirth?"

"The weak see decay. The strong see potential. Kelzior saw beyond the veil. These halls are his legacy. His blood, his madness, his genius."

Riser stepped cautiously closer to the river. It whispered. He wasn't sure with what mouth, but it whispered. Words in a tongue that made his skin crawl.

"So what? You're going to throw me into this thing? Use me in some ritual to ascend?"

"Close." Zarkaura stepped beside him. "You're not the offering. You're the key. Kelzior left behind rituals. One of them requires something rare: a devil with both bloodline and potential. You, dear Riser Phenex, are the final piece. I was going to use your uncle but you arrived suddenly and were perfect as well as much easier."

Riser closed his eyes. "You're insane."

"No Riser," Zarkaura said calmly, almost lovingly. " I'm simply ahead of schedule."

He gestured toward a stone altar etched with runes older than most languages. Behind it loomed a statue, cracked and disfigured—a horned, eyeless devil with seven mouths, each one eternally screaming.

Zarkaura continued: "Sirzechs' ideology is poison. Equality? Mercy? The weak have deceived him. They would say the strong should nurture the gentle. These are the noble lies of Heaven. Devils were never meant to be kind. That is not our nature. The strong should rule, and the weak should burn."

"You really think this will bring down Lucifer himself?"

Zarkaura's eyes sparkled with manic fire. "I don't need to bring him down. I just need to show the world that truth is not dictated by votes or titles… but power."

Riser clenched his jaw. "And what if I don't cooperate?"

Zarkaura grinned like a wolf. "Then we go to Plan B. But don't worry. You'll cooperate. Because Kelzior… is waiting. And once you see him…"

The air grew heavier. The shadows shifted. Something was watching.

"…you'll understand."


Author's Note: Another chapter, yes again. It's a bit short, but I just wanted to toss it out into the world before my brain started rewriting the whole thing at 2 a.m. out of spite.
This one's mostly Zarkura glazing his ancestor like he's applying BBQ sauce, with a sprinkle of lore on top. Also, fair warning—take everything Zarkura says with a grain of salt. Or maybe a whole salt mine. The guy's basically a walking conspiracy forum in fancy robes. Total fanatic. Entertaining? Absolutely. Reliable narrator? Not even slightly.

Anyway, I'd love any feedback. Praise, criticism, savage burns, or conspiracy theories about the plot. Let me know what you think, how I can improve, or if I accidentally broke grammar beyond repair. I'd really appreciate it!

 

[abel targayen]

"Stop," said a voice, mellifluous yet cold, its echoes weaving through every crack in the cavern's stone ribs. It was as if the shadows themselves had spoken.


"Your wish is my command, Sire," Zarkaura murmured, bowing low. He began unfastening the battered pieces of his armor, letting iron plates fall with dull clangs onto the wet rock until his torso was bare. Pale flesh shone with old scars and inked sigils that seemed to writhe when touched by torchlight.


He lifted his arms and began to chant in a language no mortal throat should recall. The sound coiled through the cavern, heavy and rotten, stirring something unspeakable in the stale air. Then it came, horror forced into flesh.


From Zarkaura's shoulders the skin split. Slow and deliberate, the seams tore wider, birthing shapes that forced themselves out like blasphemous flowers blooming. Riser felt bile rise in his throat at the sight.


On Zarkaura's right shoulder emerged a head, if it could even be called that. It was an obscene parody of flesh, a face pocked with burrowing insects that feasted on decaying eyes, mandibles clicking as they crawled from its ragged mouth. It quivered in perpetual agony, a suffering given shape and voice.


On the left, by contrast, bloomed a visage of near-divinity. Its flawless features seemed carved from marble and haloed by a faint, pearly glow. Yet its eyes, deep crimson, gleamed with such pitiless cruelty that it made the monstrous one seem almost honest by comparison.


When all three faces turned toward him, Zarkaura's own head bowed beneath them, Riser felt an icy terror settle in his marrow. The beautiful one smiled first, a perfect mouth curving into something inhuman.


"Hello there, Riser Phenex," it purred. Its voice was music, angelic but slick with poison. "A perfect vessel. Don't bother screaming too long. It dilutes the soul."


The ruined face on the right shoulder began to babble, a string of broken, ancient syllables that made Riser's ears throb and bleed. He gritted his teeth and fought the urge to collapse.


"So... Kelzior, I presume?" Riser rasped, mustering a bravery he did not feel. His back pressed against cold stone as he searched for an exit that did not exist. "What is this? What do you want? Surely we can... reach an understanding. Preferably one where I walk away alive?"


Kelzior laughed through the perfect mouth, a sound too lovely to belong in this pit. It dripped mockery and rot. "Understanding? Delightful creature. No, no. This ritual is far older than you. Older than this world's memory."


He lifted his borrowed arms and began another chant. Sharp syllables cracked the air like lightning. From a leather satchel, he scattered pieces into the foul river that trickled through the cavern: yellowed bones, hearts slick and red as fresh slaughter. The water hissed as flesh dissolved into steam and stink.


Kelzior traced a circle into the black stone with his nails. Light bled from it, sickly, greenish. The cavern trembled. From the circle, like a perversion of birth, they came: 666 women clutching swaddled infants to breasts swollen with milk and something worse. Their smiles were too wide, eyes glassy with unnatural bliss.


"Do it," Kelzior commanded.


One by one, the mothers stepped forward, cooing lullabies as they hurled their babies into the river of death. The water turned crimson, the air thick with burnt copper and the thin, awful wails of lives snuffed out before they could draw breath. The beautiful head laughed, a bright, lilting giggle that soured the stone. The monstrous head only gnashed and gibbered its filth.


Riser's expression froze into a mask of stone. He would not give Kelzior the pleasure of his horror.


"This ritual, my dear," Kelzior crooned, his voice wrapping around the nightmare, "is for my rebirth. You see, my old vessel decayed long ago. But you... you are perfect. A shell made for my soul, as if tailor-crafted by fate itself. A vessel worthy of the name Kelzior."


"Fuck," Riser whispered. He had only cursed twice since his rebirth. This time it felt earned.


Kelzior's three heads beamed. "These rites will make your flesh better. Purified. More potent. The perfect throne for my ascension."


In a blink, the creature was before him. An iron grip closed around Riser's throat and lifted him like a rag doll. He struggled, flame flickering at his fingertips, but it was like wrestling stone. Kelzior hurled him into the blood river.


Pain. Agony like oil on fire. And then, blackness.

---

When he opened his eyes, he stood in a place that should have belonged to a fable, if fables were written by madmen.


A vast tree rose above him, its leaves a thousand shades of blood. Its trunk was knotted with faces, each locked in an eternal scream. All around, the landscape pulsed with shapes that wept and whispered. The air was thick with the salt-bitter taste of suffering souls.


"Where the hell am I?" Riser rasped.


Kelzior's beautiful voice coiled through the branches. "Your mindscape. The river carries body and soul to the threshold."


"I suppose this is where I'm meant to fight you for my body, then," Riser said, his voice dry as old bone. He pretended calm, anything to keep the terror at bay.


"Correct," Kelzior sang. The branches above rustled with unseen laughter. "Whoever commands this realm commands the body of Riser Phenex."


Riser turned in slow circles, eyes drawn to the countless souls orbiting the tree like moths around a corpse-flame. The more he stared, the more the landscape trembled beneath his will. It felt like clay waiting to be molded. There was power here, yet a price too.


"Careful," Kelzior's voice warned, smooth as silk over a blade. "Stare too long at the dead and you will forget yourself. You will become just another soul screaming in the bark."


"Why would you care?" Riser shot back and tore his gaze free. The spell snapped like rotten string.


Kelzior's laugh drifted through the bleeding canopy. "Because I crave a challenge, little bird. And I would hate for you to break too soon."

--------------------------------

Riser stood beneath the blood-red canopy, eyes half-lidded as crimson leaves drifted down like flakes of dying flesh. The screaming faces knotted in the bark seemed to breathe in time with his heartbeat. The air was thick with the weight of other minds, their suffering made almost musical in this place that was not a place.

He drew a slow breath, steadying the echo of agony that pressed against his thoughts.
Devils could use telepathy—it wasn't a rare talent but something they were born with and trained to master. It could be divided into two parts.

The first was called Sorvian. This was telepathy used to attack. A devil could reach into another person's mind, read memories, change emotions, or plant suggestions that felt like the target's own thoughts. It was how devils erased memories, lied without speaking, and broke even the strongest leaders without laying a hand on them.

The second was called Shadeward. This was telepathy used to defend. It protected the mind from being read or influenced. A strong Shadeward user could hide their true thoughts and feelings completely, locking their mind like a fortress no one could enter.

When devils fought using telepathy, it wasn't loud or flashy. It was quiet, heavy, and intense, like two invisible forces pressing against each other, trying to break through or hold the line

Riser's eyes narrowed. This ritual reeked of both, a battlefield of minds, not steel and flame. It is not quite Sorvian nor quite Shadeward, he thought. But the principle is the same.

He stood in the red-glowing mindscape beneath the tree with bleeding leaves, his breath shallow, his soul bared. His eyes tracked the monstrosity across from him—Kelzior, no longer hidden in shadow or in another's body, but revealed in mocking majesty.

He looked like Riser—only taller, broader, more perfect. His face was symmetrical, inhumanly so. A crown of bone adorned his head. His smile was sharp enough to split sanity.

"That thing is your core. Your anchor. Your soul in symbol. And look how it cracks already. Just like you shall."

Kelzior's grin widened, a sliver of bone and malice. "Let me tell you what is happening, so you know exactly how thoroughly you shall lose. Listen well, for my mercy is to teach you what breaks you."

He circled Riser like a serpent, voice echoing off the shrieking canopy. "This is your mind's final veil. The souls' theatre. Here, thought and meaning are one. Here, you and I will not cross blades of steel nor call down petty spells. Here, we battle with identity. Mask against mask. What you are, what you pretend to be, all tested until it splinters."

Kelzior leaned close, breath like grave dust. "And I shall peel you apart piece by piece."

Riser did not flinch. He merely exhaled through his nose, calm as the abyss. So be it, he thought.

⸻

Kelzior's smile turned cruel. "Shall we?"

Without another word, his form shifted, unraveling into scales and fangs and coiled muscle. A serpent, vast as a river, coiled around the tree. Its eyes glowed with deceit and venom, each flick of its tongue dripping poison that sizzled on the screaming faces below.

Riser's mind flickered through memory and myth. The snake, an old symbol of slow death, corrosion, treachery. Very fitting.

He smiled slightly. If you bring poison, I bring the talons.

His own form blurred, bones snapping, feathers tearing through charred flesh. Wings spread wide, shadowed under the bleeding canopy. A bird of prey, vast and regal, claws hooked like scythes. He struck from above, talons raking scales, tearing at the serpent's flesh with cold precision.

The serpent hissed, body coiling tighter. Venom sprayed in arcs that scorched feathers, yet Riser pressed in, ripping scale after scale free, a hunter dismantling its prey.

Kelzior's laughter slithered through the air even as the snake's head split and changed again. Poison gave way to corrosion. The serpent rotted as it shifted, flesh bubbling into corruption given form. Rusted chains snaked outward from the decaying coils, wrapping Riser's wings and dragging him downward.

Corruption. Rot. A thing that devoured all brightness.

Riser's claws scraped the chains. So you would decay me.

His wings smoldered. Feathers burned and fell like embers. Beneath them new feathers regrew, each brighter than flame. He let himself drop, shifting into something else. A white phoenix, body flickering between life and ash. Fire hissed as chains dissolved. He rose again, talons blazing, striking the corruption until it split like old bark.

Kelzior roared, shifting again. Corruption bent into theft, shadows coalescing into a masked figure with countless hands. Each hand grasped, snatched bits of light from the tree's roots and Riser's wings alike.

Riser stumbled back, mind spinning. A thief, now. A parasite. He watched the figure pull flame and memory from him, threading it into an endless cloak.

Above the battle, the orbiting souls drifted in slow circles, whispering their agony. He felt them like static, crawling on the edge of his thoughts.

He countered the thief with conquest. His form lengthened, armored plates of molten gold encasing him. A crown of searing flame hovered over his brow. In one hand he carried a lance of blazing sun. In the other, a shield wrought of charred wings and bone.

He struck the shadows with sovereign force. Light stabbed through the masked thief. For a moment, Kelzior's figure flickered. The many hands withered in the sun's blaze.

But the shadows reformed, always finding cracks in the armor.

The mindscape trembled. Kelzior's laughter oozed from every bleeding branch.

"You think your fire can last forever, little phoenix?"

Riser said nothing. He could feel his thoughts stretching thin, the pressure of millennia pressing against his will. Kelzior's experience in Sorvian and Shadeward was suffocating. Each strike Kelzior landed was precise, leeching parts of Riser's essence.

He is too skilled, Riser thought, mind fracturing under the weight of the conflict. If it continues like this, I will lose.

A thin thread of observation flickered. Riser's gaze drifted to the orbiting souls. Their whispers pressed closer when the thief had torn pieces from him. He remembered the river. The mothers. The offering.

Pieces clicked together behind his eyes.

So that is it, he thought, ignoring the ringing in his skull. The souls feed this place. Not audience but fuel.
He forced a piece of his mind to probe them. One whisper drifted near, a face half-formed in sorrow. Riser reached out, let a wisp slip into his burning shell.

For a heartbeat, strength surged through him. The conquest blaze roared higher. The shadows recoiled.

But another heartbeat later, a voice that was not his laughed inside his skull. A shriek that clawed at the walls of his mind. He felt it scratch at the core of who he was.

Madness. A cost.

Riser exhaled, eyes bright. So that is the game, old devil. Feed on the damned or die clean.

Kelzior's mockery coiled around him, a voice made of barbs. "You flinch at what you taste, vessel. The dead are poisonous. They will devour you from within."

Riser forced a grin, crimson light dancing in his pupils. "You hid that well. Or perhaps not well enough."

He let his mind drift again. Beneath the agony he could feel it , the truth. Kelzior could have used these souls himself. But he had not. He hoarded his own self intact.

Riser parried another strike as Kelzior's form warped again, now a reaper clad in famine and pestilence. Rusted scythes swung at Riser's burning wings. The phoenix dodged, countered with a blinding flare.

He will not risk himself, Riser thought. That is his flaw.

He laughed aloud. Flames danced from his broken mouth. "Is this all you have, snake? Rot and theft and famine? Try devouring hope."

His wings burst outward, feathers like comet trails. Each strike carried the weight of a conqueror's will.

Yet Kelzior met him blow for blow. The older devil's grin never wavered, scythes cutting fresh wounds in the phoenix's burning hide. Shadows bled poison into every strike.

Riser felt himself buckling. He is better. If it stays like this, I am nothing but cinder.

He saw the tree's roots cracking. More souls drifted closer, drawn to the rising heat.

Should I risk it? Should I burn what remains of me for a chance?

He thought of the alternative, becoming Kelzior's shell. A puppet worn by something older than kings.

The answer was obvious.

With grim resolve he spread his wings wide. The souls wailed as he opened himself. Their shapes folded into his blazing chest. Their whispers became storms in his skull.

Kelzior recoiled, scythes dropping for a single heartbeat. "Stop! What are you doing, you fool!"

Riser's laughter cracked like thunder through the mindscape. It came out ragged and half-mad. "So it is as I guessed."

He loomed over Kelzior, burning feathers falling like meteors. "You need me sane to wear my flesh. You need me whole. But you, old snake, will not risk yourself to do what I do."

Kelzior's perfected face twisted, a glimmer of fear coiling behind crimson eyes. He opened his mouth but no mocking rhyme came.

Riser's grin was all teeth and broken flame. "I guessed your heart in the moments between strikes. You care only for yourself. You would not gamble your essence to drown mine."

He laughed again, louder now, as more souls poured into him, shredding the last walls of sanity thread by thread. "You could have done it too, couldn't you?" he spat. "You could've consumed these souls and negated my innate control. But you didn't. You played it safe."

His grin widened, mad and bright. "Because you're a coward at heart. You care about one thing, don't you? Yourself. You could've risked it. But you didn't. Because unlike me, you're not willing to risk madness just to win."

Kelzior's eyes twitched. His voice failed him. The tree shuddered, its leaves igniting in bursts of white flame.

Kelzior raised his scythes but the shadows flickered with doubt. "You dare ….you fool ….you will destroy yourself!"

Kelzior stepped back. A mistake.

Riser's mind fractured further, voices echoing in his skull, but his eyes shone with something bright and final. Riser stood taller, flames of mind-soul-body intertwining. The tree behind him, once cracking, now burned bright.



"I won't let you take this body . Even if I must feed my mind to the abyss to keep you out."

He lunged, feathers and flame and a thousand screaming souls moving as one. Kelzior stood frozen, staring at Riser with a face of pure incomprehension.
Not fear.
Not anger.
But a mind that could not process what it was seeing.

A being who had seen millennia of horror and finally glimpsed something beyond it.

Riser laughed one last time, mad and bright, and the world began to tear.


Author's Note: Here's the new chapter, hot off the metaphorical press!
This one nearly fried my brain. Trying to write a battle of concepts is like trying to juggle metaphors while blindfolded on a unicycle. It was inspired by the oldest game from the Sandman comics, so if it feels like pure madness… that's because it is. Hopefully it's the fun kind of madness and not just me being a narrative gremlin.

Oh, and if you're wondering why Kelzior is out here explaining the ritual mechanics to Riser like he's auditioning for a role as Saturday morning cartoon villain of the week, it's not just drama. He has to. It's literally a condition of starting the ritual. Ancient rules and all that. Bureaucracy meets evil sorcery. Classic combo.

Anyway, I'd love any feedback. Praise, criticism, savage burns, or conspiracy theories about the plot. Let me know what you think, how I can improve, or if I accidentally broke grammar beyond repair. I'd really appreciate it!

 

[abel targayen]

AN: So if the beginning feels a little off, that's because I was experimenting—trying out this fancy new high fantasy prose. You know, the kind where every tree has a name, the wind sighs dramatically, and people say "verily" unironically. Basically, I was practicing my inner Tolkien. Results may vary.

Chapter 6: Amor Fati

When the ritual's last echoes had scattered like dying embers, there remained only silence or what passed for silence in the battered corridors of Riser Phenex's mind.

Yet it was no true silence that pressed upon him now, but the hush of a storm before it speaks. Beneath that hush came the whispering of the broken, mad voices gathered where the borders of thought frayed and bled into one another. At first they were distant: a babble of tongues, half-formed prayers or curses gnawed to bone by the centuries.

Then they swelled. The hush broke.

Their ravings rose about him like a flood: words without meaning, syllables that scraped the air raw, laughter gurgling where laughter had no place. The voices wept and gnashed and called him by names he had never worn, father, thief, king, meat. They begged him to drown, to drink them, to let them shatter him into a thousand shards of mirrored thought.

Sound split apart from sound. Light bled through color until he heard red like the peal of cracked bells. The scent of burning leaves and old blood flickered across his vision in streaks of blue flame. His mind trembled at the edges, drawn thin as a blade left too long in the forge.

Riser stood beneath what remained of his anchor: the tree, gnarled and beautiful, once vast with branches like the arms of a god. Now its trunk was blackened, leaves torn and drifting away into the cavernous dark of this mindscape that no longer obeyed shape or reason.

"I do not have much time", he thought, though the thought itself felt as though it had been spoken by a stranger's lips.

Madness coiled around him, not as an enemy to strike him down in open battle, but as a lover whispering seduction at the ear of his reason. Let go, it seemed to say in a thousand voices. Slip beneath the tide. Rest.

But rest was a stranger to Riser Phenex, and pity had no throne within him.

His eyes swept the ruin, the smoldering roots, the drifting ash, the branches that bent beneath an unseen wind. There, within that ruin, flickered a light: splinters of something not his own. They glimmered like coals scattered by a broken hearth. Soul-shards. Pieces of Kelzior Saeros, that ancient devil who had once thought himself eternal.

Any sane men, standing at the edge of their mind's oblivion, would have recoiled at that sight. They would have fled into forgetfulness, or clutched what little of themselves remained until they withered beneath the weight.

But Riser Phenex was no sane man. He was no man at all. He was becoming.


He did not reach for these fragments as a priest might reach for holy relics. He did not bow to them, nor weep for the knowledge they carried. He looked upon them as a starving wanderer might look upon a poisoned spring, to be drunk, risk and all.

So be it, he thought. Better poison than the desert's thirst.

He drew the first fragment into himself. It struck him like a blade drawn across his ribs, visions of ancient betrayal, forbidden rites spoken in palaces where the ceiling dripped with human ash. Secrets hissed in the dark. Pain older than cities. Curses uttered beneath a blood eclipse.

Madness howled at the edges of this offering, gnawed at the thread that was his name. He felt it tug, whispering that it could unmake him if only he would yield. Yield, it said. Yield and be silent.

But Riser's will did not yield. It folded the whisper into silence, pinned it like an insect beneath glass.

Then came the second fragment, then the third, and still he fed upon them. They did not heal him. They did not mend the cracks that split the walls of his mindscape. Instead, they formed new struts, crooked and jagged, upon which he laid the weight of his will.

I do not worship chaos, he thought, as the hush of Kelzior's soul bled through him. I harness it.

He saw himself as if from afar, a figure alone beneath the dying tree, light flickering behind his eyes like the last flame in a ruined citadel. He thought back, not to the abyss that gaped at him now, but to the moment this second life began.

One month. A heartbeat of time by the measure of devils. He had awoken then in a bed too soft for the trials that lay ahead. He had looked upon a world that fed its children to monsters, where kings knelt before claws and shadows spoke in old tongues. Some would have wept then, cursed the fate that cast them from one world into another's teeth.

He had not.

Amor fati. The words rang within him as he drew the last shard of Kelzior's essence into the citadel of his thought. To love one's fate, not merely bear it but to greet the jaws of the beast laughing.

What meaning was there in life unending, rebirth without boundary? Many had broken upon that question. They called it cruelty, proof that nothing endured but pain and entropy. They clutched at gods and duty, nation and kin, as anchors against the storm.

Riser spat upon such chains.

Meaning? he thought, as the last of Kelzior's cunning screamed within him before it fell quiet, bound by the iron of his will. Let lesser men beg for meaning. I am my own purpose. I name my own summit. To conquer, not others only, but myself.

He stood then in the ruin of his mindscape, a storm raging about him, but the core of him glowed like a black star. The tree above him cracked, not with the promise of collapse, but with a promise of rebirth.

He was not saved by these fragments. He made no shrine to them. He bent them to his shape, forged ruin into scaffold. What had been Kelzior's crown became Riser's throne. The whispering madness found no purchase but what he gave it and what he gave it was nothing but obedience.

I am the storm, he thought. I do not stand against it. I ride it to the world's end.

⸻
POV: Zarakura Saeros

In the cavern beyond thought, stone wept with the cold breath of the Dead River.

Zarkaura Saeros lingered at the banks. The torches that lit the cavern guttered, fed by air heavy with sulfur and old secrets. He stood alone, armor polished, hands folded behind his back like a sentinel who believed himself master of what he watched.

The second head did not whisper now, nor the third. Those husks, once vessels for an ancient mind's cunning, were gone. The river's surface rippled with a darkness that never slept, as if it dreamed of mouths waiting below the stone.

Zarkaura pitied the boy, though he would not have named it pity aloud. Such is the fate of the weak, he told himself, watching the black tide shift. Better that they be consumed by the strong. So it has always been. So it shall ever be.

He dreamed of the future then, of a house restored to their glory and beyond, draped in banners that sang of flame and rebirth. His lips parted in a smile that showed more teeth than warmth.

Then the river split.

A shape rose from the depths, as if the black water had grown weary of keeping secrets. Zarkaura stepped back, breath caught in his throat.

What emerged was no trembling wretch, no broken vessel leaking scraps of soul.

Naked.Tall. Perfect

It was a figure fairer than any painted saint. Hair gold as the crown of dawn, skin pale where the torchlight dared touch it. His muscles flowed like divine geometry. Eyes deep crimson, deeper than the river, deeper than the old abyss that birthed devils in days forgotten. They glowed not with hunger, but with dominion.

Power poured from him in silence. It pressed upon Zarkaura's shoulders like a mountain's weight.

At the very least, Peak High-Class, he thought, heart thundering like drums at a sacrificial rite. Grandfather lives.

The figure took three steps forward. The water clung to his bare limbs like reverence.

"Grandfather," Zarkaura whispered, sinking to one knee. His armor clanged against stone slick with ancient blood. Who else could it be? The boy had no chance.
The figure stepped onto land. He walked like royalty. Like destiny.

Zarakura bowed deeper.

This was the rebirth of the Saeros line. Finally, their house would return to glory.

The figure's gaze fell upon him, steady, unblinking. In that gaze, kingdoms might kneel. In that gaze, old gods might find cause to pray.

One pale finger rose. A single word fell, bright and cruel as a star made iron.

"Bang."

Zarkaura's thoughts ended there.

⸻
POV: Riser

When the echo faded, Riser Phenex stepped from the river's hush. Steam rose from his skin where the darkness fled his touch. He reached for the robe Zarkaura had laid out, silk dyed deep with silver thread, fine enough for the shoulders of a king.

He slipped it over his bare frame with no haste. His eyes did not linger upon the ash that once was Zarkaura. He did not need to.

A whisper of laughter flickered past his lips, bright, almost gentle.

"He really thought I was his grandfather," Riser mused aloud, voice like honey and knives.

"I didn't even have to act. He'd convinced himself Kelzior couldn't lose. He let his guard down."

He chuckled.

"Pride always comes before the fall."

Then he laughed harder, shoulders shaking with something between cruelty and joy.


He flexed a hand, curling and uncurling the fingers as if testing their truth.

Power hummed beneath his ribs. Not the stolen shade of Kelzior's cruelty, but the raw, singing promise of new dominion. Peak High-Class, at the least, and yet only a single stone upon a stairway without summit.

Riser Phenex looked down at the silver armor prepared by Zarkaura's trembling hope, a promise of borrowed greatness. He ran a finger along its polished edge, and a smile, bright and cold, flickered across his face.

"One step," he said to the dark cavern that once housed monsters and prayers alike. "One step toward my true ambition."

With the robe about his shoulders and the armor at his feet, he turned from the river's hush.

Back to the world he went, laughing not for the world's sake, but for his own.

For what was fate but another stone to tread upon?


-----------------------------------------------------
POV: Ryzephar Phenex

It had been three weeks.

Three weeks since Ryzephar Phenex watched his youngest nephew ride out with thirty devils, banners proud and hearts eager for glory. Three weeks since he'd let the boy talk him into it, so easy, so smooth, so unnaturally persuasive.

Why had he agreed?
Why indeed.

Why had I let him go? The question was poison, bitter upon the tongue of thought. He had replayed that hour endlessly: Riser, that bold spark of reckless fire, standing before him in the meeting chambers, voice steady as any captain thrice his years. He had asked to join the expedition into the Northern Reach, the old forests where legends were said to rot among twisted roots. And Ryzephar, the Warden of the North, eldest of his line save for Lord Aurelius himself, had given leave. Freely, yes. Or so he had believed.

Yet even now, seated in the hush that follows folly, he knew that he had not been himself when he spoke that fateful consent. His thoughts had been gauzy, as though steeped in some heavy wine. A warmth had weighed his reason, blurring caution, singing him toward ruin with the soft promise of destiny. As though fate itself or some hand masquerading in its cloak, had guided him to betray his own blood.


A fog had wrapped his mind. He saw it now for what it was: a trick.
A puppet string wound into his very thoughts. And when the fog lifted, horror came with it.

Someone had bent his will. Someone had made him send Riser Phenex, his brother's son, into the mouth of Hell itself.

When the truth cracked open, Ryzephar had acted fast.He had summoned the messengers at once, pale devils clad in the runes of secrecy and sent them winging toward the capital where his brother Aurelius Phenex kept his court. No word of the trespass. Not yet. Only a request for an adept in the mind-arts, one skilled in unweaving the curses that bind thought to foreign hands. .

Aurelius, bound by blood older than any kingdom now breathing, asked no needless question. Within days the adept had come, faceless behind a mask of silver, robed in the dusk-light of ancient runes. In the hush of his chamber, Ryzephar had bared his skull like a penitent before a surgeon's blade.

"Yes," the old devil confirmed, voice soft with pity. "You were made to want it. The strings are cut now, but the knife remains."

So Ryzephar made himself a promise: If there was even a breath left in his nephew's chest — he would find it. Or bring vengeance enough to drown Hell in blood.

⸻

They gathered at dawn: ten devils of high rank, who could level a mountain with their might, twenty elite hunters and mind-wardens with hellhounds foaming at the leash.

They hunted into the forest's veins, old woods where the sun never shone, roots tangled in old sins, trees that wept pitch instead of sap. They found signs: hoofprints like claw-marks, a dead wolf here and there, stripped of color, skin like brittle parchment.

Then came the corpses.

A devil crucified upside-down on a spear of black iron. Another split open and stuffed with ravens. The symbols on the trees were not words but wounds, bleeding meaning into the earth.

Some horrors made even Ryzephar's soul flinch and he had seen centuries.

And yet they pressed on.

⸻

They found the last stand at dusk:
A clearing where severed hands bloomed like flowers, eyes nailed to bark in a ring of silent witness.
He recognized the faces, Abygral of House Mengis, Tenebrael's jaw lying open in a circle of flies.

"Ambushed by demonic wolves and something else," someone whispered.

Ryzephar did not answer. He felt no wind, only the iron taste of finality. The last hope that his nephew might walk out of this forest whole began to flicker.

And then the shadows came.

⸻

They rose from the roots and the black air: four shapes of shadow and flame. Shadow Warlocks. He knew the tales, and the price they demanded in flesh.

"Formation!" Ryzephar barked.

The Phenex elites moved like one: circle tight, weapons drawn, wards flaring bright in the dusk.
The first blow fell — a snap of hellfire against sigils of defense. They met force with force, strategy with cold resolve.

Divide them, that was the only way. A hive-mind must be splintered, broken like a brittle bone.

They clashed in silence broken only by roars and the wet tearing of reality itself.

They killed one. A good sign. But the cost was time.

Ryzephar felt it before he saw it, a chill, a ripple of unseen knives pressing against the back of his neck.

The warlock hissed in a tongue that hated the world.

And the forest answered.

A sea of eyes blinked open between the trees. Demonic wolves, thousands.

"We are surrounded…" someone breathed.

"You don't say." Ryzephar bit it back, lips pressed to a grim line. His mind raced. The strategy shifted: hold the line, buy the mages time, draw their strength into one final obliteration.

The wolves came in waves, a red tide over black soil.
Steel and flame met fur and fang. A high-class devil split ten at a time, but for every beast slain, ten more slithered free from the dark.

They fought thirty minutes, thirty years in a heartbeat. Ryzephar did deeds surpassing of valour, holding the line where it should have broken, carving down wolves and flinging shadow back into shadow.

Then, the two devils in the middle, guarded by their kin, shouted their spell complete. Ryzephar's hand rose. The sign given.

The forest turned white.

An explosion carved a new crater in Hell's skin, two kilometers wide, a sun of ruin that devoured trees, wolves, shadows.

When the thunder faded, the silence mocked them.

Five shapes still stood.

Five Shadow Warlocks, fresh as newborn flame, glaring with molten hate.

Ryzephar's heart sank. His devils bled around him, only six high-class left standing, two middle-class crouched behind them, wide-eyed.

The rest?

Fuel for the forest now.

The Warlocks hissed as one, a sound like knives under the tongue. They moved as a single will, circling.

Ryzephar read the truth in that molten halo of hate: Death.

There would be no legend sung of this place. No grave for his nephew. No redemption for his own folly. Only shadow and ruin.

⸻

But then, the world cracked.

Something faster than thought, faster than sound, hit one of the Warlocks like a thunderbolt from the black sky.

A crater bloomed where its chest had been.

The hive-mind shrieked, momentarily severed.

Dust rolled like stormclouds, and from that ruin stepped a figure.

From the ruin rose a tall figure clad in silver like moonlight upon a stormy tide. Hair bright as dawn's first flame. Eyes crimson as the birth of suns.

Riser Phenex.

He raised two fingers to his temple, mock salute. Smirked.

"Miss me?" he said, as if the whole forest wasn't watching him reborn.

----------------------------------------------
POV: Riser Phenex

The wolves were the first to flee. One heartbeat, they snarled and circled, the next, they vanished, tails tucked between legs, eyes wide with primal dread.

Riser let his demonic aura unfurl, a blazing storm of golden flame laced with something colder, older, stitched from Kelzior's bones and his own sovereign will. The forest itself seemed to recoil.

Only five shapes remained. Cloaked in smoke, rimmed in dull flame, the Shadow Warlocks held their ground. No mortal foe, these — but something older, a hive bound by ruin and pact, five bodies moved by one feral mind. Even wolves had fled their presence before. Even lords of lesser rank would turn back at the sight of their slithering flame.

Riser rolled his neck, silver armor whispering over skin still wet from the river of the dead. His crimson eyes gleamed with manic delight.

"Well then…" he purred, voice like velvet over a dagger's edge. "…Shall we dance?"

They lunged, five as one, the swarm-mind howling silent in the air. They were fast, devils born of nightmare and abyss, flame and shadow stitched into muscle that moved at twice the speed of thunder.

But Riser was faster. He blurred forward, a streak of gold and silver.

The first Warlock's claw came, trailing a wake of shadow-fire meant to shear through the marrow of lesser devils. Riser's palm flicked up, flame gathering at his knuckles like a jewelled gauntlet, and he struck aside the blow with a contemptuous twist. Another Warlock flanked him from the left, shadow tendrils blooming like roots seeking his throat.

Too slow.

Riser vanished, the world swallowing his presence in a heartbeat, then reappeared behind the Warlock, a flaming spear forming in his hand mid-lunge. It was the Blazing Spear, conjured with the ease of a noble plucking wine from a feast-table. The spear punched through layered shadows, pinned the shrieking creature to the black earth. Its flame roared inward, a hateful bloom that devoured what should not burn.

He turned before the corpse struck the moss, already smiling at the next two.

They came at angles, one high, one low, moving faster now, driven by rage and the tearing loss in their collective mind. But for every speed they found, Riser found greater. His body, reshaped by Kelzior Saeros' mad rituals, was not merely that of a Phenex but a vessel tuned to bear ruin. His limbs blurred, his steps struck roots to cinders.

A claw grazed his cheek, flame hissed, the wound gone before pain could register. In its place: laughter. A flick of his hand, and he wove flames into ravens, Fire Ravens screaming from his outstretched fingers. They tore through the clearing like burning omens, harrying the Warlocks, pecking and exploding in sudden bursts. One raven crashed into the skull of the closest, detonating with a shriek that shook branches overhead.

As the Warlock reeled, Riser closed in, faster than the hush between two heartbeats, and drove his fist into its chest. Fire Infusion: the blow not only broke bone but spilled flame inside. He twisted, a lover's grace turned to slaughter, and triggered the bloom. The Warlock erupted from within, its shriek cut short by cleansing fire.

Three left. Still they circled him, but now a trace of uncertainty fluttered at the edges of their unity. Riser sensed it. He smelled it like a beast scents blood.

"Ah," he mocked, rolling his shoulders beneath the gleaming plate. "Where is the fabled strength of the mighty warlocks? You lunge like curs without a leash or master."

One lunged, driven by that same spark of rage. Riser met it head-on, body clad in Fire Armor, a corona of white flame that melted the warlocks' claws on contact. His fists cracked ribs made of dusk and memory — each blow infused with embers that burrowed deeper, blooming into sudden, vicious eruptions. From nothing, flame congealed into a blade, a scimitar of crimson heat, its edge flickering with runes too ancient for mortal tongues. They clashed: the Warlock's claws sparked against the conjured blade. Sparks burst like embers caught in the wind.

Riser's grin widened as he parried a savage blow. "Weakness investigation," he murmured. His eyes flickered, the Cull sang through his veins, pinpointing flaws in their churning shadows.
He traced the Warlock's core beneath the tangled shadows, a knot of devouring flame that pulsed within its chest.

"Found you," he whispered. His sword flicked, a blur of motion, and the blade's edge turned to his stolen art: Dismantle. The cut seemed slight. But a heartbeat later the Warlock's chest peeled open, parted like silk to the blade's passing, and a gout of searing fire devoured it from within.

Two left now.

The last pair came together, shadows fusing into a single monstrous shape, arms doubling, claws blacker than tomb-soil, its flame fused with void-light that cracked the air like a storm. They charged. The forest trembled at their roar. This was the full might of the hive, the living knot that had undone the expedition, that had hollowed the devils whose bones still decorated this glade of nightmares.

Riser only bared his teeth, a grin carved of arrogance, flame and old delight. He lifted his free palm. Flame gathered, folding in upon itself like a star birthing its own ruin.

Compression.

Deeper. Denser. The fire hissed as though alive, the air warping around it. A Giant Fireball, but one compressed so tightly that its light was a core of white within the palm, a miniature sun caged in his fist. He spoke no incantation. He needed none. The flame obeyed because it remembered him, a phenex, and it was eager to devour.

As the fused Warlocks came within a blade's length, Riser thrust the orb into the soil between them. He stepped back, and his smile was wicked with promise.

"Boom," he whispered.

The ground cracked open. Flame swallowed root and bone alike. The Giant Fireball burst outward with surgical violence, not scattered chaos, but precise ruin. A ring of white flame erupted around the Warlocks, searing their shadows apart even as they howled, splitting in pain that could not be uttered by mortal tongue.

They stumbled from the ruin. One tried to flee, dragging what remained of its conjoined half. But Riser was already moving, faster than the eye, the mind, the soul. He reappeared at its back, hand outstretched. The space around his palm shimmered, Kelzior's legacy made manifest.

Dismantle.

An invisible slash parted the Warlock from throat to spine, no flame, no roar, only the whisper of air giving way to will. The Warlock fell in halves, both still alight with ruinous flame.

And so, silence. The forest, still dripping with the hush of ancient rot, now echoed with only Riser's laughter, softer now, though no less terrible.

The blast turned the glade into a sunrise. When the light faded, nothing remained but drifting embers.

Riser stood there, chest heaving, silver armor cracked but whole, flesh knitting itself back together as fast as it split. He tasted the char in the air, grinned, flexing fingers that trembled not with weakness but with victory.

Behind him, Ryzephar Phenex and the battered survivors stared, not at their enemy but at the thing they had reclaimed. The nephew who stood laughing amid ruin , golden, terrible.

Riser turned to them, eyes gleaming like a predator's in dawn's fire.

He smiled wide, perfect and terrible, his eyes alight with a madness that danced like a prophecy yet to be spoken.

-----------------------------------------
POV: Ryzephar Phenex

Ryzephar stood frozen, breath caught halfway in his lungs. The air trembled around him, as if the forest's charred earth itself bent its knees to the figure clad in silver flame.

The wolves had fled, the Shadow Warlocks were ash, but what remained was worse. The devil who gazed with madness.

The aura Riser exuded was wrong. It was not the savage, crawling dread of the Warlocks' abyssal shadows. It was bright, terrible, royal. It pierced flesh like a thousand blades. It whispered ruin and triumph in the same breath. Ryzephar, a devil near a millennium old, found himself fearing the very air that touched his skin.

He dared speak. His voice rasped like old parchment. "Riser?"

And the vision turned smiling, beautiful, lethal.

"Hello there, Uncle."
A voice like honey over coals, beautiful, melodic, yet brimming with something that refused to be named.

Ryzephar drank in the sight. This impossible thing that claimed to be his kin. Taller, easily six and a half feet now with golden hair falling in perfect waves, framing a face that mocked marble with its cruel perfection. His features were sculpted too finely for nature's chisel. Fae-like, dreamlike, but more than that: they were alive, every subtle flicker of the brow, the twist of his lips, the iron alertness in crimson eyes.

It was the bearing that struck him dumb. Riser stood not like a boy, nor a scion, nor even a prince. He stood like a king. No, a conqueror. No tremor of doubt, no humility to mask the tyrant in his veins.

His silver armor shimmered under the bloodied sky. Ryzephar's mind, ever the scholar, marked runes and arcane lattices forged of metals rarer than phoenix's ash. This was no mere armor, it was testament.

And then Riser spoke, voice clear enough to make the wind stand still.

"The tribulation is over."

The words rolled across the scorched clearing like a royal decree. Ryzephar felt, absurdly, that Hell itself would bow its horned head if commanded.

He did not argue. He could not. Not after seeing five High-Class monsters swatted aside like children.

He turned, voice booming with what command his battered soul could muster. "We move! Back to the stronghold, now! Carry the wounded and burn what remains, this ground is cursed."

His devils obeyed with grateful desperation. Even in ruin, they found renewed purpose in the monstrous shadow of the new Riser Phenex.

⸻

It took hours to trudge back through the gnarled woods, the horror of the forest left behind, the shadow of warlocks replaced by whispers of a rumor no one dared speak aloud. Beside him, Riser glided rather than walked, as though the earth feared to stain him.

At the gates of the fortress, Seorin, his daughter, first of his blood and his hope for their House's future, awaited with her retinue. She wore black mail and a blade at her hip, yet when she saw her father alive, dignity melted in an instant.

"Father!"

She flew into his arms, armor clanging against his. He held her tightly, feeling the mortal warmth of family for a heartbeat longer than he should have.

Then her gaze lifted and found him.

Riser Phenex stepped through the dusk, flames dancing across his silver chestplate, crimson eyes glinting with a mirth too sharp to touch. Seorin's breath caught in her throat. Ryzephar felt it, the way the devils behind her stilled. It was as if an archangel or a demon-lord masquerading as one had stepped through Hell's gate.

Riser tilted his head, a sly half-smile curling his mouth. "You'll catch flies, cousin. And I'm hardly that holy … yet."

Seorin startled, color rose to her cheeks so fast Ryzephar almost laughed. She regained herself in a rush, stepped forward and, daring what the air told her not to dare, flung her arms around the Phenex reborn.

Riser let out a soft, bemused chuckle, one hand brushing over her back like a priest blessing a penitent. When she stepped away, dazed but radiant. Ryzephar knew there would be songs sung of this moment before dawn broke.

⸻

He cleared his throat, the fortress quieted, all eyes fixed on him. His old voice boomed with the weight of centuries and a theater devil-kind adored.

"Hear me! Devils of House Phenex, hear what befell in the accursed woods!"

He spun them a tale as old as their blood, of wolves and shadows, betrayal and slaughter. He spoke of how they, the faithful, carved a path through horror with fang and flame. He told of sacrifice "More than half our strength, gone but not in vain!"

Then his voice rose, thunder cracking the hush of night.

"For when our ruin seemed certain, when the abyss yawned wide, who returned from the jaws of death? Who burned the shadows to cinder? Who stands before you now stronger, brighter, terrible and glorious, our scion, our hope?"

He turned , pointed, the gesture more dramatic than any stage.

"Riser Phenex!"

They cheered, how could they not? Devils are creatures of spectacle and what spectacle stood before them now?

Ryzephar caught the briefest flicker of amusement in Riser's eye, a prince pleased with his court, perhaps. When the roar of adoration quieted, Ryzephar bellowed:

"Spread the word! Spread it through every hall and hearth, the tribulation is over!"

⸻

When the clamor faded, Ryzephar turned, a quiet word perched on his lips.

"Nephew, we must speak. There is much—"

Riser held up a hand, graceful, imperious. His crimson eyes gleamed like sunset reflected in a blade.

"Later, Uncle. I must see my Queen."

No apology. None was needed nor dared be demanded.

Ryzephar only bowed his head. The Mad Phenex had returned. There would be no commanding him now.

⸻

And so the devils parted, a tide making way for a storm. Riser Phenex, clad in silver and crowned in flame, strode toward the heart of the stronghold, where Yubellana waited.

He did not look back.

----------------------------------------------

POV: Riser Phenex

Riser strode down the fortress corridor, silver boots echoing against ancient stone. Eyes followed him, devils in black mail and crimson cloaks parted like mortal waves before a storm. Some bowed their heads, some dared not breathe. A few, braver or more foolish, let their gaze linger on the impossible symmetry of his face, then quickly looked away, cheeks burning, hearts drumming.

He felt it, the hush in the air, the reverence born not of love but of fear and awe. As it should be, he mused, a flicker of amusement curling the corner of his lips. Among devils, strength is the iron coin that buys respect. Without it, one is nothing but mocked, toyed with, devoured. He smiled as he walked. How swiftly they learn to kneel when power stands before them.

Ahead, the carved doors of his Queen's chamber rose like a promise. He rapped his knuckles against them, gentle, polite. A faint voice, warm yet weary: "Enter."

He did and felt the world catch its breath.

Yubellana Phenex, his beautiful Queen, sat wrapped in a silken robe. Her hair, glowing purple and soft as midnight, tumbled down her shoulders. She turned and the shock that flooded her face was almost comical.

Riser bit down a laugh. I suppose I'll have to grow used to this, he thought wryly. Beauty, power, devils worship them both. And I am both.

⸻

Yubellana's stupor broke like glass under a storm. She leapt from the bed, a blur of silken limbs and tremulous sobs and threw herself into his arms.

"Master— Riser— I—" Her words broke against his chest as laughter and tears spilled together. "I was so worried— when I woke they told me— you'd volunteered— some damned suicide mission— What were they thinking— what were you thinking—"

Her voice trembled. Her fingers dug into his back as though to swear he'd never vanish again.

Riser said nothing, he only held her. Sometimes, a king's comfort was not in words but in silence and in the unyielding strength of an embrace that promised I remain.

For long minutes she wept until the tremors softened, the sobs turned to small, broken laughs muffled against his chest.

⸻

He drew her gently to the bed, silk sheets, the hush of a chamber made for whispered confessions.

"Are you well now?" he asked softly and not of her tears, but of the exhaustion that had hollowed her when last he saw her. That felt like a lifetime ago.

She sniffed, wiping her cheeks. Her eyes shone, bright, alive. "Ye- yes, my demonic energy's back. The drain from the last ritual, it's healed. My technique, Explosion Creation, I'll be able to use it again soon."

He smiled, radiant, careless. "Good. I'd hate to think my Queen was anything less than terrifying in her own right."

She laughed, a flush rising under pale skin. Then her eyes flicked up, curious but shy. "And you…? this…this change. This… power? Master…forgive me but how…?"

He chuckled, brushing a knuckle along her cheek. "Curiosity suits you. The forest was… educational, let's say."

So he told her, in the broad strokes devils love. Of wolves with fangs like black glass. Of shadow-warlocks lurking like cancerous veins in the roots of the world. Of betrayal, a captain named Zarakura Saeros who betrayed them.

He did not speak of the ancient devil that wore his face. Nor of the mindscape war and the tormented choir of souls he devoured. Some truths were for kings alone.

Yubellana listened, rapt, lips parted, breathing shallow. Not just love now in her eyes but something more. Worship, raw and unblinking. A queen undone by the sheer certainty of the tyrant she called her master.

They spoke of other things, softer things, old memories, small jests. He teased her and she laughed until her shoulders trembled. When he rose at last, she clung to him once more, timid now, as though he were a relic too holy to touch. Her lips brushed his, feather-light, burning.

"Go then," she whispered. "Before I lose my mind and beg you to stay."

Riser grinned, wolfish, dazzling. "Your mind is already mine, my Queen."

And with a final lingering kiss, he slipped from her chamber, silver boots silent on old stone.

⸻

The fortress seemed smaller when he strode through it now a gilded cage of granite and iron that bowed before him. Servants flinched, warriors bowed. Riser did not pause, only smiled, the monster king cloaked in flesh.

⸻

He found Ryzephar and Seorin in the private hall, a low room walled in ancient obsidian and lined with flickering braziers. A table was set, fine wine, roasted meat and warm bread. Comforts for devils who knew how close death had come.

They rose when he entered, as if a god had stepped across the threshold.

Ryzephar spoke first, voice careful and respectful. "Nephew. Please take a seat and break bread with us."

Riser sat. His crimson eyes gleamed in the braziers' glow, mirth and calculation dancing behind the smile.

"Uncle. Cousin." He inclined his head to Seorin, who flinched at his gaze but did not look away. Brave girl, he thought, amused.

⸻

They poured wine. Dark as blood, older than mortal kingdoms.

"How fares your wound, Uncle?" Riser asked lightly, voice smooth as silk. "Shadows and wolves leave marks."

Ryzephar cleared his throat, the old devil's fingers tightened on the goblet. "No fatal injuries, thank Lucifer. I remain hale enough, though I will need some time to be what I was."

"Good," Riser murmured, each word both blessing and judgment.

He let the pause linger, then tilted his head, eyes sharp as razors. "But what were you doing in that damned forest, Uncle? With so few devils at your side?"

Ryzephar's mouth worked. Seorin's eyes flicked between them, wary as a cornered doe.

The old devil sighed. "A folly. My folly. When you volunteered for that expedition, I… I allowed it." He grimaced, shame crawling over ancient features. "But when my mind cleared, I knew someone guided me. Bent my will. I was not my own."

Riser's smile did not waver but the glow behind his eyes turned cold.

Ryzephar pushed on, words tripping over each other like penitent monks. "I sent for a mind-breaker, they confirmed it. So I gathered my best trackers, the sharpest hounds, and went to find you. To redeem my mistake. We met wolves, ambushes, the shadow plague that hunted you. Had you not come when you did—"

Riser raised a hand, the room silenced. He leaned back, a king on a throne of simple wood and iron.

"And I may know the mind that touched yours, Uncle. Only one devil I know favors whispers over steel, Zarakura Saeros."

Seorin gasped. Ryzephar's hand clenched so hard the goblet cracked.

Riser's smile was all teeth now, a serpent's delight. "He betrayed me. Sold us to wolves. Tried to cut my throat in the dark."

He did not tell them of Kelzior, of ancient bone crowns and soul-crushing rituals. Some truths were the marrow of monsters.

⸻

They spoke a while longer, words swirling like smoke over blood-red wine. Ryzephar and Seorin asked questions they dared not voice outright. Where he had found such power, how he still was. But Riser only laughed, a soft and terrible thing and gave them nothing more.

When the wine was drained, he rose, cloak rustling like dragon's wings.

"Rest well, Uncle. Cousin."

He turned to go but Ryzephar called out, voice hoarse with some fragile hope.

"Riser, before you vanish into the dark again, your father, Lord Aurelius, sends word. There will be an annulet, a grand gathering in the capital. To celebrate the end of this tribulation."

Riser paused at the door. Crimson eyes gleaming like sunrise through a crimson sea.

"Good." He smiled, a promise, a threat, a crown forged in one word.

------------------------------------------

POV: Riser Phenex

Riser Phenex adjusted the silver armor that clung to him like liquid moonlight, catching the fire-glow of the fortress torches. Its polished plates gleamed with arcane runes, a subtle show of wealth, and more importantly, a reminder of what he had become. The corridor leading out of his uncle's keep was lined with devils. Warriors, maids, even old scribes, all bowing low as he passed, heads lowered so deeply they nearly kissed the black stone floor.

He did not slow. Let them feel the weight of the Phenex name now reforged in him. Let them fear it, envy it, worship it. Respect born of power was the only currency devils never devalued.

Behind him, Yubellana kept pace, her steps light, her eyes flicking between his armored back and the awed whispers that followed them. He caught the echo of her thoughts in the soft rustle of her breath: disbelief, adoration and the smallest quiver of fear, that new and delicious offering.

His uncle had been the one to suggest he wear the armor. "Let the family see with their eyes what words cannot hold," Ryzephar had said. Riser agreed. He was no fool, spectacle mattered. In a world where devils wrote their truths in fire and blood, you announced your legend with iron and radiance.

And now, as the teleportation circle shimmered before him, its runes old as the Phenex name itself. Riser Phenex prepared to step into the ancestral seat of his House, where marble halls rose like frozen flame and judgement waited behind a father's throne.

He turned once, glanced at Yubellana. She looked beautiful and breakable all at once and he loved that about her.

"Ready, my Queen?" he asked, voice warm, mocking and affectionate all at once.

She nodded, eyes shining. "Always."

The circle flared and the world twisted.


POV: Rahella Phenex

The great throne room of the Phenex ancestral hold was carved from white marble veined with gold and shaped by devils who had long since become myth. A thousand candles flickered in iron sconces shaped like wings. Velvet banners bearing the Phenex crest, the immortal bird, aflame but never ash, hung like crimson rivers from the vaulted ceiling.

Rahella Phenex stood beside the massive throne of her husband, Lord Aurelius Phenex. To his right, tall and brooding, stood their eldest son and heir, Ruval Phenex, his eyes hard as diamond, jaw tight. Beside him, Rionas Phenex. Second son, sharp-eyed and perpetually amused, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Ravel, her youngest, perched near Rionas, trying and failing to appear calm, one slim hand twisting the hem of her sleeve
The air was thick, curdled with disbelief and rage and dread. The message, that cursed, blessed message from her brother Ryzephar still weighed on Rahella's mind like a stone chained to her heart.

She remembered how her hands had trembled when she broke the seal. How her breath had caught when she read the first lines, her Riser, her youngest son, fighting a Minotaur. A Minotaur!

He was fifteen. In the eyes of their kind, a boy barely grown enough to survive a proper duel and he had thrown himself at a beast that could break ancient high-class devils over its knee like twigs.

She'd nearly burned the letter in a fit of rage. Only Aurelius' calm had steadied her, his voice like an anvil dropped on flame. "Read it all," he'd told her. "Then decide if you will weep or roar."

And so she read on. How her brother praised Riser's cunning, his devil's wit, how he had used the battlefield like a blade to weaken the Minotaur before striking its heart. For a moment, she'd allowed herself a fragile flicker of pride.

But then the tale darkened. How Ryzephar, that old fool, had allowed her son to volunteer for a death march, an expedition deep into cursed territory teeming with demonic wolves and crawling with shadow warlocks. How he had been mind-controlled, a power so subtle and terrifying it froze Rahella's blood cold. If such arts could bend her brother, what chance did her bright, reckless boy have?

And then came the words that nearly drove her mad: ambush, massacre, betrayal. Zarakura Saeros, that snake. The betrayal, the kidnapping. How her son vanished, presumed dead while Ryzephar scoured the forests with what remained of his best.

She remembered gripping Aurelius' hand so tight her nails drew blood.

And then, the impossible twist. Her brother's words painted a picture that strained reason: her boy, clad in silver armor like some vengeful archangel, descending on the battlefield like a falling star. Five shadow warlocks, high-class beings, monstrous in cunning and cruelty cut down like wheat under a Flaming sword. Ryzephar swore it was no embellishment. Her brother was a man who did not gild horrors.

She remembered the line that made her breath catch in her throat: "…and then, when hope was lost, a figure clad in silver fell from the sky like a burning star. He alone stood against five of the Shadow Warlocks, and he alone stood when the ashes cleared."

It sounded like a tale told by trembling mortal bards, not a mother's truth.

Her mind reeled. A month ago, Riser had barely grasped the raw edge of high-class power. Now he wielded it like a crown. How? How did her foolish, bright-eyed son grow teeth so quickly?

A mother's pride battled a mother's fury. The moment she saw him, that beautiful, reckless boy. She would hold him tight and then shake him until his bones rattled.

⸻

A sound broke her thoughts, a flicker of rune-fire. The air shimmered at the heart of the throne room. The family turned as one, devils of ancient blood holding their breath.

From the spiral of white flame stepped Him.

⸻

At first she thought the rune-fire tricked her. Surely no flesh could bear such a sculpted cruelty of beauty. Yet there he was. No flicker, no mirage. Tall, taller than when he'd left, impossibly so, now near six and a half feet of sinuous power. His hair spilled like molten gold, each strand catching the torchlight and throwing it back tenfold. His skin pale, near porcelain, the sheen of pearl beneath an ancient moon. He moved like a blade unsheathed, gliding across the cold marble as if the ground itself bent to bear him gently.

His armor, silver wrought in flowing lines, runes dancing along the plates like captive embers. It clung to him perfectly. Not heavy, but regal, a second skin of war and legend. His face, Rahella could scarcely name the horror and awe it conjured. Cheekbones sharp as truth, lips curved with a softness that mocked the edges of the world. Eyes, crimson suns, burning with a mirth that made one wish to kneel and avert the gaze lest it see too deeply.

He looked like the Archangel Michael, she thought dazedly, if Michael had grown tired of Heaven and carved himself a throne in Hell instead.

There were no illusions here. Devils were masters of mask and glamour, but what he wore was more terrible: truth. There was no trick, no borrowed flame. This was what her son had become: the crown of fire that devours its own ashes and is reborn brighter.

Riser Phenex smiled.

And in that single gesture, so gentle, so effortless, the room's cold dread fractured. His smile was spring rain on scorched earth, a summer wind through endless dusk. It made fools forget the blades he carried behind his teeth.

"Father. Mother. Brother. Sister."

His voice was music, soft yet ringing like a blade unsheathed. He stepped forward, boots silent as falling stars, and bowed just enough, perfectly judged, perfectly poised. Not submission. Not quite defiance. Something else: a reminder that they would find no boy here now, only something they had forged in fire and fear, only to lose control of it.

He turned that smile to his father, his brothers, his sister and each found themselves caught in its impossible warmth, wondering where the line lay between devotion and dread.

⸻

Rahella felt tears burning the corners of her eyes. Pride, fury, fear. All a mother's weapons turned against herself.

He is beautiful, she thought numbly. Terrible, terrible and beautiful. The devil's child, now the devils' king in waiting.

Aurelius Phenex, iron-eyed lord of their immortal line, opened his mouth to speak, to question, to scold, to demand the truth behind this impossible creature that now wore his son's face.

But Riser only tilted his head and the smile that danced on his lips made his words die on his throat.


AN: Here we are again folks—a new chapter has dropped and hoo boy, this one's a beast. Easily the longest I've written so far, but hey, the arc is finally done. Time to exhale dramatically.
Yes, there was a lot of "Oh my god, Riser is so hot" and a bit of fangirling sprinkled throughout. I regret nothing. Blame the characters. They're just very enthusiastic about their flaming bird boy.

I hope the mental battle conclusion felt satisfying and not like Riser was wrapped in five layers of indestructible plot armor. And I really hope you enjoyed the fight with the shadow warlocks. It was my first time ever writing a full action scene, and I went full mad scientist mode with Riser's fire manipulation and weird new techniques.

Anyway, as always, throw whatever you've got at me—feedback, criticism, compliments, dramatic rants, or well-aimed tomatoes. I'd love to hear what you think and how I can keep improving.

 

[abel targayen]

It was an unusually grand feast the House of Phenex held that year to celebrate the overcoming of the tribulation. It seemed as if the whole capital had gathered. The overcoming of tribulation held deep significance for all the peoples living within the domain of House Phenex, and so the celebrations were a vivid hodgepodge of ceremony and song, feasting and dance.

When the sun finally sank, leaving the sky awash in purples and blues, the annulet in the castle of House Phenex began, and the noble houses arrived at the Great Hall for the feast. Rare and sumptuous dishes were prepared, meat from unique beasts found only in the Underworld, alongside delicacies that displayed the vast wealth of the Phenex family. There were countless drinks: expensive millennia-old wine, aged and divine on the tongue, and other rare spirits imported from the other Pillar territories or brewed in secret within their own domain.

Singers entertained them as they dined. First, a quintet of devils from Lilith, the great city, led by House Phenex's own Bruri, intoned a chant in floor-rumbling harmony that seemed as if armies were marching for war. Then a bard from the court of House Bael rose and recounted the story of how the devils were created by Lucifer. He was a fine singer, strong-voiced and clear of thought, and those in the hall saw that long-ago world through Lucifer's eyes, then through the eyes of the Founders of the Pillar Houses, and each felt anew that ancient wonder and pride.

When the first courses were done, the heroes of the tribulation were announced one by one by the herald of Lord Aurelius Phenex. First came the minor heroes, sworn to lesser houses; then the greater, such as Seorin Phenex and her father, the Warden of the North, who was welcomed as the greatest hero save one. And at last came the greatest of them all, announced as the one who had single-handedly ended the tribulation by defeating the Shadow Warlocks alone. The hall fell silent, perhaps in awe of the deeds of Riser Phenex, still an infant in the eyes of the ancient devils, or perhaps because the figure who entered the hall seemed nearly divine. He came like a breath of starlight, his robes shades of ice blue and silver trimmed with gold that caught the light with every step. Amethyst gems gleamed across his chest, set into cloth like fallen stars, and a sheer mantle trailed behind him like drifting mist. His regal garb, combined with an otherworldly beauty, made him seem as though he were the god of beauty himself, come to bless them with his presence.

When the feasting was done, the hour had grown late. The tables were pushed back to clear the central floor beneath the leaded glass dome. Goodwill and good wine did much to erase even the semblance of restraint, and the dancing began before the last platters had been carried away.

They danced late into the night beneath the moon, which shone through the glass dome and cast intricate patterns on the marble floor, old dances of grace and beauty. The round dances drew nearly everyone onto the floor: The Ashen Spiral, The Bael Requiem, The Steps of Lamashtu, The Lilin Gilde.

Rias Gremory, however, categorically refused to dance any of the steps that originated from the domains of House Phenex, despite her mother Venelana Gremory's earnest requests. "I have attended the celebration of my betrothed's achievement, as is expected of me," Rias said venomously. "But it is not required that I dance to every tune, for that would be tiresome. It would be an insult if I did not perform at my best, after all." Her smile showed only her teeth, still bitter that she was betrothed to Riser Phenex without her consent. Her father did not look pleased.


⸻

POV: Rias Gremory

Inside the hall, the music rose and fell like a tide of gold and wine. Laughter clung to the banners overhead, dancers twirled in circles wide enough to catch the dying sun through the leaded glass dome. It was a dream of power. Too bright, too loud, too false.

Rias Gremory hated it.

So she slipped through the press of devils, ignoring the calls, "Lady Rias!" " Miss. Gremory!" and stepped out onto the high balcony that clung to the keep's western wing like a sentinel. Out here, the summer night sighed against her skin — soft and dark, scented with distant roses and wine spilt on flagstones. Below, the gardens burned with lanterns bound in pale blue flame, drifting among the hedges like captive ghosts.

She braced her arms on the marble railing, scarlet hair spilling forward like a defiant banner against the dusk. A caged heir, she thought sourly, staring into the violet sky where a comet dragged its tail across the horizon. Dressed in silk and chained in gold.

Behind her, the door creaked. She didn't turn. She knew that voice too well. Too smooth, too easy.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Riser's voice slid through the hush, melodic and infuriatingly calm.

"The view, or your party?" Rias asked without looking back.

She could hear his chuckle — warm, intimate, infuriating. She hated that her pulse jumped at its softness.

"Whatever makes you less inclined to fly off the balcony."

"I considered it," she said dryly. "But I wouldn't want to make a scene."

She felt him step closer, close enough that the wind carried his scent, sandalwood and something faintly floral, like an orchard in bloom.

"Ah, yes. How dutiful of you."

His voice curled around her spine like a silk ribbon. She stiffened, stubbornly fixed her gaze on the distant lanterns.

"I came here for air, not company."

"Then I'll be like air." His tone turned light, teasing. "Subtle. Essential. Occasionally annoying."

A reluctant breath escaped her nose, not quite a laugh, but too soft to be disdain alone.

"You're many things, Phenex. But subtle is not one of them."

"Not even a little?"

"You're still here, aren't you?"

She felt him smile without seeing it.

"I'm persistent. I've found it gets results."

Silence flickered between them, threaded by harp notes drifting up from the gardens below. The breeze tugged at the hem of her scarlet gown. A gown she wore like armor, every pinned curl a battle standard.

"You know," he said after a beat, almost conversational, "I didn't think you'd actually come tonight."

"Not like I had any choice."

"I figured." A pause. "But you came. That says something."

She shot him a sharp sideways look. "It says I didn't want to start a war."

He laughed, low and warm. "Fair enough. Still. A gesture. A small rebellion against yourself, perhaps?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't presume to know me."

His answer was mild, so mild it pricked at her anger again.

"I don't. That's what I'm here for."

Her arms crossed tighter, nails biting into silk.

"You have the gall to stand here and say that? After our parents bartered us like breeding stock?"

His smile faded, replaced by something cooler, not pity, but a flicker of understanding.

"I said I wanted to know you. I didn't say I approved of the contract."

That earned him another glance, brief, sharper now. Calculating. Does he mean it? she wondered, hating that she even wondered.

"I'd like to believe there's still some dignity left in choosing," he went on softly, "what we make of a bad situation. Or… who we make something with."

She scoffed, but her voice came out more tired than cutting. "You speak like a romantic."

He chuckled. "I speak like a realist who plays piano and reads poetry. Which is worse, do you think?"

Her lips twitched. She covered it with a sigh. "That depends. Do you quote poetry at every girl forced to tolerate you?"

He grinned, white teeth flashing in the dusk. "Only the ones who interest me."

Damn him.

"I don't want to be interesting. I want to be free."

This time, the silence between them softened instead of cutting. When he spoke, it was quieter than before and honest in a way that made her chest tighten.

"Being heir to a pillar house is a strange kind of cage, isn't it? You can walk its halls, wear gold, speak your mind… and still. It follows you."

Her breath caught, just for a moment. "Like a chain you're expected to polish."

He nodded, hair catching the lantern glow like molten gold.

A harp below struck a higher note, a quiet tether to the revelry they both fled.

He spoke again, voice as gentle as the wind. "You like Japanese literature, don't you?"

She frowned. "How do you know that?"

He smiled, not sly, not mocking. Just soft. "You mentioned Akutagawa once. At a gathering. Five months ago."

Her eyes widened. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything," Riser said, "about people who wear their fury like silk."

She laughed, a sharp, surprised sound that felt like breaking glass inside her ribs. She hated how it made her want to smile.

Rias (avoiding his gaze) said quietly, "Akutagawa's stories are ugly. Bleak. Full of suffering."

"Which is why they're honest," Riser replied. "No polite illusions. Just the mess beneath."

She looked down at the gardens, her voice barely more than a breath. "Most devils wouldn't bother to understand that."

"I'm not most devils," he said.

The wind shifted again, stirring the folds of her gown. Somewhere below, the harp resumed — faint, silken, like memory.

She leaned her arms on the stone railing, her face unreadable. "If you're trying to charm me," she said flatly, "it won't work."

"I'm trying to have a conversation."

"I'm trying to end it."

"Then I must be failing spectacularly," he said lightly. "Yet here you are. Still talking."

She let out a small, grudging sound. "...You're not as obnoxious as I thought."

"High praise," he said with a smirk. "I'll treasure it."


⸻

When they finally fell quiet again, the distance between them had changed. It wasn't gone but it no longer felt like a wall.

When he turned to her, the armor of his charm slipped. He spoke simply.

"Rias. I don't want this engagement if you don't. Truly. But I believe something can come of it, if not love, then perhaps… understanding."

She stared at him, eyes searching for the trick. For the hook beneath the silk.

"Why would you even try?"

He lifted a shoulder, calm, unbothered. "To know you. Not the heir of Gremory. Not the girl everyone compares to her brother. Just Rias."

And for once, the wind did not steal his words away.

He offered his hand, not to touch, just to make a promise.

"Five years," he said. "We meet once a week. Talk. Read. Get to know each other. Explore what we love. No pressure. No obligation. And if after five years there's nothing between us, no spark, no bond. I'll stand beside you when you ask our families to dissolve it."

She did not take his hand. But she didn't slap it away, either.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And they'll listen to you?"

"They will. If I make it clear." His tone remained steady. "I always get what I want, Rias. And if what I want is your freedom. I'll fight for it."

She looked at him then, truly looked at him, for the first time that night. The firelight from the hall caught in his hair like molten gold. His eyes were unreadable, but not cruel. Not dishonest. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe it was all a performance.


But maybe… not.

"…Fine." Her voice was soft, yet carried all the weight of old chains cracking. "Five years. We'll see."

Riser Phenex's smile returned, brighter now, less cutting. He bowed his head in mock solemnity.

"Excellent. So — likes, dislikes, hobbies, dreams for the future?"

She let out a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a laugh. And for the first time that night, she felt lighter.

"You're ridiculous."

His grin was a star falling into the garden's dark.

POV: Unknown

Later that evening, when the feasting had reached its height and the wine flowed like molten rubies, Lord Aurelius Phenex rose from his place at the head of the high table.
His expression was composed, his tone formal.

"I ask the attention of all gathered," he began, standing tall. "Tonight, we do more than celebrate the end of the recent crisis. We recognize the actions that brought it to a close."

He paused briefly, surveying the room.

"Zarakura Saeros, once a trusted ally of the House of phenex, committed treason. He conspired in secret against House Phenex and attempted to murder my son, Riser Phenex, during the height of the conflict."

A low murmur passed through the guests, but no one interrupted.

"Riser not only survived the attack — he defeated Zarakura in direct combat. The confrontation ended the Tribulation and exposed the full extent of Saeros's treachery. For this reason, and by right of conquest, Riser Phenex is to be formally rewarded."

Lord Aurelius turned slightly, gesturing toward his son.

"As recognition for his actions, and with the approval of I and my authority as the lord of the pillar house of phenex, I hereby name Riser Phenex the Lord of Emberhold, the former territory of House Saeros."

A stir ran through the room.

"He is now the youngest devil in recent history to be granted his own territory. Emberhold will be his to govern. Its restoration, its defense, its future, his responsibility."

There was a moment of silence, not of hesitation but absorption.

Then came the applause. It began at the high table, then spread quickly across the hall. Hands striking goblets, the sound of heels tapping the floor. Some shouted "Emberhold!" and raised their glasses.

Riser stood slowly, his expression unreadable. He gave a single, sharp nod, not boastful, not hesitant.

"To Emberhold," he said.

And the hall echoed him, louder this time:

"To Emberhold!"

The moment passed, and the celebration resumed but something had changed. A new title had been granted. A new power had been set in motion and another had fallen.

And every noble in the room understood: the third son of House Phenex was now a lord in his own right.


POV: Rias Gremory

Now she glanced down at end of the table, where Diodora Astaroth, very drunk, was haughtily importuning her betrothed.

"Why don't you play us one of the fabled phoenix songs that your House is known for?"

Rias immediately regretted having brought up the topic of music.

"Song?" riser echoed, with the perfervid clarity of intoxication. He waved the hand not flung around Yubellana's, his queen, shoulders at the moonlit floor, where the dancers were tracing the final figures of The Sable Grace.

"No, a dance!" Latia Astaroth said politely, her voice light but her eyes gleaming. "Lord of Emberhold, will you not give us one of the dances of the legendary bird of rebirth? The Phoenix!"

And as though that had been a signal, the young heirs of the devil pillar houses began to press him, calling for the famed dances of passion. The mythical movements that had once, it was said, enchanted gods themselves.

The Dance of the Phoenix, it was whispered, had been born before the rise of the heavens, when the spiritual world and material world was one. A rite of motion and fire, it was no simple performance, but a metaphysical ritual, an expression of becoming, of destruction and rebirth. It was said that in ancient days, when the Phoenix danced, even gods paused to listen. Some never recovered.

At last, Riser rose.

He walked to the edge of the dais, and the crowd fell into hush.

All eyes turned to the newly made Lord of Emberhold. But before any could react, he leapt — a blaze of gold and red — from the platform onto the dark stone floor.

There was no music.

And yet he began to dance.

At first, he moved slowly, turning in deliberate circles beneath the moon-drenched dome. Light and shadow slid across his robes, their trailing ends cutting ribbons through the air. As the dance grew swifter, his range widened. His body became the axis of something greater, as if the hall itself had become a stage for some hidden truth mapped into motion.

Rias could not look away.

She saw the forms he traced, patterns woven through the space around him, not random, not wild, but meaningful. The expression of some deeper logic, some cosmic geometry long forgotten. So this is how the Phoenix must have danced, she thought, in the age when gods still walked, when fire itself had memory.

But Riser's dance did not lull. It ignited.

It pulsed with every vein in the room, a silent heartbeat shared between all present. He wasn't merely performing. He was speaking, not to minds, but to matter. To blood, to breath, to being.

In his dancing, Riser spoke of power, of seeking and overcoming challenges, of transcending limits. Of the dance of stars above and atoms below. Of fire in the veins and water shaping stone. Of entropy and order interlaced.

He spoke of rebirth, again and again, of the cycle not as curse, but celebration. He showed them what it meant to burn and be remade. And in doing so, he pulled all of them into it. This furious weave of meaning and movement.

There was madness in it, Rias realized, not chaos but an ecstasy too great for rules. The ferocity of some deeper truth. She didn't know if it was beautiful or terrifying.

No music played, and yet every movement sang. A silent music echoed through him, fierce and exalted. And Rias wondered, dazed, if each person heard the same song or if Riser's dance called forth a unique melody from each of their hearts.

All were enspelled.

The musicians stared, instruments forgotten. Sona trembled beside Rias. At the other end of the table, Latia wept openly.

Then, something shifted.

The rhythm slowed. Riser's motions came to a breathless stillness at the foot of the dais. His chest rose and fell with effort. He bowed low. But it was not surrender, not submission. It was triumph.

Rias found herself mirroring him. Her head bowed, her breath unsteady. I would never fall in love with him, she had told herself in her pride. Never.

And now, something in her faltered.

She rose.

"The dance of the Phoenix is fair indeed," she said, her voice carrying. Genuine delight slipped past her pride.

"But is this a dance for one alone?"

A pause. Uncomfortably long. He looked at her.

"It need not be."

She pressed her advantage. "You dance without music, but our steps falter without it. What shall I ask the musicians to play?"

A flicker of something crossed his face. Anger? Amusement?

But Riser turned to the musicians, still silent with awe, and gave them no rhythm to follow. Only a complex set of interwoven patterns, a design more mathematical than musical..

They responded like waking creatures, hearts lit by the fire he'd ignited. The music rose. Rippling, bright, complex. It wasn't quite the music she had seen in his solo dance, but it was enough.

Riser sprang back to the floor.

And she followed.

It was not the same dance, now that it was shared but it had not diminished. No, it had evolved.

This was harder.

It demanded more of her — balance, speed, intuition. But there was joy in the difficulty. There always had been.

She spun across the stone, eyes fixed on her betrothed. There was nothing else but the motion, the fire, the air between them.

Their eyes met.

She matched him, not merely keeping pace, but layering her own meaning atop his. A dialogue of flame and will. He responded in kind, shifting his movement to meet hers. Not domination, not surrender. Collaboration.

She laughed aloud, not out of mockery, but sheer wonder. She caught his other hand and fell back, a variation of the old court figures. Far behind them, the musicians caught her cue and braided it into the weave — beauty and power rising like wind.

And then they were not alone.

From the high tables, devils began to move, to step forward, to join. Arms linked, dropped, linked again. Circle after circle spun outward, like ripples in some sacred pool.

The hall exploded into motion.

They danced, not as nobles performing rote ceremony, but as beings suddenly reminded of what it meant to be alive. Difficult, wholehearted, collective. And glorious.

Drums rang out. Voices lifted in wordless song. The sky paled. And the first rays of dawn shone through the dome above.

Still they danced.

When the motion finally slowed, Rias steadied herself against Riser.

She felt breathless. Drenched in something too large to name.

And though she could not say who had won, or what the victory was but she knew something had shifted.

Something had begun.


AN: So here we go again. New chapter, fresh off the chaos press. And honestly? I think this might be my best one yet. Sure, it's shorter than the previous monster of a chapter, but sometimes quality beats quantity. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.

I really hope I nailed the Rias and Riser interaction. That part took me a while to write. I wanted to show two people stuck in a situation neither of them chose, without turning them into total jerks. Just two stubborn nobles politely gritting their teeth at destiny.

Now, you might be wondering why Riser is trying to win Rias's love when he could just shrug, sip wine, and move on. Well, that's because Riser is a man powered by ego and weird life choices. He loves a challenge, and Rias hating his guts? That's the ultimate side quest. He's not even sure if he likes her—he just finds the act of wooing someone who'd rather punch him incredibly entertaining.

Anyway, I'd love to hear what you think. Praise, critique, spicy roasts, or random yelling—it's all welcome. Let me know how I can improve or if I've accidentally written Riser as the devil world's most charming narcissist.

 

[abel targayen]

POV: Yubelluna

For the twentieth time that hour, Yubelluna went flying. Dirt exploded around her as she crashed into the training field, rolling once, twice, before landing flat on her back.

She groaned.

Her limbs ached. Her hair was tangled. Sweat clung to her skin in an unglamorous sheen. Her beloved king, however, stood not ten meters away, shirtless, barely winded, and positively glowing like some divine punishment.

"Again," Riser Phenex said, calm as the moon, flame still flickering faintly in his palm.

Yubelluna thumped her head against the ground. "You've got to be kidding me."

Almost a year had passed since they moved to Emberhold. A full year since that unforgettable night—the night of his legendary dance, now known across the Underworld as The Phoenix Mandala. And yet, some things hadn't changed.

Like her king's obsession with training.

If anything, it had grown worse. Fiercer. Like something haunted him. Like there was a clock ticking only he could hear.

"Why do you train like this?" she'd asked once, between bruises and coughing up smoke.

"In pursuit of my ambition," he'd replied.

Cryptic as always. Her king had a habit of speaking in riddles and half-truths. It drove her crazy. And not the good kind of crazy.

Still, being Lady of Emberhold had its perks: twenty demonic leyens under Riser's command now. Twelve low-class, seven mid-class, and one high-class. All of them produce infernal crystals: raw magic solidified, the most valuable currency in devil society. Not just for trade, no, these weren't for trinkets. Crystals could be absorbed, slowly increasing a devil's demonic power, which is why a society based on power would accept it as a currency.

But only if matched by class.

A high-class devil trying to absorb low-class crystals would barely feel a tickle. The real gains came from parity, like for example mid-class crystals for mid-class devils. Even then, a hundred crystals gave only a two-percent increase. Power was a game of patience and pain. And most devils weren't willing to play it.

But her king? He played. And he played to win.

Yubelluna groaned again. "Ugh. Why am I thinking about devil economics right now...?"

Oh right—because if she looked at him again, she was going to pounce. Riser wasn't even sweating. Shirtless. Muscles taut and shimmering in the setting sun like some sort of infernal romance novel come to life. It was rude. Unfair.

"How am I supposed to concentrate when you're walking around looking like that?" she muttered, pouting.

"Stop having inappropriate thoughts," Riser said mildly. "And stand up."

She glared. "You read my mind again, didn't you?"

He didn't deny it.

"Why can't you be like a normal devil? You know—lazy, indulgent, fucking me into unconsciousness like any reasonable man would?"

"Control your hormones, woman," he said, clearly amused.

"Unfair," she huffed. "It is not a crime to want to be ravished by my incredibly sexy, shirtless king who's built like a war god and smells like sin."

That earned a laugh. A rich, beautiful sound that made her toes curl.

"If you can keep up for thirty more minutes," he said, "then you'll get your reward."

He said it like she was some pet earning a treat. And... well. She kind of was.

Thirty minutes. The longest thirty minutes of her life. She couldn't even stand by the end. Her knees buckled, her legs gave out and he caught her.

Riser lifted her into a princess carry, all grace and fire. She collapsed into him, boneless and breathless.

"So…" she murmured against his shoulder, "do I get my reward, master?"

He hummed. "Yes."

"Fabulous," she sighed, and promptly licked the sweat off his cheek like a dog in heat.

He snorted. "You're making me reconsider."

"Not fabulous," she whimpered.

He laughed again, deep and beautiful and hers.

And even if she was sore and exhausted, at that moment, she was exactly where she wanted to be.


POV: Valerie

Valerie Tepes had long since stopped expecting her world to change. She had been born in a coffin of marble and gold, raised within the cold stone walls of the Tepes castle, and taught early that kindness was an illusion—a story told to weak children to make them easier prey.

Dhampir. Half-blood. Mistake.

They had a hundred words for what she was, and none of them were meant to make her feel like she belonged.

Even the silence here bled contempt. Every corridor, every black-draped window, every flickering candelabra reminded her of what she wasn't: pure. Whole. Worthy. The purebloods passed her like she was dust in the air, or worse, a stain that would never wash out. And so Valerie learned to walk with her chin high, her heart low, and her hope buried so deep it had almost suffocated.

Almost.

The only thing that made life inside the castle bearable was Gasper. Poor, trembling, cursed Gasper.

He was five years her junior, though in this place, time bent strangely around suffering. He had been born twisted by a Sacred Gear no one understood, shrouded in fear before he could even speak. They said his mother died just from holding him. Valerie didn't believe it was his fault.

She remembered the first time she saw him. Huddled in a corner like a shadow given form, eyes wide and red-rimmed, too scared to cry. She had marched right up to him and declared, "You're mine now."

He didn't flinch. He just looked at her. And stayed.

Over time, he stopped stuttering around her. He started smiling, even. She made him laugh once, and it nearly broke her heart. Because he still believed in something. Maybe in her. Maybe in escape.

He would talk about the world beyond the castle. About dragons and angels and great cities filled with light that never went out. He dreamed of meeting beings who didn't look at him like he was broken. And Valerie—

She pretended to listen with a smile. But inside, she knew better.

There was no escape. There was no world that wanted them.

But then the dreams started.

Valerie had never seen a city before. Not really. But in her dreams, she stood beneath impossible towers of glass and light, buildings that touched the sky and bled color like rain. She saw metal beasts rushing down black rivers, people wrapped in strange clothes and noise, and music.

Always the music.

It was haunting, lilting, without words but full of meaning. It crept under her skin, filled her lungs like mist. And then, always, the figure appeared: tall, golden-haired, crimson-eyed. Beautiful beyond understanding.

He would smile, and speak without moving his lips:

Follow the melody, and you will find what you seek.

She didn't know what it meant. And she didn't want to believe it. Hope was dangerous. It made you soft.

But then, one day, Gasper came to her. He looked shaken, pale even by vampire standards.

"I want to leave," he said. His voice was firm. Clear. "I want to try. Please, Valerie. Come with me."

And she looked at him, really looked. At the only person who had ever seen her as something worth staying for.

She remembered her dream.

Follow the melody.

"Alright," she said.

They planned carefully. Valerie knew the guards' rotations, when the feeding halls were emptied, when the castle's wards shifted briefly at twilight. Gasper, nervous as he was, could control his Sacred Gear just enough to freeze the eyes of anyone who caught sight of them for a few crucial seconds. They gathered what little they had: cloaks, dried blood packs, a map stolen from a tutor's study.

When they slipped out into the night, hearts pounding and senses stretched taut, they didn't expect to make it far.

But they made it past the gates.

And then they heard it.

The melody.

Faint, distant, but unmistakable. Valerie froze. So did Gasper.

He looked at her.

"You hear it too?"

She nodded slowly.

The music was eerie, unearthly. It carried no words, but it pulled. It beckoned.

She remembered the dream. The golden figure. The promise.

Follow the melody.

They had no map for what came next. No plan. Only each other, and the music.

So they followed.

According to whispered talks Valerie had overheard among the vampire nobility, the vampire world was a pocket dimension connected to the darkness of a human country called Romania. A shadowed mirror of the real world. There were checkpoints—gates—where the vampire realm bled into the human one, patrolled and watched by guards. She had never seen them. Never hoped to. But the melody led them there.

As if fate willed it, they found an unguarded moment, a weakness in the patrol. Valerie found it strange, too easy. Her unease deepened, but they pressed on and passed through the gate.

Romania.

The air felt different. Cleaner. The trees looked alive, not twisted and blackened like those behind them. There were rivers. Grass. Birds.

They walked for hours, eyes wide with awe, still following the song.

And then they began to hear the words.

Hush, now. Hide, all you little ones.

Rush now, Into the middle of Nowhere;

Singing and laughter will die.

The melody remained soft. Almost cheerful. But the lyrics turned their blood to ice.

Dreamless sleep Follows the Nowhere King.

When his kingdom comes, Darkness is nigh.

Gasper whimpered. Valerie took his hand.

Quiet, Crawl through the in-between.

Silent, Secretive feeling of fearsome Hatred that reaches the skies.

You will bring joy to the Nowhere King, When he sees the light Leaving your eyes.

The contrast between tune and words was unbearable yet comforting in an odd way. The music comforts the disturbed and disturbs the comforted. And, they followed. What else could they do?

Moments later, Valerie's dread proved right. Figures emerged from the forest, men in strange clothes, bearing holy swords. Their eyes cold. Their expressions cruel.

Vampire hunters.

Valerie froze.

"Well, well," one sneered. "What do we have here? Two young blood-sucking parasites, fresh out of the womb."

"How delightful," another laughed, raising his blade.

They didn't attack at once. They played. Taunted. Mocked. Like cats with mice.

Valerie tried to fight. So did Gasper. But they'd never seen real battle. Their strikes were clumsy. The hunters laughed.

"This is what the lords of night spawn now?"

And then one of them stepped forward, bored. Drew his sword and without hesitation, stabbed Gasper through the heart.

Valerie screamed.

She dropped to her knees beside him, blood soaking through his cloak. His eyes were wide with shock, lips trembling with a name he could not finish.

She held him. Cried. Cursed herself, the hunters, the melody, the world.

He died in her arms.

And something inside her shattered.

The world burned white.

The Sephiroth Graal awoke.

Visions tore through her: life, death, soul. She saw the shape of existence, the principle of vitality. The language of creation screamed through her.

She rose.

The hunters turned but too late.

Her power tore them apart. Bones cracked. Screams filled the forest.

When the last body fell, she staggered back to Gasper.

He was still. Cold. Gone.

But the melody still played.

Desperate, broken, Valerie gathered his body into her arms and followed the song.

She ran for what felt like hours, through trees and shadow, as the final verse echoed in her bones.

You will bring Joy to the Nowhere King,

When he sees the light leaving your eyes.

And then, the forest broke.

A boulder loomed ahead. And beside it—

The figure from her dreams.

Tall. Golden. Crimson-eyed. Radiant beyond reason.

Is he a fairy? she wondered. No... something more.

She stumbled toward him, still holding Gasper's body.

"You're the man from my dreams," she whispered.

He smiled. "I am."

"You said... if I followed the melody... I'd find what I seek."

"And you did."

"Then save him," she begged, falling to her knees. "Please."

The figure tilted his head. "What will you give in return?"

"Everything," Valerie said, voice raw.

He smiled wider. And from his palm rose three small objects, smooth and gleaming like marble. She did not know what they were—only that they pulsed with strange power.

Two floated to Gasper's chest. One drifted into her own heart.

And then darkness took her.


3 months later

It's been about three months since I became a bishop in Lord Riser's peerage.

I remember waking in a bed softer than anything I'd ever felt, draped in silk and the scent of roses. He explained it all to me then, calmly, kindly. That he was a devil. That I had been reincarnated as one too. That I was now part of his household, his servant, his bishop. At first, I was terrified. A deal with a devil rarely ends well. It's almost laughable, isn't it? I tried to escape slavery and instead walked straight into it, willingly. But I don't regret it. Not when the person dearest to me was saved.

Since that day, I've thrown myself into learning. Everything I never had the chance to study while trapped in the Tepes palace, I devour it now. Etiquette, manners, speech, customs, the intricacies of devil society. Yubelluna, the queen of the peerage, has been teaching me. She's been... kind. Too kind. It makes me suspicious. But Gasper adores her. She's the third person in his life to treat him like he's not some cursed thing. He smiles more now. Laughs. I keep telling myself: even if her kindness is fake, his happiness is real. And that's enough.

Still, I'm not stupid. I know why we're treated so well. It's because we're useful. Sacred Gears are rare, precious. We're assets, not family. That's why I work harder than anyone else. I have to be indispensable. I study until my vision blurs. I train until my demonic energy burns. I force myself to improve, because I cannot be discarded. Not again.

Yubelluna praises me often. Says I'm talented. That I learn fast. She taught Gasper and me the foundations of devil magic. I picked it up quickly. I was proud, until I remembered what pride leads to. So I swallowed it and trained harder.

I researched on my own. Learned the limits and possibilities of devil magic. It's said to be limitless, in theory anything is possible. But in reality, there are walls everywhere. Demonic Energy, talent, knowledge, resources. Thus most devils specialize in a specific area of magic. Enchantment. Conjuration. Curses. Transmutation. Potions (very rare). Very few master more than one.

Except for Lord Riser.

He noticed me after I demonstrated aptitude for ritual theory. Since then, he's taken over my training. His knowledge of magic is... unnerving. He understands everything. Not just spells or potions, but the principles behind them. He teaches with such clarity that he answers questions before I even ask them. Sometimes, it feels like he's reading my mind.

I asked Yubelluna once: was every pureblooded devil like him?

She laughed. "No," she said, shaking her head. "He's a freak."

She meant it fondly. She told me that while talent is unevenly distributed, most devils have limits, things they can't do. But Riser Phenex... doesn't. Most devils are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience. He's a master of everything he touches. Magic. Music. Weapons. Dance. Yubelluna grew wistful as she listed them. Violin, harp, piano—he plays them all and weaves memory into melody. He enchants people not with spells, but with Mastery.

A perfect devil.

And he's mine to serve.

He's been focusing on rituals and alchemy with me. Potions, runes, summoning circles. It's difficult, delicate work, but he makes it make sense. He's patient, precise. Demanding, yes, but fair. And I give everything I have. Every thought, every hour. Because if I'm useful, I'm safe. If I'm useful, Gasper is safe.

And maybe….maybe—I can find freedom in this service. Even if I'm still a slave in name, at least I'm no longer in chains.

Not yet.


POV: Riser Phenex

The knowledge I gained from absorbing Kelzior Saeros' soul has proven… invaluable. Predictable, but still deeply satisfying.

Kelzior had been many things: a sadist, a despot, a brilliant polymath whose intellect burned so hot it incinerated morality. A Devil who once said, " All that is created must be known to me, or it exists without my sanction." A sentiment I now understand with unnerving clarity. The moment I took his soul into myself, his mind became part of the architecture of my own. Not as a voice—no, that would be crude, but as impulse, intuition, a sharper edge to my will.

He was an expert in enchantment, transmutation, conjuration, potions, alchemy, and ritual magic. A master of soulcraft. A scholar of domination in both magical and psychological forms. And now I am too.

But more than his knowledge, I inherited his hunger—a ravenous desire to master every discipline that caught his gaze. That part of him, his tyrannical intensity, I have not tamed. I've simply aimed it.

And it is accelerating everything.

My body, reshaped and refined through Kelzior's soul-fueled rituals, is something else entirely now. Even beyond its aesthetic perfection, though I do enjoy the way mirror reflections seem to pause in reverence, my capabilities have multiplied. My strength, even before enhancing it with demonic energy, is staggering. When I exhaust myself in training, my reserves recover at unnatural speeds. My demonic energy output is already above peak high-class. I'm still below ultimate class, but not by much. Not for long.

The leap from high-class to ultimate-class isn't simply about power. It's about transcendence.

In the devil hierarchy, each rank isn't just a number but a new state of being. Low-class devils are two to three times stronger than a human without enhancements; with demonic energy, they reach tenfold. Middle-class devils eclipse them five to seven times over. But from there, the scale curves steeply: high-class devils are ten to twelve times stronger than middle-class, and ultimate-class devils are fifteen to twenty times stronger still. The difference between an ultimate-class devil and a High-class entity is as vast as the ocean to a pond.

And then… There is Satan-class. The gods in all but name. Beings like Serafall Leviathan, Falbium, The Seraphs, Odin, Zeus, Azazel.

To breach these thresholds, raw power is not enough. One must undergo a qualitative transformation, an evolution. A unique ability, a sacred gear, a perfected technique, or in some cases, a conceptual shift in how their power manifests. Just as the caterpillar does not become a stronger caterpillar to fly—it becomes something else.

Before I attempt that leap, however, I must address my species' most persistent vulnerability: our racial weakness to holy and light-based forces. The very idea of being undone by such primitive elements offends me. So I've begun experimenting, rituals, potions, symbols long-buried in myth.

Progress has been slow. The work demands something beyond even my enhanced capability. A missing component.

Which is why I accelerated Valerie's escape from the Tepes estate.

In the original timeline, her Sacred Gear, the Sephiroth Graal, awakened only under extreme emotional trauma while helping Gasper escape. But in my version, I ensured their path was smooth, too smooth, in fact. Her emotional trigger never came. So I corrected the oversight.

I manipulated a group of vampire hunters into "finding" them. Let the scene unfold. Valerie's despair reached the necessary pitch. Gasper's death, temporary, of course, was the final push. She awakened. Just as I intended.

When she begged me to save him, I offered a deal. She accepted without hesitation. Just as I planned.

And now the Graal is mine.

Valerie is important. More than she knows. Her Sacred Gear connects her to the very principles of life. Through it, she perceives how life and soul are formed. Through it, I will reshape the biology of devils.

The Sephiroth Graal's ability that most interests me is its ability to reduce weakness. Vampires become more resistant to holy weapons. Evil Dragons resist their Slayers. Devils—I—may become impervious to the light.

That alone would be enough.

But with her help, I can craft potions and rituals impossible by conventional means. Imagine the possibility of overcoming the racial weakness of devils to anything holy or light, where I am free to act without constraint, without flaw. Imagine an existence where even God's weapons are dulled against me.

That is the future I am building.

And it is coming faster than I expected.


AN: Yep, it's that time again—another chapter has arrived. Believe it or not, I was planning to kick off the next arc here and make this chapter as long as a small novel, but then I remembered sleep exists. So the next arc will start in the following chapter instead.

If you're wondering about the song I used: it's from a children's show called Centaurworld, and yes, it's about the Nowhere King. I just thought the song was cool, creepy, and weirdly perfect, so I chucked it in there like seasoning.

As always, any kind of feedback would be interesting. Honestly, it's the only reason I even post. That and to inflict firebird drama on the world.

 

[abel targayen]

POV: Le Fay Pendragon

Le Fay sat by the window seat, arms crossed, headphones tucked around her neck but not playing anything. The drone of the plane's engine filled the silence. She glanced across the aisle at her brother Arthur, who sat relaxed but focused, listening to the man seated beside him: Cao Cao.

He was eloquent—too eloquent. Ever since her brother Arthur met him, Le Fay had been uneasy. It was supposed to be a simple mission. A rogue magister haunting an old estate in the French countryside. But when they arrived, there he was—sitting on a moss-covered boulder beneath the shade of a crumbling oak, as if he had always been waiting. He introduced himself with a smile and spoke with the kind of calm that made men listen before they knew they were listening. Within hours, Arthur had invited him to dinner.

And now they were on a flight to Japan, surrounded by his companions. Strangers, yet wearing the names of heroes.

George. Jeanne. Heracles. Leonardo. Marsillio. They had introduced themselves politely earlier. They'd even explained the names.


"We chose them," Jeanne had said with a soft smile, "because some of us are either descendants of these heroes, some spirit inheritors of these heroes from myth and some soul inheritors."

Arthur had nodded at that, finding the symbolism noble. Le Fay had remained silent.

Now, the conversation returned to why they were here.

Cao Cao spoke again, gaze calm but sharp. "A school bus in Japan had gone missing. Vanished without a trace outside Kyoto. Not a single body recovered. The local authorities are useless. The supernatural is involved—I'm sure of it."

Arthur had leaned forward, concerned. "What kind of supernatural?"

"Vampires, possibly," Cao Cao answered. "But it could be devils, or yokais or something else. That's why I'm gathering people with potential. People with the power and the will to fight monsters. People who see others suffer and instead of closing their eyes instead wish to do something about it. People like you. Heros"

Le Fay looked at him. "But why? What's your plan?"

Cao Cao straightened. His tone shifted—still elegant, but heavier now. Sharper.

"Because humanity has no one left. No guardian, no shield, no god who truly fights for us. We are ruled from the shadows by devils and monsters who see us not as people, but as tools, resources to be bent, broken, and discarded. Vampires keep humans like cattle, draining their blood night after night, robbing them of dignity, identity, and life. They treat suffering as their right. Devils are worse. They offer pacts laced in poison, bind men and women to eternal servitude, twist innocent into new devils without consent. They take those born with Sacred Gears—gifts meant to uplift—and chain them into servants for their petty feuds. And the yokai? They smile and whisper lies in alleyways, dragging innocents into the dark to devour them. We have become prey in our own world. And still, the world remains silent."

Arthur frowned. "But surely not all of them are like that?"

Cao Cao gave him a look. Not angry, just measured. "Enough are. Enough to justify action. We humans have no gods that fight for us. No armies of angels. No eldritch powers of our own. The supernatural feeds on us. Lies to us. Uses us."

He looked around at them all.

"That ends with us. With this generation. With people willing to take a stand."

Le Fay crossed her arms tighter. "You speak of darkness, but what of the light? Not all supernatural beings are monsters. What about angels? Gods? There are those who protect and heal humanity."

Cao Cao gave a quiet scoff. "The gods? You speak of them as if they are saviors. As if their divinity makes them just. Look at the Greek pantheon: so often praised, so often worshipped. What were they, truly? Petulant tyrants draped in immortality. They razed cities because they were insulted, condemned families for disobedience, turned mortals into beasts or stone for daring to speak freely. They took mortals as lovers, yes, but not out of love but out of possession. Out of hunger. They were predators who demanded praise, who demanded sacrifice, and gave nothing but ruin in return. And it is not just the Greeks. Across myth and history, the gods have done what they please without consequence. Is that who you would entrust with our protection? Creatures that destroy as easily as they breathe?"

He paused, letting silence stretch.

"And the angels? Those beings of light you speak of so fondly? They sit in their perfect heaven, cloaked in silence and prayer, unmoved while humanity screams below. Where are they when vampires drain children dry in cold cellars? Where are they when devils bind men's souls to eternal contracts? Where are they when demons walk the earth in noble garb and prey on the innocent with laughter on their tongues? They do nothing. Because their heaven is not our earth. Because our pain is not their concern."

Arthur looked down at that. Le Fay saw him nod slowly. She bit her lip.

"Then what's your solution?" she asked. "How do you plan to protect humanity?"

Cao Cao's eyes met hers. "Simple. Eliminate all those who threaten us. All who prey on mankind."

Le Fay stared. "That's vague. Who decides what counts as a threat? What about beings with power but no ill intent?"

"Intent is fleeting," Cao Cao said calmly. "Power is constant. If someone holds the power to enslave or kill millions, they are a threat, intentional or not."

"That's dangerous thinking," Le Fay said. "That's how massacres happen."

"And inaction leads to the same ruin," Cao Cao replied, his voice sharpening. "Every century, every decade, we say the same words—'Wait, hope, endure.' But how many humans have died because others stood by, too afraid to act? How many children have vanished in the dark, how many cities have become feeding grounds, how many sacred lives have been stolen, all while the world turned its face away?"



Her voice rose slightly. "But we're not talking about people, we're talking about entire races. You're talking about genocide."

He didn't flinch. "Genocide? No. I call it what it is—defense. The final, necessary stand of a race long betrayed. Humanity cannot be free while it remains bound in chains, chains not of iron, but of fear. Chains forged by devils who control our fates. By yokai who deceive and devour us. By gods who manipulate from above, and angels who let us die while whispering their hymns. The supernatural is Cain, reborn in a thousand forms. And we, the human race, are Abel, doomed to die over and over if we do not rise. But this time, Abel must lift the stone. This time, he must strike first or perish again, forgotten and broken. If we do not fight, we will remain slaves. If we do not resist, we will remain prey."

Le Fay looked away, tense. "Humans hurt each other all the time. We lie, kill, destroy. Are we not also monsters? Are we not a threat to ourselves then?"

"We are flawed," Cao Cao admitted, and for a moment his voice softened. "We lie. We steal. We kill. But we are human. And when we harm one another, it is a tragedy of our own making. It is a pain within our family. Suffering from within the species. We can understand it, judge it, and heal from it. But when the supernatural kills us, it is not family—it is domination. It is the powerful imposing their will upon the powerless. It is a lion devouring sheep. No remorse. No justice. Just cold control. That is not a tragedy. That is enslavement. We can change ourselves. But we cannot change those who see us only as tools and food and pawns. The difference lies not in the act, but in the intent, the perspective. The moment a being sees a human as less than equal, the tragedy becomes tyranny."

"That's not justice," she said. "That's fear, dressed in reason."

She sat up straighter, eyes on Cao Cao. "There are miracles too, even now. Moments of grace that defy cruelty. There are devils who have healed, yokai who've protected children, and even angels who walk among us quietly, doing what they can. Not all supernatural beings are monsters. Some of them love humans. Some are humans—twisted by fate, by magic, by blood, but still trying. That has to count for something."

Her gaze moved to her brother, briefly.

"You speak of monsters as if they are born and finished, that nothing can change. But people, creatures, change. They surprise you. They grow."

She drew a breath.

"Do you remember the parable of the Good Samaritan? A man beaten, left for dead on the road. A priest passed by. A Levite passed by. Men of the cloth, righteous men, who looked the other way. But it was a Samaritan, a foreigner, a man reviled by society, who stopped. Who cleaned his wounds. Who saved him."

She looked around the cabin. "We talk of blood and race and power as if they define morality. But kindness isn't bound to species. Mercy isn't exclusive to one race. The divine isn't found in wings or fire. It's found in choice. The choice to help. The choice to forgive. The choice to change."

Le Fay's voice began to rise, not in anger, but conviction.

"If we kill every creature with power simply because they might harm us, then what are we? Judges? Executioners? We become no better than the ones we fear. A world ruled by suspicion, by preemptive hatred—that's not salvation. That's just another kind of cage."

She looked straight at Cao Cao now.

"You speak of defense, of standing tall. I understand that. But strength is not only found in the sword. It's found in the hand that chooses not to strike. In the heart that listens. In the soul that believes redemption is possible. If we forget that, if we forget compassion, we've already lost."

She exhaled slowly.

"I don't deny that darkness exists. But neither will I deny the light. Not in others. Not in us."

Cao Cao gave a small smile. "You're kind, Le Fay. But kindness alone won't save humanity. The only way to end our suffering is to remove those who cause it."

She turned to Arthur. "Brother, I would advise you against partaking in this folly. It can only end in sorrow. A mission born of hate cannot bring good. Those with power should seek better ways, not slaughter."

Arthur didn't respond.

Cao Cao laughed softly and stood. His voice filled the cabin.

"So! Will this valiant company abandon the innocent to their chains? Let devils rule and yokai feed while angels sit and watch? I say no."

He looked at each of them, his eyes intense.

"If sorrow awaits us, we have known it already. This world is not fair. We bowed our heads, and still the innocent bled. So now—we raise them. Through grief, we'll find joy. Or freedom, at least."

He turned back to Le Fay.

"If I cannot tear down the architects of our pain, then I will at least hurt them so badly that even the heroes of old will hear of it and wonder. And perhaps, in the end… they'll follow me."

He sat down. The cabin went quiet.

Le Fay exhaled slowly. The hum of the engine was louder than before.

She turned to the window.

Somewhere far below, the sun was rising.


POV: Tobio Ikuse

It had been a month since the bus vanished. A month since his classmates disappeared without a trace. A month since anyone last heard Sae's voice. The world had moved on. He hadn't.

Most days, Tobio Ikuse sat on the park bench after school and stared at the ground. He didn't cry anymore. That had stopped two weeks ago. There was just numbness now. The kind of dull emptiness that made the hours feel like sludge. People passed him by, not seeing him. He preferred it that way.

But recently, something odd had started to happen.

He'd made a new friend.

It was two weeks ago. He was sitting at a bench near Shinjuku Gyoen, half-numb, when a stranger approached. Foreign. Tall. Golden hair, red eyes. Striking beyond reason—not just attractive, but impossible. Beautiful like he wasn't real.

"Is this seat taken?" he'd asked in perfect, unaccented Japanese.

Tobio shook his head. The man sat down.

"You look like someone carrying too much silence," the stranger said, tone soft, words thoughtful. "Sometimes it helps to share a little of it."

It wasn't the kind of thing someone just said. And yet it didn't feel forced.

Tobio didn't talk much at first. But this man, Riser, he would later learn, was different. Riser had a way with words. He seemed genuinely curious about everything. He asked Tobio questions that weren't just polite, but thoughtful. Real.There was something disarming in his calm, something magnetic in his presence. He didn't pry, didn't pity. He simply listened, then offered comments that were both insightful and oddly comforting. The man introduced himself as Riser. A foreigner, apparently, though his Japanese was flawless.

Over the next few days, they kept meeting. Sometimes by chance, sometimes planned. And slowly, Tobio began to talk. About his life. His pain. His confusion. The bus. The school. His friends. His own guilt for not being on the trip. How he kept wondering what would've happened if he had been.

Tobio didn't know what compelled him to talk to the man, but somehow, conversation came easier than it had in weeks. Riser never judged. Just sat with him, asked the right questions, and let him speak.

They talked about everything. Music. Football. Books. History. Riser had an opinion on everything, always well-informed and strangely elegant in how he phrased things. It wasn't arrogant. Just... precise.

One afternoon, after an hour of talking about literature of all things. Tobio said, "Your Japanese is incredible. I wouldn't have guessed you weren't native."

Riser tilted his head. "Thank you. But I do not consider myself fluent. You see, I can neither read nor write Japanese."

Tobio blinked. "Seriously? How can you speak it this well and not read or write? Where did you learn it from?"

" From a Japanese man," Riser said with a small smile. It wasn't evasive exactly, but something about it felt deliberately vague

"Still, that's insane," Tobio muttered. "Reading and writing are like... half the language."

"Then perhaps you could help me complete the other half," Riser said, eyes gleaming. "Would you be willing to teach me?"

Tobio hesitated, then nodded. "Sure. Why not."

"Excellent."

And so, he did. For the next two days, they spent their time with notebooks and textbooks. Riser absorbed everything. Not just quickly, but perfectly. By the end of the second day, he was writing full sentences in perfect kanji and correcting Tobio's stroke order.

"You're not normal," Tobio muttered once, only half-joking.

Riser just smiled. "Perhaps. But neither are you."

Their bond grew. Tobio found himself looking forward to their talks. He started sleeping better. Eating again. Laughing, even.

But part of him couldn't ignore how... off Riser seemed. Too perfect. No one should be that perfect. He seemed to know everything. Philosophy, science, music, literature, sports, even fashion. He could quote obscure authors, play classical piano, and had once broken into fluent French mid-conversation before apologizing and switching back. Once Tobio heard him speak in German and Italian on the same day. And he moved like someone who'd trained for centuries.

He wasn't just beautiful. He was unreal.



And yet, with all that, he never made Tobio feel small.

Riser had a way of making him feel seen. Not pitied, not managed. Just... seen.

Still, Tobio sometimes caught himself watching Riser like he might disappear. No one should be that beautiful, that smart, that patient. It didn't feel real. But then, neither did his grief. Maybe they matched.

Because for the first time since the bus vanished, he didn't feel alone

Maybe that's why Tobio kept meeting him. Because Riser made the world feel sharp again. Not brighter, necessarily. But clearer.

And that was enough.


Pov: Tobio ikuse

Two months had passed since Tobio Ikuse's classmates vanished. The pain hadn't dulled, no– it lingered, like a fog in his chest that refused to lift but it has become bearable since he has started talking about it with his new friend. That night, after parting ways with Riser, Tobio walked home under dim streetlights, lost in thought. The sky was a deep blue, the kind that felt heavy.

Then he saw him.

Kouta Sasaki. A former schoolmate.

Alive. Standing across the street like nothing had happened.

"Kouta?!" Tobio called out.

But Kouta didn't react. No smile. No confusion. Just turned and walked away.

Tobio sprinted after him, heart pounding, confused and hopeful and afraid. He followed Kouta through narrow alleys, and finally caught up to him in an abandoned park.

What he saw froze him in place.

Kouta stood beside a lizard-like creature hunched over a dead dog. It looked up, bloodied, jaws twitching. Tobio backed up. Kouta raised a hand, flat, mechanical, and the beast lunged.

Tobio ran.

He stumbled, clawed at the dirt, kicked wildly, but it was useless. The lizard-like creature was faster, stronger. He was going to die.

Then a flash of light cut through the night and something slammed into him from the side.

They rolled, and when Tobio looked up, someone was standing between him and the monster. Slim frame, short brown hair tied back, wearing a school jacket.

He blinked. "Natsume…?"

She didn't answer right away. She stepped forward, movements sharp and precise, hands glowing with light as she raised them toward the beast. The monster snarled, but didn't approach.

Tobio stared in disbelief. "You're alive?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Yeah. And you're lucky I am."

---

Later, in a quiet corner booth of a run-down family restaurant, Tobio sat across from her in stunned silence. The menu between them sat untouched. The fluorescent lighting buzzed overhead. She was nursing a soda like nothing had happened. Like this was normal.

"I thought you were gone," Tobio said finally. His voice was hoarse. "Everyone said you transferred. That you missed the trip."

"I did. On purpose."

He blinked. "What?"

"I knew something was off. That whole trip reeked of a setup. I tried to convince the others not to go, but no one listened. So I stayed behind."

"And you've been… what? Hiding?"

"Investigating," she corrected. "Trying to figure out what happened to our classmates. Took me a few weeks, but I got a name: the Utsusemi. They're the ones who took everyone."

Tobio's head was spinning. "But Sasaki—she was with that thing—"

"They all are," she said. "The Utsusemi bonded them with creatures. Parasites. Living weapons. I don't know if the others even know who they are anymore. Their memories, their minds… they're not whole."

She pulled something out of her bag and placed it on the table. It looked like an orb, dark blue and veined, faintly glowing. It pulsed like a heartbeat.

"This one's for you."

"What is it?"

"Think of it like an egg," she said. "There's something inside. Something that's meant to bond with you. Like the creatures they forced on the others. Only this one hasn't hatched yet. You need it if you want to survive what's coming."

Tobio stared at it, then back at her. "Wait. What the hell do you mean 'bond'? What's inside this thing? Why would I die without it?"

Natsume leaned forward, lowering her voice.

"Because they're going to come after you now. You've seen Sasaki. That means you're marked. And without a partner, you're just prey. That egg, whatever's inside, is the only thing that can level the playing field."

Tobio looked down at the orb. It didn't look dangerous. It didn't look like salvation either.

"This is insane," he muttered.

"I know. But it's real. You'll see soon enough."

There was a long silence.

Tobio finally asked, "Why are you helping me?"

She looked up at him. "Because I couldn't save the others. But maybe I can help you."

Tobio didn't have a reply. He just sat there, staring down at the thing that might be his last hope.

As they stood to leave, Natsume paused and leaned in close. "I'll come by your place later tonight. Make sure you stay alive until then."

---

Tobio barely remembered walking home. The world felt fragile now, like it could shatter at any second.

Once inside, he placed the orb—egg—whatever it was, in the bathroom sink. It didn't do anything. Just pulsed gently, rhythmically.

He stared at it a long time.

Then, drained, he collapsed onto his bed and slipped into a restless sleep.

At midnight, he awoke to a strange feeling.

Someone was watching him.

Tobio crept to the window. A boy was clinging to the wall of the building across from him. A massive spider loomed beside him, attached to the wall by thick strands of webbing.

His heart dropped. The boy moved. Fast.

A second attacker appeared from below, this one, a girl, accompanied by a frog the size of a car.

Tobio ran. He darted through the apartment, spider silk lashing behind him. The frog crashed through furniture.

Panicked, Tobio threw himself into the bathroom. The egg.

It was cracked.

He stared, trembling. The monsters were outside. He tried to hold the door shut. Then it burst open.

Cornered, back against the tub, he remembered something, his grandmother's hand on his forehead, the seal she placed years ago. She'd said it would protect him one day.

And then the blade appeared.

From his shadow, a long, black blade erupted, piercing the frog through the face.

The spider reared back.

Out of the shadows stepped a small black puppy, eyes glowing faintly, a blade jutting from its head. The frog lashed out with its tongue. The dog jumped, clean, fast and diced the frog apart in midair.

The spider tried to run. The dog grew blades along its spine and gave chase.

Tobio followed, stunned.

In the living room, another beast had appeared, with its human master. The dog charged again, but was intercepted and knocked outside. Tobio, desperate, hurled a pot at the man. He collapsed.

Outside, Tobio watched the monster drag the dog skyward.

Then it changed. The puppy twisted into a long, elegant blade and impaled the monster through the chest. Both fell, crashing onto a rooftop.

Tobio gasped.

He remembered. His grandmother had warned him about the dog. Told him it was dangerous but loyal. That it would come when he needed it most.

Natsume appeared beside him.

"You did great," she said. "That power of yours…… It's amazing."

Tobio didn't answer at first. He just stood there, staring out into the night, the adrenaline still fading from his system. He finally muttered, "I think… I'm safe now."

She looked at him with concern, but said nothing more. For now, the monsters were gone. The danger had passed, at least for tonight.

Unbeknownst to either of them, someone else had been watching the events unfold from a nearby rooftop.

A tall man stood with his hands in his coat pockets, golden hair catching the moonlight, crimson eyes glowing faintly with interest. He tilted his head, a slight smile curling at his lips.

"Well now," Riser Phenex murmured, amused. "This is getting interesting."

POV: Tobio Ikuse

The small black puppy, Jin, Natsume called it, curled up in her lap as they sat in the living room. She absentmindedly scratched behind its ears while Tobio stared at the deep gouges left in the hallway wall. The chaos from earlier still echoed in his mind: the monsters, the shadows, the blades that had erupted from nowhere.

"You okay?" she asked.

Tobio nodded slowly. "I… think so."

"Good," she said, still focused on Jin. "Because we need to move. The Utsusemi might come again, and next time they won't send amateurs."

He blinked. "Wait what?….now?"

Natsume looked up, serious. "Yeah. Pack what you need. Just the basics. We can't stay here."

Tobio stood, hesitating. "Did no one hear the fight? The neighbors, or someone? That noise had to draw attention."

"They cover their tracks," she said. "Whatever tech or magic they use, it's efficient. People forget, cameras stop working, signals jam. No one will remember anything."

He opened his mouth to protest, but her tone left no room for argument. So he packed.

They were halfway down the street when it happened.

The sound of something slithering scraped across the pavement. Tobio turned, eyes widening. A creature like a snake, only much larger, coiled and misshapen, blocked the road. Its scales shimmered with unnatural light. Behind it stood a boy. No older than Tobio, wearing a blank expression.

Natsume tensed. "Another one."

They looked at each other, ready to run or fight. But before either could act, the snake burst into flames. Its body twisted once, then crumbled into black ash.

"What the hell—?" Tobio muttered.

A voice spoke behind them.

"Too slow."

They turned. A girl with long blond hair stepped from the shadows, cloaked and wearing a pointed hat that made her look like a storybook witch. Her eyes sparkled, and she gave Natsume a brief smile.

"You're late," she said.

Tobio stared. "Who…?"

Natsume handed her one of Tobio's bags. "Lavinia. She's with us."

"Let's go," Lavinia said. "More could be coming."

---

The apartment they arrived at was tucked between trees, nearly invisible from the road. It looked abandoned from the outside, but inside was clean and lived-in. Lavinia dropped Tobio's bag by the door and stretched.

Natsume motioned toward the couch. "Sit."

Still in shock, Tobio sat.

Natsume inserted a disc into the DVD player. The screen flickered to life.

"Watch this. It explains what's happening."

The footage was grainy, clearly from hidden cameras. But Tobio saw faces he recognized instantly. Friends. Classmates. People who had vanished. Sae.

He leaned forward. "They're alive…"

Then the video shifted. Each of them appeared again, but now bonded with monsters. Their expressions are blank. Controlled.

His stomach turned.

"No…"

"They're called Utsusemi," Natsume said. "And they've been turning kids from our school into weapons. Bonding them with monsters. Sacred Gears."

Tobio turned to her, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why us?"

"Because we have potential," she said. "You and I, we're Sacred gear users too."

Tobio shook his head. "Sacred Gears? What even is this?"

"God's gift to humanity to protect themselves against the supernatural. And yes, the supernatural exists," Lavinia said from the corner. "Gods. Devils. Angels. Yokai. Dragons. All real. All hidden."

Tobio stared at her, mind spinning. "That's insane."

"I thought so too," Natsume said. "But once you've seen it, you can't go back."

He tried to process it, tried to find some rational part of it he could latch onto, but the world had clearly changed and he couldn't deny what he'd seen.

"How do you know all this?" he asked her.

"I got this info from someone," Natsume said. "A contact. He's someone important, Governor General of a certain group. I haven't met him directly yet, but he told me to give out the last egg. Yours. It can help awaken your sacred gear."

"So this thing," Tobio said, pointing to the egg now resting on the table, "it draws out Sacred Gears?"

"Yeah. It unlocks what's already inside you."

He looked back to the screen, where Sae stood with a twisted creature behind her.

"They're still alive?" he asked.

Natsume gave him a soft smile. "They are. And we can still save them."

He let out a breath, something solid forming beneath the fear. Determination.

"Then let's do it," he said. "I'll help."

Natsume grinned. "Good. We'll figure this out."

---

Later that night, after she and Lavinia had gone to sleep, Tobio stood outside the apartment. The moon was bright. The air still.

His mind wasn't on monsters or missions. It was on someone else. His new friend.

Riser.

Tobio had meant to tell him about the weirdness, to share what had happened. But now… He remembered that something about Riser felt off. Too perfect. Too beautiful. Too talented. Something not human. And now that he knows the supernatural is real, he wants to be sure.

Tobio left without telling the others.

---

He found Riser in the usual place, a small park bench in town, lit by street lamps. The man was seated, reading what looked like a haiku anthology.

Riser looked up and smiled. "Tobio."

Tobio sat down, tense. "I need to ask you something."

Riser tilted his head. "Of course."

Tobio looked him dead in the eye. "Who are you, really?"

Riser didn't react. He closed the book and folded his hands.

"I see," he said. "So… you've found out about the supernatural."

Tobio's breath caught. "You knew? Wha–who are you?"

Riser's smile widened, almost amused.

"I am a man of wealth and taste." he said smiling.

He paused, watching Tobio's reaction with interest.

"I hope you've guessed my name," he added.

Tobio said nothing. The words, the tone, it sent a chill down his spine.

Riser leaned back on the bench, calm as ever.

"Relax, I mean you no harm," he said. "I'm still your friend."

But Tobio wasn't so sure anymore.

AN: Another chapter has landed. Nothing too earth-shattering happens here. It's just the beginning of a new arc, which means setup, setup, and even more mysterious setup. But don't worry, I have plans. Stay tuned.

 

[abel targayen]

POV: riser phenex

Convincing Tobio Ikuse hadn't been difficult.

He was desperate, after all. His classmates were missing. His school had become a hunting ground for something he didn't understand. All I had to do was promise that I could help him save his kidnapped classmates, and he didn't even hesitate. That's the thing about humans. You don't need to lie to manipulate them. You just have to offer them something they want more than the truth. So when I told him I was a devil and that I could help, he didn't flinch. He just asked what I wanted in return.

"Nothing," I told him. "I'm not your enemy."

He asked questions. The usual ones. Why would a devil care?. I told him what he wanted to hear: I don't like what the Utsusemi Agency is doing. I don't like chaos in the human world. And I don't like monsters kidnapping children and turning them into weapons. His friend was in danger, and in moments like that, humans stop thinking. They cling to whatever light they can find, even if it comes from a devil.


That was enough for him, for now.

I made sure to appear confident but cooperative. I didn't push. Just offered help and waited for him to follow. It worked.

He believed me. Desperation does that.

He brought me to meet the rest of his group. Lavinia Reni and Natsume Minagawa. Lavinia didn't trust me from the start. I could see it in her eyes, although she appeared carefree, she was quite perceptive. But she didn't argue. Natsume was more cautious than I expected, not unkind, just measured. I didn't push too hard. Let them come to their own conclusions. I could tell they were watching me. Judging me. That was fine. I preferred it that way.

Still, they agreed. They had no other leads. I had power, resources, and experience. I could get them inside one of the labs that the Utsusemi Agency was using to hold the missing students.

We moved together.

A raid on an Utsusemi Agency lab. It was buried under an office building. We neutralized the guards. Lavina froze one. Natsume put another to sleep. Tobio was focused. Efficient. I barely needed to do anything.

The place was worse than expected. Students strapped to machines. Magic experiments. Living weapons. Tobio nearly broke down when he saw one of his classmates. Natsume pulled him back. We called for medical extraction and moved to secure the rest of the wing.

Until the creature showed up. One of Utsusemi's mistakes. Patchwork flesh and too much mana. It charged. I put it down with one strike.

Too easy.

Later that night, another raid.

We weren't alone this time.

Cao Cao's group.

I recognized them immediately. This wasn't supposed to happen. In the original timeline, the Hero Faction didn't interfere with Utsusemi or any of the slash Dog events. Something's changed.

Cao Cao. Arthur Pendragon. Jeanne. Heracles. George. Leonardo and he was older than the canon timeline. Le Fay. The early Hero Faction, though not fully formed. They were young. Still feeling out their ideology. Still willing to take risks.

When Jeanne and Heracles ran into Tobio and Natsume, they assumed the worst. Jeanne struck first. A sword appeared mid-air, aimed for Tobio. I caught it with two fingers.

Heracles came next. His glowing punch carried explosive force. I stopped it with my other hand.

Both stared at me, stunned. I didn't teleport. I just moved faster than they could see. Jeanne's blade stopped against my fingers. Heracles' punch met my palm. Neither attack even made me flinch.

I smiled politely.

"I suggest you ask questions before you try to kill my allies."

Le Fay arrived a few seconds later. She noticed immediately that something was wrong and tried to talk them down. She seemed the only one willing to look past species.

Cao Cao wasn't so quick to relax. He looked at me with contempt. Ah yes, the guy had a hate-boner for the supernatural. To him, I was just another devil. Another problem. I let him glare.

We stood in a triangle. My side. His. Utsusemi. The air was tight. One wrong word and the whole place would have gone up in flames.

Something rose from the lab's lower level. Massive. Misshapen. Covered in seals. Another Utsusemi creation. This one was unstable.

It roared and attacked all of us indiscriminately.

The standoff ended. We fought.

Tobio struck first. Lavina followed. Jeanne and Arthur flanked. Heracles brought brute force. I watched.

I only stepped in to stop the creature from collapsing the room. Held back, observed the others. Measured them.

Cao Cao's team had potential. Not just strong. Disciplined. Smart. They weren't fully formed yet, but I could see the shape.

Longinus users, most of them. Dangerous.

They weren't involved in this event in the original timeline. That confirmed it. This world is different.

And that was fine.

I don't cling to the canon timeline. Only opportunities.

This group would become the Hero Faction. In canon, they opposed all non-humans. Wanted humanity to stand alone.

Now, I had a front-row seat to their formation. Maybe even a hand in shaping it.

It could be useful. Or amusing.

I would observe.

And if needed, intervene.

--------------------------------------------

Names were exchanged quickly. Cau Cau, Jeanne, Heracles, Leonardo, George, Arthur, Le Fay. They didn't waste time posturing, their attention on me and watched me carefully. Reasonable. I was a devil, after all. Tobio introduced Natsume and Lavinia and I introduced myself politely.

We moved through the building as a group. Fourth floor, then to the fifth. More Utsusemi units waited for us, guarding something. Or someone. A man stood among them. He wore a coat like it belonged in a lab, but his stance said soldier.

When the last Utsusemi fell apart in a soft, wet thump, the man behind them stepped forward. He looked ordinary. Small, slim, hair cut too neat for a place like this. He had a file in one hand and an easy, practiced smile.

"Ah, well done, everyone," he said. "Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Kazuhisa Doumon. You may call me Director Doumon, if you like. I represent the agency that governs this little facility."

He gestured around like he was giving us a tour of a garden, not a building crawling with monsters and corpses.

"And unfortunately for you," he added with a pleasant shrug, "I must ask you all to come with me. Quietly, if possible."

Cao Cao stepped forward first, twirling his spear like it was a walking stick.

"You plan to capture us?"

Doumon's smile didn't move. "For study. For the good of the Agency, naturally."

So this was their next obstacle. At least he is polite, thought Riser.

He snapped his fingers. More Utsusemi rushed in. My eyes tracked everyone.

Tobio's team handled themselves well. Lavinia froze enemies mid-step. Natsume moved quickly, striking with precision. But it was Cao Cao's people who stood out. Jeanne cut down constructs with speed and grace. Heracles tore them apart with brute strength. Le fay used her spells. George provided barriers and buffs, while Arthur's sword moved like an extension of his will. Excellent teamwork observed Riser.

But then Kazuhisa summoned something bigger.

A massive clay doll emerged, powered by something beyond simple magic. Tobio and Natsume attacked together, but they were overpowered. The doll caught them both and slammed them into the floor, pinning them with surprising precision.

"Don't struggle," Kazuhisa said. "You'll only make it worse."

Arthur took one step forward and raised Excalibur Ruler.

He didn't speak loudly. Just a command:

"Stop."

The clay doll froze mid-motion, its limbs jerking against invisible threads. Then, Cao Cao walked up calmly and tapped it with the tip of his spear.

Ash. And its master along with it.

Tobio was freed. He thanked them immediately.

We moved down to the final floor. The deeper we went, the colder the air felt.

And then we saw her.

Sae Toujou.

She stood alone, her expression calm. A smile on her face that wasn't quite right. Tobio tried to call out to her.

That's when the real enemy made his entrance.

"I am Hanezu," the man said. "Leader of the Utsusemi Agency."

He spoke in a calm, measured voice. His expression was composed, but there was something brittle beneath the surface. Riser had seen it before. Men who wrapped deep hatred in the language of righteousness.

Hanezu looked directly at Tobio, as if no one else in the room existed. "You are Himejima Tobio, aren't you? Or rather, Ikuse Tobio, child of an exiled branch of the Himejima. You were born under their name but cast aside from their blessings. Just like the rest of us."

Tobio frowned, confused. Hanezu didn't wait for questions.

"Utsusemi. That's what we call ourselves. Do you know the meaning?" He smiled faintly. "It's an old word. It means 'human', but more precisely, it means a cast-off shell. Like the hollow skin a cicada leaves behind. That's what we are. Born into lineages full of power and prestige, but not granted the spiritual gifts that gave us value. Our families called us useless. Hollow. Not people. Just... failures."

He looked around the room, but his gaze settled again on Tobio.

"We were supposed to disappear. We were expected to accept our roles as weak, broken. But we didn't. We remembered. And now we act. The Five Principal Clans cast us out. I intend to return the favor."

Riser observed quietly. The man wasn't ranting. His words were too still for that. This was practiced, almost rehearsed. A statement of belief, not a plea for sympathy.

Hanezu continued, "Ikuse Tobio, you have potential. More than they ever imagined. You possess a Longinus. A power strong enough to warp fate. Why waste it defending the very system that discarded you? Why fight for their world? You could destroy it. You could remake it."

He took a step forward. "Lend us your strength. Not for our sake, if that bothers you, but for your own. For everyone who was ever rejected. Help us tear down the monsters in the shadows of those clans. Replace them with something honest."

Tobio didn't answer. His eyes were downcast, uncertain. Riser could tell he wasn't convinced, but he was listening.

Hanezu smiled again, almost wistful now. "We were hollowed out by our own bloodlines. Do you understand what that does to a person, over time? You lose the part of yourself that believes you matter. And then the rest crumbles."

He looked tired.

"But you, Tobio... you were born with a blade. A black one. Tainted, they called it. Cursed. That's what makes you different. It wasn't supposed to exist. You weren't supposed to exist. And yet you do. That means something."

Riser tilted his head slightly. Hanezu's ideology was consistent. Broken, but consistent. His hatred had been curated over time, turned into doctrine. He didn't want justice, he wanted erasure. To delete everything that had made him feel like nothing.

"Let them suffer as we have" Hanezu said quietly.

Tobio looked shaken. Lavinia stepped closer to him, silent, uncertain. Natsume stood rigid, clearly disturbed by what she'd heard.

Riser said nothing. There was no need. This wasn't his moment. This was Hanezu's performance: raw, damaged, and meant to manipulate Tobio into sympathy or guilt. Riser understood it for what it was.

But what mattered wasn't what Hanezu believed. What mattered was whether Tobio would be pulled in by it.

And Riser was very interested in the answer.

Tobio was quiet for a long time after Hanezu stopped speaking.

The silence in the room wasn't empty. It felt dense, like a wire pulled taut. Riser watched Tobio's posture, the way his shoulders were tense, his eyes lowered, jaw clenched. He looked less like someone uncertain and more like someone holding back emotion with effort.

Then, finally, Tobio spoke. His voice was steady but quiet.

"No."

Hanezu blinked. "You would side with them?" His tone stayed calm, but there was a crack in it. "With the same clans who exiled your family? Who turned people like us into experiments?"

Tobio raised his head.

"I don't care about the clans," he said. "I care about my friends."

Riser noticed it then, the resolve in his eyes. This wasn't passive resistance. It was the kind of refusal that came from conviction.

"You hurt them," Tobio continued. "You hurt Sae. You used my classmates. You took people who had nothing to do with the clans and dragged them into your war. Just because you suffered doesn't give you the right to hurt other innocent people. Did you really expect me to work with you after all of that?"

He stepped forward.

"You say we were both born cursed. That we're the same. But we're not. I don't want to tear anything down. I just want to protect the people I care about."

Hanezu's face shifted slightly. Not anger but disappointment. As if he had truly believed Tobio would understand. He can't seem to grasp why someone whose friends he brain washed and turned into a weapon would not want to work with him.

"I never wanted to kill anyone," Tobio said. "I still don't. But I'll fight if I have to. And I'll stop you."

There was nothing dramatic in his tone. No grand declaration. Just a quiet, painful honesty. Riser could tell the refusal wasn't easy. Tobio was clearly shaken, and beneath that anger was sorrow, grief for what Hanezu had become, maybe even pity.

But his decision was firm.

"I won't become like you," Tobio said.

The words landed with more force than a blow.

For a moment, Hanezu didn't respond. He stared at Tobio like he was seeing something unfamiliar. Then he looked away, expression unreadable.

Riser folded his arms, mildly impressed. That level of control, that clarity, it wasn't common. Most people would have either lashed out or broken under the pressure.

But Tobio didn't. He chose restraint, even when it hurt. Riser could work with that.

Hanezu raised his hand.

"Sae."

A large lion appeared from thin air, summoned by her. She didn't hesitate.

Lavinia stepped forward to act, but George calmly interrupted.

"We're surrounded."

All around us, figures appeared. People. Hostages. The relatives of the original victims, used to anchor the Utsusemi experiments.

Hanezu gave an order. His subordinates moved to attack.

Tobio panicked. "Stop! Don't hurt them! I surrender!"

Cao Cao cut in. "Don't. That heart of yours is admirable. But they started this. We'll finish it."

Leonardo looked bored. "I'll take care of it."

His shadow stretched. From it, three monsters emerged. Each of them at the level of high-class devils.

They tore through Hanezu's troops in seconds.

Tobio stared.

Hanezu went pale. "You… You're the wielder of the Annihilation Maker..."

Leonardo didn't even respond.

Cornered and seeing that odds don't favour him, Hanezu did something stupid.

He grabbed Sae and put a knife to her throat. "One move, and she dies!"

Tobio froze, hands up. "Wait! We can talk!"

But I didn't wait.

I moved. No sound. No flash.

One moment, I was standing. Next, I was behind Hanezu.

A light tap to the back of his neck. And put a spell on his soul. A safety measure in case he escaped.

He crumpled.

"C-rated villain tactics," I said. "Always the hostages. Never any originality."

Everyone turned.

Tobio ran to Sae, who still didn't respond.

She raised her hand and tried to attack Tobio.

He didn't react in time.

I stepped in again. Tapped her forehead with two fingers.

She collapsed.

"She's fine," I told Tobio. "Just under control. I broke the link that was controlling her mind."

He nodded slowly, still trying to process it all.

The others looked at me.

Jeanne was frowning. Heracles narrowed his eyes. Even Cao Cao looked thoughtful.

I didn't care.

They were wary now. That was fine.

Better they understood who I really was.

--------------------------------------

Tobio held Sae tightly in his arms. She was unconscious but breathing. He muttered a quiet "Thank you" in Riser's direction, his voice low with emotion.

The moment didn't last. A teleportation circle snapped open, its purple glyphs twisting midair. A woman stepped through it: an elderly foreign woman in her latter sixties dressed in violet robes and a witch hat with a sharp glint in her eyes and an upright posture that appears almost youthful. She wore a pair of earrings and multiple rings on her fingers.

"Well, this is unexpected," she said smoothly, eyes scanning the ruined lab. "I came to see the dog. Instead, I find the Utsusemi scattered like trash. How pathetic"

Riser studied her quietly, arms crossed. Her aura reminded him of ancient fire sealed in velvet.

"Augusta of the purple Flames," Lavinia said flatly, stepping forward. Her posture changed. Tension coiled into her limbs.

A second figure followed through the circle, much younger. A girl with a bright smile and bouncing steps.

"Ooooh, what a weird room! Who's the boy holding the girl? Or wait! Who's the icy one with the pretty golden hair? And who is that beautiful man with crimson eyes?"

"Walburga," Augusta said without turning. "Focus."

But her own gaze had already locked onto Lavinia. Her lips curled.

"I see. So Grauzauberer sent someone. Mephisto finally decided to kill me. Fitting, he'd send you, Lavinia Reni. And you just following his orders like a good pet. Tell me, did you even ask him for his motive?"

"I'm not here to debate motives," Lavinia said coldly. "I'll know soon enough if you deserve to die."

Walburga leaned forward, examining Lavinia like she was art. "She's so pretty! I want to know her name!"

"You're embarrassing yourself," Augusta muttered. Then louder, "That's Lavinia Reni, the ice princess. Magician. Dangerous. And this" she gestured to the bubbly girl beside her "is Walburga, my disciple."

Riser remained silent, watching closely.

Lavinia stepped forward. Magic gathered around her feet, cold and slow. Ice spread in an even circle around her. Behind her, a towering woman of pure frost began to take shape: a three-meter tall ice doll taking the form as a woman in a dress without a face with six eyes on the left half of her face.

"Absolute Demise," Riser said under his breath. "She brought out the Longinus early."

Augusta raised an eyebrow. "Lovely. A true Longinus bearer. How delightful."

She raised her hands. Purple fire burst from her palms, swirling and condensing into the shape of a massive, humanoid figure, horned, armored, and aflame.

"Incinerate Anthem," Riser confirmed. "This should be interesting."

The tension in the room was heavy. Tobio held Sae protectively, while Natsume and Le Fay stood just behind him. Jeanne, Heracles, and the rest of the Hero Faction watched in silence, their expressions focused.

The battle began without words. Augusta struck first: blasts of purple fire shooting like artillery. Lavinia responded instantly. The frost giant blocked the fire, its limbs forming solid shields of crystal. Magic clashed and detonated midair, freezing and burning the ground.

"You're strong," Augusta said calmly, deflecting another wave of ice. "But let's raise the stakes. Beat me, and I'll tell you about Glenda, your precious master."

Lavinia didn't hesitate. She drove the frost princess forward, launching a volley of razor-sharp ice shards.

"You should stay out of this," Augusta warned as Tobio took a step forward. "This is between us."

"You're using people," Tobio said. "Sae, Glenda—what do you even want?"

Augusta smiled faintly. "What any of us want. Power. Legacy. Truth. You wouldn't understand. But she might." She gestured to Lavinia. "That girl has more potential than you know."

"Leave them alone," Lavinia growled, her voice shaking.

Augusta's gaze flicked to Sae. "There's more inside her than you think. Glenda saw it."

Lavinia's eyes narrowed. "Don't speak her name."

"Why not? She is a good friend" Augusta said, amused. "She gave us everything we needed. Willingly."

"Liar, she would never work with the likes of you. You tortured her," Lavinia hissed. "You used her."

Augusta raised a hand. A magic circle formed. Inside it, Glenda's face appeared, calm, expressionless.

"master?" Lavinia said, voice cracking.

"We have nothing to say to each other," Glenda replied, tone cold. "This was always the path."

Lavinia staggered back. Her magic flickered. The ice giant shuddered.

"Poor girl," Augusta said softly. "Your mentor never cared. But I will. I'll use your body better than you ever did."

She rushed forward, hand glowing with purple light, aimed at Lavinia's forehead.

Then Augusta stopped mid-lunge.

Riser was standing in front of Lavinia, having moved between them in a blur. He didn't shout. He just moved. His fist slammed into Augusta's stomach.

The force was immediate. She flew backward, smashing into the wall hard enough to leave a dent. She coughed blood, barely catching herself on one knee.

"Still breathing?" Riser asked casually. "That's a surprise."

He began to walk toward her, but suddenly, his body froze.

He glanced down. "Ah. Excalibur Ruler."

Three shadows rose up around him, monsters from Leonardo's Annihilation Maker.

Then Cao Cao stepped forward. His spear gleamed. He pointed it at Riser's chest.

"Really?" Riser asked, raising a brow. "You want to protect her?"

"She's human," Cao Cao said flatly. "And she wields a Sacred Gear. That makes her our responsibility."

"So," Riser said dryly, "if she didn't have Sacred Gear, I could kill her? What's your scale? Is hypocrisy a prerequisite for joining your little club?"

"She's still human," Cao Cao said. "You're not."

Riser smiled. "Neither are those monsters you keep summoning. But I won't lecture you, boy. You'll learn."

Everyone remained frozen. The air was thick with tension. Lavinia slowly stood up behind Riser, her body still shaking.

Riser kept his eyes on Cao Cao, an amused expression curling on his lips. He flexed his fingers once, then pushed a thread of his will through his body. The paralyzing grip of Excalibur Ruler broke like paper.

Arthur blinked in disbelief. "He broke it?"

"His will," Arthur said slowly, eyes narrowing, "it's greater than mine."

Before things could escalate further, a smooth voice broke the silence.

"Well, well," it said, melodic and curious. "What do we have here? An ethical dilemma. Mmhmm."

The new arrival stepped into the room. He was tall, regal, with raven-dark hair that contrasted his unnaturally bright eyes. His face was flawless, his movements almost rehearsed. And yet Riser felt nothing: no aura, no pressure, no presence. But every part of his instinct screamed one thing: run.

"Who are you?" Heracles asked warily, already on edge.

The man smiled, slow and deliberate. "Satanael," he said. "First and mightiest of the Fallen. Who was here before humanity was."

Riser didn't let his expression change, but his thoughts raced. Satanael? He wasn't in the original arc. He appeared later. He shouldn't be here. Why now? What changed?

Satanael looked around calmly. "You defeated Augusta. And Hanezu. Interesting. New generation defeating the old one, how cliche. Well, let's see..."

He raised his hand.

It wasn't killing intent. It was clinical, detached curiosity. He released a fraction of his aura. Tobio and Natsume dropped to their knees, screaming. Raw terror hit them like a physical blow.

Everyone else reacted on instinct.

Cao Cao charged with his spear. Arthur raised Excalibur Ruler. Jeanne, Heracles, Lavinia, Le Fay, George, all struck together. Riser held back, watching.

It didn't matter. They never reached him. Something unseen threw them all against the wall like ragdolls.

" How rare, so many Longuin wielders gathered in one place. It almost reeks of his Grand plan. Too bad he is dead."

Leonardo, barely fazed, raised his hand and summoned six dozen shadow beasts. Behemoth-like monsters surged toward Satanael.

"Now this is interesting," Satanael said.

He summoned light spears with a casual motion and skewered the beasts. They fell, but then rose. Then more came. Stronger. Faster. Adapted.

Satanael raised an eyebrow. "Ah. So they evolve. Interesting way to use Annihilation maker. One needs to instantly kill them in one attack or they adapt and it is a matter of time before they defeat you. A flaw in your design, though."

He vanished. A breath later, he stood in front of Leonardo. He tapped his chest with a glowing finger. The boy fell unconscious.

"The weakness," Satanael said softly, "is the caster. Always the caster. So you must either hide yourself so that your enemies can't reach you or have strong allies to defend you."

He turned, addressing the others. "You all have talent. Potential. Years from now, you may even pose a challenge."

Then the others either out of anger or fear attacked him simultaneously.

Cao Cao activated the True Longinus. Arthur unleashed Excalibur Ruler again. George twisted the battlefield with Dimension Lost. Lavinia summoned the full force of Absolute Demise.

They coordinated. Tactical. Controlled.

Satanael sighed.

Twelve black wings erupted from his back.

Riser's heart skipped. Twelve? That's seraph-level. Satan-class. He's beyond anything here.

And Satanael proved him right. In seconds, he dismantled their offense. Cao Cao was the last to fall, defiant but clearly outclassed.

Satanael looked over the room of battered young warriors and smiled, almost kindly.

"You have courage," he said. "And skill. But not yet the power to face me. You need time."

Then his eyes landed on Riser.

Riser felt it instantly. As if a mountain had pressed onto his chest. His breath caught, and his instincts screamed at him to run. But he didn't. He looked back.

"You are a descendant of Amador Phenex."

Riser's gaze sharpened. "You knew my grandfather?"

A smile flickered across Satanael's face: thin, brittle, reverent.
"I did. He was a curious devil. A hopeless romantic, through and through. Arrogant, yes. Proud and powerful. But most of all, foolish in the holiest way. He fell in love with an angel. And she, by some miracle, loved him in return."

The hall held still. Something sacred clung to the silence.

"It was real. Their love. Not some illusion born of temptation. No seduction. No corruption. Just two souls, so utterly unlike, and yet drawn together like breath to flame. While our kind waged war across the skies and tore creation apart, they dreamed. They whispered of peace. Of building a place between heaven and hell where neither sword nor sin would rule."

He looked far away now, as if speaking to memory rather than audience.

"And Heaven… did not condemn them."

A pause.

"To the surprise of many, the archangels did not call her naïve. They rejoiced. For angels are creatures of perfect clarity, and what they saw between those two was beautiful. They believed in it. In them. To love purely, even across the veil of damnation, that, they said, was closer to God's will than all the choirs of war. They hoped that their union might be a sign. A wound healing. A path home."

Riser barely breathed.

"But Hell… Hell does not forgive dreams like that. For hell is the place for those who rejected God's grace"

Satanael's voice hardened, touched by the old bitterness.

"Lucifer scorned it. The Satans called it betrayal. Asmodeus, in particular, saw it as heresy. Still, she would not fall. She would not trade her wings for his flames. And so he tried to rise. Not by conquest, not by trickery, but by love and Faith. He sought Heaven not as a conqueror, but as a supplicant. To be judged. To be accepted. To be with her."

His voice lowered to a reverent hush.

"And he was struck down at the gate by Asmodeus himself. Before he could speak a word. Before Heaven could answer."

He looked at Riser then, eyes dark with the memory of it.

"And the angel…? She wept. Then vanished. Some say she turned into starlight, others say she wanders still, searching for the place they dreamed of. A heaven where devils might walk unburned."

He stepped back, as if the telling had left him tired.

"A devil who tried to fly upward. A love sanctified by angels and shattered by hell. Is there anything more beautiful? Or more damning?"



Riser took a slow breath. Then he stepped forward.

"Let's see how strong his descendant is," Satanael said softly.

Riser didn't respond. He launched forward, vanishing from sight. Satanael raised a brow, and the battle began.

Riser struck first with Dismantle , an invisible slash that tore across the floor toward Satanael. The air screamed as pressure was ripped open. But Satanael didn't move. He raised a hand and the slash dissipated on contact with a shimmer of light.

Riser appeared beside him and used Cleave. His palm touched Satanael's shoulder, activating the adaptive slashes. The force surged outward, adjusting for Satanael's energy level. But nothing happened.

Satanael stood unaffected.

"Interesting," Satanael muttered.

Riser stepped back and flung both arms outward. Wind coiled around him in a violent spiral, lifting debris into the air. He gathered fire into a massive swirling vortex, and the heat crushed the surrounding air.

Fire Field.

The flames exploded outward, surrounding Satanael in a violent typhoon of heat and force that stripped the walls and shattered the ground. Reality seemed warped. Sensors from orbit would have picked up the sudden disruption of the Earth's magnetic field.

Satanael stepped forward calmly. The typhoon parted around him.

"Remarkable. Fire that disturbs Earth's Magnetic fields. Very impressive for someone who dances at the edge of ultimate-class. And yet so young. You may just be another Sirzechs Lucifer ."

Riser didn't pause. He raised his hands, wings of fire bursting from his back.

Fire Phoenix.

A dark flame consumed his body, and he transformed into a massive phoenix-shaped avatar of fire. The heat blazed, burning crimson into the air. The phoenix roared and dove, striking Satanael with enough force to register on seismic sensors.

The impact sent a wave across the city, and the ground cratered.

As the smoke cleared, Satanael stood at the center, untouched.

But a single black feather fell.

Riser reformed, breathing hard, a single feather in hand.

Satanael looked down at it, then at Riser. "You took that from me. Impressive."

Riser coughed, smoke trailing from his mouth.

"You're not just fire and arrogance," Satanael said. "You have potential."

Then gravity around Riser intensified. His body was pinned to the ground, unable to rise.

"But you're still a child playing at war," Satanael said. He approached slowly. "You fight like one who has seen glimpses of transcendence, but not yet stepped into it."

He raised a finger. Riser felt the pressure building, crushing, blinding.

Then it vanished.

Satanael turned away.

"You did well, Riser Phenex. Your grandfather would have been proud."

The ancient fallen spread his twelve wings. Light shimmered off the feathers.

"Grow stronger. If you survive long enough, we will speak again."

And then he vanished and with him he took Augusta, Walpurga and Sae toujou.

Riser lay still for a moment.

He had lost.

But he had earned something.

Silence fell over the battlefield. Riser rose slowly, dusted himself off, and held the black feather tight.

 

[abel targayen]

POV - Tobio Ikuse

Tobio woke up screaming.

His chest heaved. His fingers gripped the sheets. Sweat clung to his skin like ice. For a moment, he didn't remember where he was. Then the image returned: black wings, cold eyes, a presence so overwhelming it shattered everything.

"Satanael..." he whispered. The name clawed through his brain like a curse.

The room was quiet. Sterile. A suite? He sat up slowly, realizing he was alone, but voices came from the next room. Familiar ones.

He swung his legs off the bed. They trembled, but they held. The floor beneath his bare feet was marble, too expensive for any hospital.

Tobio opened the door. The next room looked like a luxury lounge.

Cao Cao sat in a leather chair, arms crossed. Beside him were Le Fay, Arthur, Jeanne, Heracles, George, Leonardo, and Marsilio. All seated on expensive-looking sofas.

"You're awake," came Natsume's voice.

He turned to see her standing near the kitchen island, Lavinia beside her, who looked like she hadn't slept for days. Natsume crossed the room and hugged him tightly.

He returned it.

Then he noticed.

"Where's Sae?"

"Easy now," Heracles said, stretching with a groan. "You start sprinting, and you're gonna faceplant. I don't do CPR."

Tobio frowned, looking toward the tall glass window.

There, a white-robed figure stood, wine in hand, back to the room.

"So," Cao Cao said, voice tight, "now that we're all here, maybe Riser Phenex would like to explain?"

Riser turned slightly. The city lights behind him cast his profile in gold.

"Look at you, torn from the jaws of death itself. I trust you thanked me properly in your nightmares?"

Tobio didn't laugh.

"Where is Sae?"

Riser took a sip of wine. The woman beside him, a purple-haired beauty in an evening dress, stayed silent.

"Satanael defeated me," Riser said casually. "Took her with him."

Tobio's fists clenched. His voice cracked. "What, no—"

"I marked Hanezo Himejima," Riser interrupted. "Right before I knocked him unconscious."

George perked up. "You put a tracker on him?"

"Of course. I'm not an idiot."

Tobio's voice was raw. "Can you find her? Can you help me save her? Please—" He hated begging, but he didn't care.

Riser's face looked impassive and said. " It's likely that Sae is with them. If you come with me to this place, you will have the opportunity to save your friend"

Cao Cao stood up. "Where is she now?"

Riser waved a hand. A magical projection appeared, showing a red dot blinking deep within a mountain range.

"That seems to be her location, which I assume is one of Satanael's old fallback sites. He's probably hiding in a subdimensional layer tied to it."

Arthur stood, arms crossed. "Then we need a plan."

They gathered.

Riser, Arthur, and Cao Cao mapped the infiltration route:

• Leonardo would stay behind, using his Balance Breaker to deploy Bandersnatchs and Jabberwocky remotely as reinforcements.
• George would use Dimension Lost to hide the team and Leonard from detection and create an emergency retreat point.
• The main team: Riser, Yubellana, Tobio, Lavinia, Natsume, Arthur, Cao Cao, Jeanne, Heracles, and Le Fay.

They would strike from three points, collapse inwards, and reach the ritual site. No mercy. No delays.

---

They infiltrated the facility in silence. Satanael's remaining subordinates were weak. Too weak.

"This is off," Lavinia whispered.

Then, in an instant, the world warped.

Everyone was teleported.

They arrived in an endless white void, like mist on glass. Floating platforms spread like shattered stone.

"This isn't the physical world," Riser muttered. " Somewhere in the spirit world."

And then he appeared.

Satanael.

His wings spread behind him, Twelve of them, vast and black as abyssal pits.

"Welcome," he said. "To my masterpiece."

Tobio stepped forward. "What the hell are you doing with Sae?"

Satanael's eyes glinted. "She is the conductor. A soul bridge. Her unique resonance makes her the ideal node."

"Node for what?" Cao cao demanded.

Satanael raised a hand. A projection appeared: at least 30,000 human souls. Suspended. Glowing threads connected them to a giant arcane circle.

"This is the Abyss Project. A ritual designed to refine the evolution of sacred gears. Humans are adaptable, resilient, and fragmented. Perfect for channeling dimensional shifts."

Tobio took a step forward. "You're using people. Innocent people. For what?"

"To create a god-killing weapon," Satanael said without hesitation. "You may call it horror. I call it heritage."

Riser narrowed his eyes. "This is madness."

"No," Satanael replied, amused. "This is progress."

Then he smiled.

"Now... amuse me a little longer."

They attacked.

Arthur raised Excalibur Ruler. Cao Cao summoned the True Longinus. Jeanne and Heracles moved in tandem. Lavinia activated Absolute Demise. Tobio's shadow rippled.

And Satanael stood there.

Waiting.


POV – Tobio Ikuse

The first strike was silent.

Cao Cao moved like a comet, spear blazing with a white-hot aura, the divine light of the True Longinus cutting toward Satanael's throat. At the same moment, the glassy floor beneath them cracked as Lavinia's Absolute Demise emerged in a storm of spiraling frost, tendrils of biting cold racing toward Augusta. Wind exploded from Riser's back as wings of flame surged open, his body vanishing in a burst of pressure. Tobio couldn't even process who moved first.

The battle had begun.

Satanael merely raised a hand. Gravity buckled.

Cao Cao's spear stopped inches from his face, suspended by sheer force. Lavinia's ice doll halted mid-lunge, frost freezing in place like a paused film. Riser flickered into existence behind Satanael, his hand already raised for a strike—

"Dismantle."

A ripple of invisible force cleaved through the air. The sound was delayed. Buildings in the false skyline above split apart, glass and steel unraveling. Satanael twisted his body at the last possible instant. The attack grazed his robe.

Riser's eyes sharpened.

"You're slower," he said. "Something's changed."

Satanael smiled, even as he dodged another high-speed slash.

"You're observant. Very good."

Behind them, the floor cracked. Twelve titans of shadow emerged, the Bandersnatch. Leonardo, hidden within George's dimensional pocket, had summoned them all at once. Towering monsters, each one over 100 meters tall, roared with inhuman fury and descended upon Satanael like a tidal wave of living darkness.

And then came the Jabberwocky.

Two hundred meters of nightmare. A humanoid monstrosity of fangs, armor, and writhing limbs.

It struck with a fist that crushed the surrounding buildings of the dimension like paper.

Satanael raised one hand. A spear of pure light formed in his palm.

He hurled it.

It pierced Jabberwocky's chest. The monster reeled. The other twelve Bandersnatch lunged as one, bringing down the sky with their collective weight. Light clashed with shadow. The dimension rippled.

Lavinia and Augusta, meanwhile, clashed like avatars of opposing elements. The ice doll screamed silently, conjuring blades of crystal that shattered through flames. Augusta laughed, wild and thrilled, her Incinerate Anthem manifesting a giant of violet fire that struck with waves of incandescent heat.

"You've improved!" Augusta shouted.

Lavinia didn't answer. Her eyes were red.

Tobio summoned his blade. Canis Lykaon growled in his mind.

"We need to end this now," Tobio muttered.

Cao Cao heard him.

"Agreed. He's not operating at full strength. That ritual's draining him."

Riser spoke without turning. "He can't access his full power while anchoring the ritual. That's our opening. Don't waste it."

George deployed Dimension Lost, shifting their terrain constantly to deny Satanael stable footing. Lavinia pushed harder, ice sealing Augusta's feet to the floor.

Then Cao Cao unleashed Polar Night Longinus Chakravartin. Seven orbs glowed and spun around him.

"Chakkaratana."

The air bent. All of Satanael's light spears vanished, disintegrated by the artifact destruction sphere. He narrowed his eyes for the first time.

Riser took the moment.

He raised his hand. A fire field ignited.

The sky burned.

An entire radius of several kilometers turned into a typhoon of dark flame. A crimson cyclone, shredding reality itself, tearing through light constructs, steel towers, even warping the very magnetic field of the dimension.

Satanael raised a barrier of light.

It cracked.

Cleave.

Riser appeared before him, wings ablaze. He slammed his fist into Satanael's side.

The barrier shattered. Satanael was flung into a burning tower.

A feather fell from his wing.

Everyone paused.

Lavinia's voice trembled. "He... he's bleeding."

Satanael lay sprawled amid the flames, smiling.

Tobio stepped forward, gripping his blade. "How do we stop the ritual?"

Satanael laughed.

It wasn't cruel. It was amused.

"Stop it? Oh, child... I am not some Saturday cartoon villain who waits for the hero to arrive before starting the plan."

His body twitched. The ground began to pulse.

"Do you think I would have brought you here if there was even a chance of failure?"

A pulse of energy swept outward.

"The ritual was completed an hour ago."

The entire pocket dimension screamed. Space groaned. A pressure unlike anything before flooded the battlefield.

"Now," Satanael said, eyes glowing with divinity, "I merely reap what I sowed."

Power surged. The dimension, a space the size of continental Europe, trembled.

Light cascaded from the sky, warping into grotesque shapes. Cries of distant, dying things echoed from nowhere. A massive magic circle appeared above them, one larger than a country, inscribed with names and numbers, glowing with the names of the sacrificed.

30,000 souls.

"No..." Le Fay whispered.

Satanael rose slowly, his limbs no longer broken, his wounds sealing with radiant black light. He floated above them, wings of nothingness spreading behind him: vast, formless appendages that devoured light.

His aura swallowed the battlefield.

A god had awakened.

Leonardo's creatures froze. Even they couldn't act.

"This…" Cao Cao gasped, taking a step back. "This isn't Satan-Class. This is beyond It... This is transcendence."

Satanael's eyes locked on Cao Cao.

"Your spear was bathed in the blood of a crucified god," he said. "How poetic. You should try bathing in mine."

The True Longinus trembled in Cao Cao's hands. His aura flickered. Even the spear seemed to struggle to remain steady under the pressure of Satanael's existence.

Cao Cao screamed, orbs rotating wildly, True Longinus pulsing with white-hot wrath. " Attack, now!"

Everyone attacked.

Riser unleashed a tornado of fire. Lavinia unleashed the full wrath of Absolute Demise. Tobio went into his unstable Balance Breaker, black and silver energy spiraling around him. Cao Cao charged, spear held like the wrath of Heaven itself.

It was glorious.

It was hopeless.

Satanael didn't block. He didn't flinch. He merely existed, and their attacks fell away like dust.

One by one, they were repelled. Not crushed. Not wounded. Just stopped. Each effort countered with perfect precision. As if he saw the shape of their souls and moved accordingly

From high above, Satanael laughed.

A sound like thunder, like scripture read in reverse, like ten million locusts singing at once.

---

And then—

An explosion.

Sudden. Violent. Blinding.

A core of black and white flame erupted from Satanael's chest. It bloomed outward faster than sound.

BOOM.

The wave of destruction engulfed the entire battlefield.

Bandersnatchs were obliterated in an instant, their towering forms dissolving into ash. The Jabberwocky howled, body torn apart, reforming—and then torn again. Mountains shattered. Rivers boiled away.

A dome of destruction expanded outward like a second sun, eclipsing the false sky.

And then silence.

Nothing moved.

Nothing breathed.

The air had been turned to fire.

POV: Riser Phenex

The explosion was massive.

Even for him, it was almost too much.

The sky of the pocket dimension had turned into a sea of flame and smoke. The ground trembled under the force, like the entire space wanted to collapse. Riser hovered in the air, flames curling around him in a tight shield. When the last wave passed, he lowered his hand and let the protective fire fade.

"It worked," he said softly.

Below, the others had barely survived.

George's Dimension Lost had formed a barrier just in time. They were crouched inside it. Scorched, shaken, but alive. He saw Tobio, Lavinia, Cao Cao, Arthur, Marisillio, Le Fay, Natsume and even Leonardo, half-faded behind a shimmering veil of the Dimension Lost.

Farther away, Augusta and Walpurga were still standing, barely. The two witches had managed to raise a layered barrier, but it had cracked like glass. Walpurga was on her knees. Augusta was breathing hard, her eyes locked on Riser, not with hate, but confusion.

Tobio pulled himself to his feet, still dazed. "What... worked?"

Riser didn't answer.

He gave a faint smile, then turned his gaze back toward the burning horizon. There was nothing left of Satanael. Not a single trace. No energy, no pieces. Just ash and a silence that rang louder than the explosion ever had.

That was enough.

Inside, Riser was quiet. Not calm but focused. He was already retracing the steps in his mind. Every moment, every decision that had led them to this outcome. There had been no guarantees. Only risk.

It had all started with the feather.

During their first clash with Satanael, he had managed to land a hit on Satanael and take a feather from his wings. A single black feather, just one. It only happened because Satanael was playing with him. He had kept it with him. He remembered the way it pulsed faintly, even after being severed.

To most, it meant nothing. But Riser had been trained to see connections. Both due to Kelzior's knowledge as well his own. To look at the world not as it was, but how it could be used.

That feather wasn't just part of Satanael's body. It was part of his essence. Still spiritually linked. Still resonating with him. And that made it more than a souvenir.

It made it a weakness.

Riser didn't tell anyone. Not Tobio. Not Lavinia. Not even Cao Cao. Because if any of them had known, they would've asked questions. They would've tried to help. And this wasn't a plan that could survive outside hands.

He only needed one person.

Valerie.

He summoned her two days before the mission.

She didn't ask questions. She never did with him. Riser showed her the feather, and she understood enough. The rest he explained in careful, simple steps.

Valerie's Sacred Gear, the Sephiroth Graal, was more than a healer's tool. It could reach into the soul, touch the edges of time and fate. It could rewrite what shouldn't be rewritten. Riser didn't want to use it recklessly. But this wasn't recklessness.

Together, they began.

The first step was resonance disruption. Using the Graal, he and Valerie infused the feather with specially crafted sigils, drawn from a mix of ancient rituals and modern soul-theory. Not curses. Not destruction. Just... instability. A slight misalignment in Satanael's internal structure. Subtle. Invisible.

Like a cracked mirror that still reflects, until you look too closely.

Then came the inversion layers. Valerie used energy from the Graal to inscribe counter-rhythms into the feather, things that Satanael's angelic nature couldn't detect, but couldn't ignore once reabsorbed. Tiny fractures. Off-key notes. Not enough to stop him. Just enough to make everything fall apart when it mattered most.

They couldn't test it. They had one shot.

The plan was simple in execution. Keep the feather hidden until Satanael started the final phase of his ritual. Then reintroduce it into his presence, masked by the chaos of battle. Let him absorb it again, unknowingly. Let the structure twist from within. Let the new power, the synthetic Longinus, try to harmonize with a broken core.

And then watch it collapse.

They didn't know exactly what would happen. Maybe nothing. Maybe he'd die quietly. Or maybe, like today, he would ignite from the inside out.

In the end, the plan worked. Perfectly.

But Riser was relieved.

He didn't tell the others. He didn't explain the feather, or Valerie's role, or how close they had all come to dying if even one thing had gone wrong.

Instead, he let the silence hang.

Let them assume he had something up his sleeve. Some Phenex family technique. A backup plan. That was fine.

Tobio needed something to believe in.

Cao Cao needed to think he'd lost a gamble, not been outplayed.

And Lavinia, well, she was already dealing with too much.

Valerie?

He had already thanked her. Quietly. Just once.

She didn't want the attention. And he didn't want the world to know that he has got the sephiroth graal. If word got out that the Sephiroth Graal could disrupt divine rituals, rewrite soul structures, sabotage transcendence itself, it would bring down every faction on them.

So Riser stayed quiet.

Not to take credit. But to protect her.

To protect the future.

Because deep down, Riser knew this wasn't the end. Satanael wasn't just a mad scientist with a god complex. He was a sign. Proof that he couldn't depend on canon knowledge.

The world was changing. The old powers, devils, angels, humans, dragons, they were all clinging to outdated roles, watching their relevance slip through their fingers. New forces were rising. Unknown threats. And worse, known ones learning to adapt.

Riser had seen it coming.

That was why he acted.

Why he prepared.

Because for him to achieve his dream, strength alone wouldn't be enough.

Cao Cao had strength.

Satanael had strength.

But only one of them was still breathing.

Riser looked up. The burning sky above was starting to fade into gray. The pocket dimension had been damaged beyond repair. Soon, they'd all be ejected back to their world.

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

Then opened them again.

"Checkmate," he said softly.

Nobody heard him.

That was fine.

The important moves were made in silence anyway.

And the next one?

He was already thinking three steps ahead.


POV: Riser Phenex

Riser stood at the edge of a collapsing dimension, arms folded as warped firelight danced in his amber eyes. Above him, the sky cracked and peeled like broken glass, dimension-space groaning as Satanael's death ripple spread outward.

Satanael was gone. Nothing left but smoldering ether.

And then he saw her.

There, at the heart of the ritual circle: Sae Toujou. Kneeling. Convulsing. Screaming.

A blizzard of light poured from her mouth, her eyes, even her skin—thousands of tiny white fragments. No. Souls. Countless human souls, torn from her body like feathers in a storm. Riser narrowed his eyes.

"Well. Can't have that," he muttered.

This hadn't been part of the plan. Originally, he just wanted to stop Satanael, then approach Tobio Ikuse and his group. Be the charming devil and recruit powerful Longuin users for himself. But this? This was better.

A gift. Waiting to be taken.

He had stood at the edge of power for so long. Borderline Ultimate-class. Not quite there. Not truly. There had always been a gap, some intangible wall between him and the next step. But this? This could be the catalyst.

Now, this might be the push.

He vanished in a blink, flame trailing behind him like a whip.

He reappeared before her—Sae, still kneeling, face contorted, as if the process was tearing her apart from the inside out.

Riser raised his hand and pressed it gently to her head. His demonic energy surged into her like a tide, stabilizing the violent tremor of her soul, but not with kindness. With intent

The escaping souls slowed. Paused.

Then reversed.

Sae screamed: high, raw, animal.

The souls flowed back into her like a reversed flood, pushing against her from all angles. Her veins glowed white-hot. She convulsed.

And from behind, voices.

"Riser!" Le Fay shouted, breathless. "What are you doing?!"

He didn't turn. "Reaping what Satanael sowed."

Cao Cao and the others caught up. Tobio surged forward, eyes wide in horror.

"Stop!" Tobio shouted. "What the hell are you doing to her?! She's in pain!"

Natsume's face twisted. "Let her go!"

Only George stayed back, eyes sharp, calculating. "He's… stabilizing the ritual."

Everyone turned to look at him.

George adjusted his glasses. "Satanael used Sae as a soul bridge, a vessel to connect thirty thousand humans to the synthetic Sacred Gear. But with his death, the ritual destabilized. Riser is now acting as a substitute catalyst."

"A what?" Natsume snapped.

"He's continuing the ritual," George said grimly. "But using his demonic energy as a stabilizer and catalyst. And with that level of precision? You'd need immense magical control. Absolutely monstrous."

George glanced at Tobio, face grim. "It will likely kill her."

Tobio looked back at Sae, her body convulsing harder under Riser's touch. "No. No, he wouldn't…"

He ran forward. "Riser! STOP!"

Riser didn't flinch. Didn't look.

"Why are you doing this?!" Tobio screamed. "You said you'd save her!"

Cao Cao narrowed his eyes. "Tch. We should've never trusted a devil."

He raised True Longinus. "Everyone. Move in."

A pulse of heat burst out in front of them. A sharp, concussive boom. They stumbled back as violet flame tore into the space between them and Riser.

Yubelluna hovered above them, hair wild, eyes blazing.

"You will not pass," she said.

She threw down her staff. The ground exploded in light and smoke and when it cleared, a barrier stood between them and Sae.

Lavinia slammed her hand against it. "Damn it—!"

Behind the barrier, Riser remained focused, but his thoughts flicked briefly to the structure surrounding him.

This isn't just a standard ward, he mused. It's running on multiple leyline circuits: two high-class demonic leyens from Emberhold, directly linked. I prepared them for emergencies like this. Layered with mid-tier leyens and dozens of low-class leyens spread like sigil anchors across the substrate, all feeding into a tertiary generator node.

He watched the light flicker in symmetrical pulses.

And the barrier spell itself… expertly woven. Interlaced matrices with reinforced magical harmonics. A puzzle box wrapped in infernal logic. Not invincible, but durable enough to stall even a Longinus-tier assault for a few minutes.

He allowed himself the briefest smirk.

Elegant execution. As expected of Yubelluna.

Riser listened to the chaos behind him but didn't turn. His hand stayed on Sae's head. Her screams echoed through the barrier like broken glass scraping metal.

Perfect. This was no longer Satanael's design.

This was his.

The souls spiraled, slowed, turned one by one, then in floods. Thirty thousand lives. Human souls, refined, vulnerable, bursting with raw meaning. They collapsed into her form. Her frame arched, twisted, until her body couldn't take anymore. Riser's other hand traced a sigil midair. He whispered something ancient. Forgotten syllables. Language from before devils had kingdoms.

The ritual circle flared white. Sae shrieked and dropped.

Her body hit the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Nothing moved. No breath. No cry.

Then—

A core. Floating. A small red sphere, like blood crystallized into glass.

Riser caught it. Lifted it to his lips.

Tobio slammed his fist against the barrier. "No! Don't—!"

But Riser already tilted his head back. And swallowed.

The change hit instantly. His aura didn't surge, it detonated. Energy poured from him in sharp waves, snapping the air like a thunderclap. The ground cracked. Space warped.

From borderline Ultimate-class… past it. Rising. Climbing.

And still climbing.

Every second, his strength doubled. Tripled.

Riser exhaled, slow. Calm.

Finally, he thought.

Ultimate-class. Solidified.

And more. Not Satan-class. Not yet. But no longer just dancing on the threshold.

He turned.

Tobio was on his knees now. Shaking.

"You promised," he sobbed. "You promised you would save her."

Riser looked down at him, voice smooth.

"I said you'd have the opportunity to save her."

Tobio froze.

Riser's smile didn't reach his eyes. "And you had the opportunity. It's not my problem that you are too weak to do so."

Silence.

Lavinia took a half-step back. Even Cao Cao said nothing. The horror on their faces was enough. Then, Riser raised his hand again.

He spoke, not in the devil tongue, nor human, nor draconic. Older. Cruder. Reality buckled under the sound.

Sae's body twitched once. Screamed one last time.

Then she shrank. Her limbs collapsed inward. From the flesh came out light. Light to shape. Until it was nothing but a glowing red orb. He plucked it from the air. Popped it into his mouth. And swallowed. The dimension trembled. His power flared again, even higher. Pushing past even the limits of most Ultimate-class beings. Borderline Satan-class. Still not there but close. So close.

He turned. Calm. Serene.

"Yubelluna."

She appeared beside him instantly, still maintaining the barrier.

"Let's go."

And they vanished, just like that. Leaving the others behind in the ruins of a dimension, trapped behind a violet wall, surrounded by screams that had finally gone quiet.

⸻

They'll never understand.

The crying. The begging. The screaming.

All of it, useless.

They're still trapped in the human frame. Still measuring life by warmth, by bonds, by the illusion of permanence. Still acting like death matters. That sacrifice has weight. That pain makes something real. But I've seen the truth.

I saw it the moment I opened my eyes in this world and realized I had been reborn. Different world. Different laws. Same mind.

Reincarnation is real. Not poetic. Not hypothetical. Literal.

And if it's real, then death is irrelevant. Just a reset button. A revolving door of identity, loss, and repetition. You don't end. You loop.

It's not beautiful. It's not hopeful. It's meaningless.

Because if you just come back again and again—what value does anything have? Love, loss, glory, despair. All of it erased by the next cycle. Your victories become someone else's backstory. Your tragedies fade into static. The wheel turns. The roles change. You start over.

It was enough to drive a man insane. Or enlightened.

I chose the second. I stopped caring about the narrative. About playing the role of hero, villain, victim, mentor. None of it lasts. None of it means anything.

So I asked a better question:

What can I make that doesn't get erased?

That's what matters now.

Not saving Sae. Not earning Tobio's trust. Not impressing Lavinia or outplaying Cao Cao. They're interesting. Useful. Even entertaining. But they're fragile. They break. They die. They get replaced.

Just like the last world. What I need… is permanence. Not the kind you write in a book. Not legends or memory.

Real Immortality.

I'm not talking about long life. Not immortality in the way most dream of it. That's just prolonged irrelevance. I want to become a constant. An unerasable pattern.

Truly omnipotent.

And if I have to use the soul core of thirty thousand humans to take another step toward that goal? Then so be it.

I could've helped Sae. Could've given Tobio his happy ending. Could've had Lavinia at my side, grateful, loyal, broken in the way I prefer my tools.

But all of that would've slowed me down. Saving one girl won't reshape the universe.

This?

This ritual, power, transcendence, does.

Let them hate me. Let them scream and call me a monster. Devil. Liar.

They're not wrong.

I took the path they couldn't. I made the choice they feared.

That's why I'll become something more than them.

Something they can't follow. And if I fail?

If this world falls apart and I die like everyone else?

Then I'll try again. Next world. Next version. Same goal. Until I reach the end of everything and rewrite it. No gods. No fate. No cycle.

Only me. The first true constant.

Riser Phenex. Not a devil. Not a man. But the one thing even eternity can't erase.

Pov: Le Fay Pendragon

The world was quiet.

Ash fell like snow from the shattered sky, drifting through the remains of the broken dimension. Where once Satanael's ritual had twisted reality into something monstrous, now there was only silence and the stench of betrayal.

Le Fay stood among the others. Tobio knelt beside Sae's remaining body parts. He didn't cry at first. He just stared at one of her eye balls, mouthing words that no sound could carry. Then his breath hitched and he broke. Screams tore from his throat, raw and brutal, as if the grief itself was clawing its way out of his chest.

Natsume had her hands over her mouth, trembling. Lavinia didn't speak. She just stared at the space where Riser had vanished, her eyes wide and hollow. Her knuckles were white around her wand. Arthur stood beside her, motionless. Jeanne crossed herself, muttering prayers that sounded more like curses. George was silent, staring down at the scorched remnants of the magic circle.

Cao Cao stood alone. He wasn't trembling. He wasn't weeping. He was… still. But Le Fay had never seen him like this. He looked like a man possessed.

His jaw clenched. His eyes were alight with something terrible: pure, incandescent rage. Not loud. Not screaming. Cold. Righteous fury.

And then he stepped forward.

"Look at what they've done," Cao Cao said, voice like thunder wrapped in iron. "First Satanael. Now Riser Phenex. And before them? Every god, every devil, every myth that deemed humanity lesser. Always the same. Always above. Always watching."

His hand curled into a fist. "They toy with us. Sacrifice us. Speak of fate, of balance, of divine will. And yet when we die, it is alone. Forgotten. We are the fodder in their wars, the bricks in their towers, the nameless prayers they never answer."

He raised his spear to the dim light above.

"Why should we kneel before such powers? Why should we serve beings who treat our lives like currency? What justice lies in a world where thirty human souls were fed to a devil—and another devil called it progress?"

The others slowly looked up. Eyes wide. Listening.

"I say no more."

His voice rose, echoing through the dead air.

"I say farewell to obedience. Farewell to servitude. Farewell to peace if peace means silence before monsters."

He pointed his spear to the distance, toward the place where Riser had disappeared.

"We have been used. Again. And again. But let this be the last time. We are not their pawns. Not their cattle. We are human and there is nothing purer, nothing worthier, than that."

He turned to them now, sweeping his gaze over every face.

"We will not be quiet. We will not be afraid. We will fight not for prophecy, not for gods, not for glory but for each other. For the weak, the lost, the innocent. For those who scream and are never heard. For those who died believing someone would save them."

He stepped onto the cracked ground and raised his spear to the sky.

"Let all hear us! Be they god or devil, angel or dragon, yokai or forgotten spirit—be they yet unborn or already decayed! If any shall raise their hand against mankind, if any shall twist our souls or spill our blood for their designs, then we swear this:

"Be they gods or devils, angels or beasts,

born of heaven or forged in hell,

bright of light or cloaked in shadow,

I name them all foe:

whoever brings harm to humankind.

By this vow I am bound, and bound shall be all who swear it beside me:

Neither law, nor love, nor mercy, nor fear,

neither the swords of kings nor the prayers of saints,

shall shield them from our wrath.

We will hunt them, we will hound them,

to the edge of the stars and beyond the end of time.

Not fate, not heaven, not death itself

shall grant them refuge.

We will raise our blades before the breaking of day

and strike until the last evil is unmade.

This oath we swear:

Death to those who defile mankind.

Vengeance unending upon those who enslave or sacrifice us.

And may the world break and the stars fall

should we betray this vow."

He drove the spear down into the cracked earth with a sound like thunder.

"Witness our oath, O Lord of Hosts, Yahweh,

and you gods of distant lands

Shiva, Vishnu, all who watch from high places:

Remember this oath!

Let no star forget it!

Let no god forgive it!"

Then Arthur stepped beside him, sword drawn. "I swear it."

Jeanne followed, her blade gleaming. "So do I."

Leonardo, trembling but firm: "I swear."

Marsilio's voice was low, furious. "They'll pay. All of them. I swear it."

Heracles cried. "This i swear also."

George bowed his head and placed a hand over his chest. "By the souls they sacrefieced, I swear."

Tobio stood last. His face was streaked with tears, his voice hoarse. But it rang with steel.

"For Sae. I swear it."

And one by one, they raised their weapons: every blade, every staff or fists, every will hardened by fire and betrayal.

Le Fay didn't raise hers. Neither did Lavina nor Natsume.

She watched them, her heart heavy with dread.

Something had changed. Something irreversible. The weight in the air wasn't just resolved. It was fury. It was vengeance. It was Fate. And it was absolute.

She felt as though they had crossed a threshold and there would be no coming back.

Even victory, she feared, might one day look like loss.


AN: Another chapter down, and this one absolutely drained me. I had to keep rewriting it just to make sure things made sense, though let's be honest, it probably still doesn't. I swear it was all way cooler in my head.

The final bit, where Cao Cao makes his dramatic oath, was inspired by Fëanor's oath from Tolkien. I wanted it to feel heavy and serious, since this moment kicks off the formation of the Hero Faction and shows that Riser's chaotic actions actually have consequences.

Anyway, feedback is always welcome, whether it's thoughtful critique, unfiltered insults, or just a confused "what did I just read." Let me know!

 

[abel targayen]

POV: Riser Phenex
Riser Phenex sat alone in his private study as dusk settled outside the tall windows. A grand piano dominated the center of the room, its polished surface catching the last light of day. His fingers moved over the keys with disquieting grace, weaving the delicate phrases of Chopin's Nocturne No. 20. It was not a performance meant to soothe. The melody did not merely stir emotion, it interrogated it.

The final phrase lingered, delicate as cobweb, before my fingers lifted. Silence returned, expectant. I did not turn to her.

"You've been watching for some time now," I said, lightly. "Were I less practiced, I'd have mistaken that gaze for admiration. But I suspect you're here to confess a thought. Or a fear. Perhaps both?"

I glanced back, just enough to catch the flicker in her expression. Guilt. Embarrassment.

"My Lord, I didn't mean to intrude—"

"Don't be absurd," I interrupted gently, rising from the bench. "This manor is yours as much as mine. Besides, the walls miss your footsteps when you keep to the corners. Come." I gestured toward the chair opposite mine, still warm from candlelight. "Sit. Speak. And kindly do not insult both of us by pretending your silence is noble restraint."

She hesitated, then obeyed. Back straight. Eyes downcast.

"It's nothing, really. Foolish thoughts from a servant."

"A servant?" I echoed with a touch of amusement. "Yubellana, I've watched you maintain this estate with precision no spell could replicate. You anticipate needs before they're spoken. You handle every detail I ignore without complaint or error. And yet, in your mind, your greatest contribution is keeping the bookshelves tidy?"

That drew a faint smile.

"You are no mere servant. You are my Queen. Speak as such."

She nodded, slowly.

"It's about the events… that happened recently. During the whole Satanael fiasco."

Ah. So we've reached that chapter, have we?

I folded my hands, watching her carefully.

"I see. And what of them weighs on you?"

"It's…" she faltered, then forced herself to continue. "It's not that I disapprove. I would never. I trust you with everything I have, My Lord. But I… didn't understand. You abandoned your efforts with Tobio Ikuse. After everything. After building that relationship. After pretending you cared for that boy's future. You killed his friend. You absorbed thirty thousand souls. You turned him into an enemy and several other longuin users."

"And?" I asked, not unkindly.

"You always said he was a target for recruitment," she continued, voice soft. "He is the wielder of the Canis lykaon. Someone with the capacity to challenge gods, if properly cultivated. I thought… I thought that was your aim."

"It was," I replied, with a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Then I changed it."

She blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," I said, standing and moving toward the window. "The circumstances shifted, so I adapted. I made a choice that brought results. The plan changed, and with it, so did the role I play."

She stood as well, cautiously. "But was it worth it? You say you've gained power, but Tobio is still a Longinus wielder. His potential is… limitless. You could've had him."

"I could've," I agreed. "But let me ask you, Yubellana—what is a man who gains allies, if he cannot first conquer himself? What is the worth of another's strength, if he has not first proven his own is sufficient?"

She looked away, troubled. "That sounds like pride."

"Perhaps," I admitted. "But pride, you see, is often mistaken for clarity by those still ruled by fear. I do not court strength for the sake of alliances. I consume. I dominate. I master. Because if power is the currency of this world, then dependence is poverty."

She shivered.

"I've read the scriptures," I went on. "Not of heaven, but of nature. There is no justice in the world. No divine balance. No truth that isn't shaped by those strong enough to impose it. All men are born to struggle. Every species, every race. Struggle is the constant. And from that struggle emerges the only true law: power. The strong do not inherit the earth. They reshape it. When a being of true will walks the earth, the very laws of cause and effect shift to accommodate him. That is my pursuit. Not friendship. Not peace."

"You speak of strength as though it absolves all things."

"No," I said. "It doesn't absolve. It defines."

She stepped forward, voice taut.

"Then why did you let them live?" she asked. "Tobio. Cao Cao. The Hero Faction. You had the strength. Why not end the threat?"

I smiled.

"Because they have a role to play."

She tilted her head.

"They are not threats," I continued. " I already know how they move. I know what they fear. What they value. They're predictable and useful."

" So you have a plan for them. You're playing a long game."

"I am playing the only game that matters," I replied. "One that has no board. One where I am not content to be a king or a god, but something beyond."

"And the cost?" she asked, quietly. "All those souls. Sae."

"There is no cost," I said gently. "There is only price. And I paid it."

She looked away again. I saw it, the way her faith in me wavered not from disgust, but the pressure of understanding. That to walk beside me meant accepting things that tore at the edges of her morality.

"You fear what I've become," I said softly.

"I fear that I do not," she whispered.

We stood in silence.

Then I walked back to the piano, sat down, and began again.

A different nocturne this time. Slower. Sadder.

"Your fear defines you," I said, without looking. "It means you have not yet ceased to be human."

"And you?" she asked.

"I ceased long ago," I said. "And found peace in that extinction."

She walked forward, slowly. The light of the chandelier made her look like a ghost.

"But why me?" she asked. "Why keep me close? If all others are tools?"

I didn't answer right away.

When I did, my voice was nearly a whisper.

"Because you see me clearly… and still remain."

POV: Riser Phenex

I felt the magic before it was completed. Summoning magic, Egyptian in flavor, heavy with intent, precise in geometry, and saturated with one overwhelming desire: to see me.

The summons tugged at my spine like a leash. The arrogance amused me.

I did not enjoy being summoned.

So I reversed it.

A flick of the wrist, a shift in the weave. Her spell buckled, then folded in on itself. The floor beneath my study bloomed into a precise geometric lattice of light, drawn in phoenix-gold. Runes flared, flickered, then stabilized with a shudder—and with a burst of violet light, the summoner arrived.

Augusta.

She took one step forward before stilling. Robes of violet. The scent of burnt copper, old parchment, and something older still. Her wide-brimmed witch hat tilted as she adjusted to the sudden change of scenery. She did not stumble, I noted. But I saw the subtle tension in her fingers, the narrowing of her gaze. Her mind, sharp as ever, was already adapting.

I was already seated by the hearth.

"Witches," I said. "Always so fond of circles. You'd think a species so committed to power would tire of walking in them."

Her mouth twitched. "And devils never tire of breaking what others build."

I gestured to the high-backed chair opposite mine. "Please. You've already intruded. Might as well sit."

"Lord Riser," she said with a slight bow, voice even. " To be inverted mid-summon… remarkable. Your magical finesse is impressive. Not many can intercept a spell mid-ritual and turn it back upon the caster."

"Hardly difficult," I replied, examining my nails. "You offered a line. I merely pulled."

I gestured toward one of the grand seats by the fire. "Please, sit. We practice civility here."

She obliged. Her robes rustled softly against the velvet. Her posture remained upright, composed. Not hostile. I rather liked that.

"Yubelluna," I called, without raising my voice. "Bring us two glasses from my special bottle– the one on the right."

My Queen bowed and vanished.

Augusta studied me. "I did not come here to quarrel. I came to offer something useful."

"Of course you did." I laced my fingers. "Witches always arrive bearing offers. Curses. Promises. Grand designs wrapped in Riddles. Speak, then. What prophecy are we spinning tonight?"

Her expression tightened. "It's no prophecy. It's a plan. One I believe may be to your advantage."

"They always say that," I mused. "Is there a school where magicians are taught to speak in melodrama?"

She smiled faintly. "Perhaps we are simply more honest about the stakes."

"Mm. Proceed, then.You've survived the fallout of Satanael's failed apotheosis. That alone is noteworthy.. I imagine you're short on friends."

Yubelluna returned. The wine arrived. I poured for both of us, slow and deliberate. Augusta did not yet drink.

She looked into the fire. "The Hero Faction is mobilizing. With a divine oath dooming them if they do not purge all who pose a threat to humanity."

I nodded once. "Let them be."

"They have gathered more Longinus users than any known faction in recorded history, besides maybe heaven. They've taken an oath and not lightly. And they are testing their edge, cutting down stray devils, rogue magicians and yokais. A warm-up before the real war."

"Children swinging blades," I replied. "This is not the first time zeal has stitched itself into armor."

She leaned forward, voice calm. "No, but it may be the first time it grows fast enough to matter. That oath, they swore it on the Holy names, invoked Yahweh, Shiva, and Vishnu both. The kind of madness only righteous fury breeds."

"And you fear it."

"Well," she said. "I doubt their oath forgives my part in Satanael's ritual. And I plan to survive it."

I gave her a look. "Then what do you propose? Hiding? Apologizing? Or is this where you offer me a grand plan to subdue the mighty heros?"

She smiled slightly. "We build something. Together. An organization. A counterforce to theirs."

I tapped my glass. "Here comes the pitch."

She nodded. "Satanael had a vision. The Khaos Brigade. It was never realized. But the framework remains. It wasn't just madness. It was practical. Build a loose alliance of anyone tired of the peace.We could gather them. Devils, fallen, strays, gods in decline. Dragons without purpose. Rebels. Outcasts. Fanatics."

"Sounds like a circus."

It will be

"It will be," she said. "But it's a circus that can punch back. Especially with the right name attached to it."

" And whose name would that be? Yours?" asked Riser, already knowing the answer.

"Not mine," she said. "Something greater. The jet-black god of infinity. The Ouroboros Dragon."

I stared at her. "You're serious."

"Deadly. The Infinite Dragon God is simple. She wants her home. The Dimensional Gap. Remove Great Red, and she'll grant us her presence, her power. Enough weight to make the Brigade more than a joke."

"And you think she'll just trust us?"

"She's naïve. Detached. Power without ambition. That makes her usable."

"And you want me," I said slowly, "to lead this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She hesitated. Just for a breath.

"Because you are not ruled by illusions. You understand that power does not ask permission. That alliances are not sacred. That friends, when necessary, are fuel."

I studied her carefully. "And what is it you want in return? Power? Protection? longevity?"

She looked at me, steady. "All of it. But most of all... I want to serve you."

I blinked, once.

She continued, "I want to become your servant. Reincarnated into your peerage."

A low laugh escaped me. "Why? To grovel for protection?"

"To surpass Merlin," she said. "To dissect the roots of magic until nothing remains hidden. I wish to master it all. But I am human. Old. Time narrows. My ambition does not. I want to join your peerage. Become your devil. And I want to learn from you."

I swirled the wine. "And you believe becoming a devil will fix that?"

"I believe becoming your devil will give me what I need."

"You. Serving under me."

"I don't care about pride," she said. "I care about relevance. I want to see how far you go. And I want to be part of it."

"Such trust. You know what I am, Augusta. I won't pretend to be noble. I'll use you if you're useful. Discard you if you're not.."

She inclined her head. "That's fine. I'd rather be used than rot. Just give me something to do."

I rose from my seat and walked to the window, gazing out over the forest that ringed my castle.

"This Khaos Brigade of yours... It isn't a bad idea. But it needs more than fire and fury. It needs structure. Strategy. It needs intent."

"I can help with that," she said. "And there are others—strays, researchers, broken things. People who want a cause."

"People who want war," I said softly.

"Exactly."

I turned back to face her.

"Fine," I said. "I accept. You'll have your second life."

Six pawn pieces floated into the air before her—golden, burning softly with internal fire.

"Kneel."

She dropped to one knee without hesitation.

The pieces drifted forward. They sank into her chest. She gasped, once, then exhaled.

"Thank you," she said.

"Get used to it," I replied. "We have work to do."

"I will not disappoint you, Master."

And Augusta of the Purple Flames became mine.

AN: So, another chapter, sorry it's a bit late. Hemorrhoids is such a bitch. Anyway, I've also been thinking about how to keep this fic going, and honestly… Riser has completely derailed several of my carefully laid plans. this was not what i wanted it to be when i began writing this fic. He just refuses to do what I want. I write the outline, he burns it. I give him a nice, sensible path, and he decides to take a detour through chaos and emotional damage. But oh well