Issei Hyoudou told himself he was adjusting to life as a devil.
At least, that was what he kept telling himself.
Every day after school he checked in at the Occult Research Club. He listened to President Rias explain the rules of devil society. He studied the structure of basic magic circles. He practiced channeling demonic power through his body — though his reserves were so thin that Akeno laughed for a solid three minutes.
Then came devil work.
Devil work, in simple terms, meant taking requests. Humans summoned devils through special flyers, made a wish, the devil granted it, and received compensation in return. It sounded like the legendary Faustian bargain. In practice, though —
"Hey, hey, can you help me clear this game? I'm stuck on the Chapter Seven boss and I can't get past it!"
— that was about the level of it.
Issei sighed and moved his fingers across the controller. The character on screen landed the final blow, the boss went down, and the ending cutscene began to play. The client — a college student in a tracksuit — jumped up with a whoop.
"You're incredible! You're a genius, man!"
"Ha ha... thanks."
Issei laughed it off.
This was his daily reality as a devil. No soul contracts. No trading fates with travelers at crossroads. Clearing video games. Moving furniture. Walking dogs. Fixing pipes.
The life of a low-ranking devil was about ten thousand times more boring than the legends made it sound.
But tonight's request was different.
He checked the message on his phone. The request details Rias had sent were brief:
"Address: 7-2, Kuoh Town 3rd Block. Client: Mr. Moriyama. Contents: Unknown."
Contents unknown.
Usually clients wrote a rough idea of their wish on the flyer — "want money," "want good health," "want a girlfriend," that kind of thing. Unknown contents weren't unheard of, but they always left Issei with a vague unease.
He stood in front of the apartment building. Third floor, Room 302. The light by the door was broken. The only illumination in the hallway came from the emergency exit sign at the far end, casting a sickly green glow.
Issei pressed the doorbell.
No response.
He pressed it again.
Still nothing.
"Mr. Moriyama? I'm here about the flyer..."
He tried the door.
It wasn't locked.
One gentle push and it swung open.
Inside was dark. The shoes in the entryway were arranged neatly — one pair of men's dress shoes, one pair of slippers. The air carried a strange smell. Sweet, but wrong. The kind of sweetness that came from fruit left out too long, just beginning to rot.
"Excuse me..."
Issei stepped out of his shoes and onto the hallway floor. Something sticky met the soles of his feet.
He looked down.
A puddle of liquid spread across the floor. In the dark he couldn't make out the color, but that texture —
His hand found the light switch on the wall.
The light came on.
Blood.
Everywhere.
On the walls. On the floor. On the ceiling. As if someone had grabbed a bucket of red paint and gone absolutely wild. The sofa was overturned. The coffee table was snapped in two. The TV screen was shattered, cracks radiating from the center like a broken eye.
And in the middle of the living room —
A man lay on the floor.
No.
Not "lay on the floor."
He had been *taken apart*.
Issei's stomach lurched. He bent double, one hand braced against the wall, and lost his dinner. Stomach acid scorched his throat. Tears blurred his vision. But he couldn't look away — because the image had already burned itself into his retinas.
The client. Mr. Moriyama.
He was still clutching the flyer in his hand. Crumpled, soaked through with blood, the red of it bleeding into the deep crimson of the Gremory family flyer until the two colors were almost indistinguishable.
"Yaaaa —"
A sound.
Coming from deeper in the apartment.
Not crying. Not moaning. It was —
"♪ I'm a priest, a young priest ♪"
Singing.
"♪ Slaying devils, laughing without mercy ♪"
Someone was singing.
In a room drenched in blood, at a scene of death, someone was singing.
"♪ Devils, I'll cut off your heads — that's how I make a living ♪"
A figure stepped out from the direction of the kitchen.
White hair. Red eyes. A loose priest's cassock, collar hanging open to reveal pale collarbones. A grin stretched across his face — enormous, twisted, nearly splitting his face to the ears. In his left hand he carried a sword of light — not the science-fiction kind, but a genuine exorcism blade radiating white holy radiance. In his right hand, a pistol, its barrel still trailing smoke.
He stopped in the middle of the living room and tilted his head at Issei.
"Oh?"
The red eyes blinked.
"Oh oh oh??"
The grin got wider.
"An actual devil showed up at the door! I'm so moved — I waited so long for this! ♪"
He stepped forward. The light sword carved an arc through the air, humming.
"Let me introduce myself — manners matter, after all! My name is Freed Sellzen! A rank-and-file member of a certain exorcist organization! Ah —"
He raised one finger and wagged it.
"You don't have to introduce yourself just because I did. I don't want to waste brain space memorizing your name, so let's skip it."
He shrugged, his tone as breezy as someone ordering coffee.
"It's fine, really. You'll be dead in a minute anyway. I'll make sure of it. It might hurt a little at first, but you'll be crying from how good it feels before long. ♪"
He spread his arms wide. The light sword and the pistol both leveled at Issei.
"Let's step into a new world together! ♪"
Issei's mind hadn't fully come back from the body on the floor.
But his body moved.
Demonic instinct — Rias had explained it. Devils who were reincarnated inherited baseline physical traits. Reaction speed, explosive muscle power, sensory acuity all improved. Issei's piece was a Pawn — eight Pawns, theoretically the highest ceiling but the weakest starting point.
He threw himself left.
A bolt of light punched through the space where he'd been standing and blew a hole in the wall behind him. Not an ordinary bullet — a compressed bolt of holy light. For a devil, a direct hit meant burning from the inside out.
"Oh, you dodged! Nice reflexes! A little better than most of the low-grade trash I've killed — just a little, though. ♪"
Freed's silhouette flickered.
Fast.
Far faster than Issei had expected. This lunatic's physical ability was nothing like an ordinary human's — but then, exorcists weren't ordinary humans. They were weapons forged by the Church specifically to hunt devils.
The light sword swept horizontal. Issei blocked with his forearm —
Searing pain.
Holy light meeting devil flesh produced a hiss like a branding iron pressed to ice. A gash opened across Issei's left forearm. The edges smoked. The flesh was charring.
"Ghhh —!!"
Issei hit the floor and rolled, clutching his arm. The pain was immense. Not just the physical cut — the holy light kept burning inside the wound, like a fire-snake drilling through his veins.
"Beautiful, beautiful! The way a devil looks when holy light burns them is just the best! That expression! That sound! Ahh, I'm so excited! ♪"
Freed licked his lips. A sick light danced in his red eyes.
"One more cut? Where should I go this time? Fingers? Ears? Or —"
He leveled the tip of the light sword at Issei's face.
"The nose? Hmm — can a devil still smell humans without a nose? I'm so curious. Let me run an experiment. ♪"
Issei's left hand was shaking. Not from fear — well, there was fear, he wouldn't deny it. But more than fear, there was rage.
The client was dead. Killed by this lunatic. The name on that flyer, the shoes lined up neatly in the entryway, the ordinary person who had probably just wanted to make one ordinary wish — gutted and left to die on his own living room floor.
And this lunatic was standing on the body, singing.
"You —"
Issei's right hand blazed.
Red light erupted from the back of his hand. A massive gauntlet materialized in the glow — dragon-shaped armor covering his entire forearm, emerald gems set into the knuckles.
**"Boost!"**
A mechanical voice rang out from the gauntlet.
Power doubled.
Freed's eyes lit up.
"Ohhh? What is that? What a pretty glove! Is that a Sacred Gear? Let me see, let me see! ♪"
Issei launched off the floor. Twice as fast as before. His right fist, trailing red light, drove toward Freed's face.
Freed slipped aside. The movement was fluid as a dance step.
"Almost! Almost! A little faster and you'd have touched my face! You know my face is worth a lot, right? I'm very handsome. ♪"
The light sword reversed in a backhand slash. Issei blocked with the gauntlet. Metal and holy light collided with a shriek. Sparks and light-fragments burst in every direction.
**"Boost!"**
Doubled again.
Issei's second punch was twice as fast as the first. This time Freed couldn't fully evade — the fist clipped his shoulder and tore a ragged hole in his cassock.
Freed looked down at the damage.
The grin disappeared.
Just for a second.
Then it came back. Bigger.
"Ah — my clothes. I pulled this cassock off a dead priest, you know. It has sentimental value. ♪"
His tone was still light. But underneath the lightness, something had shifted —
Like a blade showing through the candy coating.
"All right. Let me get a little serious."
Freed's speed spiked.
Issei didn't even track the movement — one moment Freed was across the room, the next the light sword was filling his entire field of vision, its tip aimed straight at his heart.
"Die —"
White light.
Not the light sword's white. A gentle, golden-white light pouring in from the doorway.
The light fell on Issei's slashed left forearm. The holy fire burning inside the wound was pressed down — not extinguished, but wrapped in something gentler, soothed, and then dissolved. The edges of the wound began to close. The charred muscle regrew. The pain receded like a tide going out.
"What..."
Issei turned.
Someone stood in the doorway.
Golden hair. Green eyes. A nun's habit.
Asia Argento.
Her hands were extended forward, palms radiating a soft emerald light. That light crossed the entire room and landed precisely on Issei's wound. Her face was pale, her lips trembling, but her eyes —
Her eyes were steady.
"Father Freed — please stop."
Her voice was quiet. But in that blood-soaked room, it was like a window opening onto somewhere else entirely.
"He's... he's bleeding. Please don't hurt him anymore."
Freed tilted his head toward her.
"Asia, what are you saying? That's a devil. A devil. You know what a devil is, right? Something that gets killed. ♪"
"But he's bleeding."
Asia took a step forward.
"Something that bleeds... is something that's alive. Something alive shouldn't be treated this way."
Freed's grin froze for an instant. Just an instant — then he burst out laughing.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha — you're so funny, Asia! Something that bleeds is something that's alive! So philosophical! So profound! You should be a poet, not a nun! ♪"
But he didn't swing the sword again.
Not because Asia's words had moved him. Because —
The air changed.
The temperature in the room dropped sharply. A pressure seeped in through the windows, as if an invisible hand had closed around the entire building.
Freed's grin finally disappeared. Truly disappeared.
"Tch."
He ran his tongue over his lips. His red eyes swept toward the window.
"The Gremory peerage is here. What a buzzkill."
He turned to Asia.
"We're leaving, Asia. Work's done for tonight. ♪"
"But —"
"Move."
Freed's voice went flat. No singing, no lilt, no playful cadence. Just a short, unanswerable command.
Asia bit her lip. She looked at Issei once — and that look held too many things. Apology. Worry. Something unnameable, something she didn't fully understand herself.
Then she lowered her head.
"...I'm sorry."
She said it to Issei.
Barely audible. Almost swallowed by the sound of Freed sheathing his blade.
Then she followed Freed out through the window.
Issei knelt in the blood.
The wound on his left arm had healed completely. Not even a scar remained. Asia's light — her Sacred Gear — had healing power far beyond anything Issei had imagined. It hadn't just repaired the flesh. The additional damage from the holy light had been purified entirely.
But he wasn't thinking about the wound.
He was thinking about Asia's expression.
The nun who had said "something that bleeds is something that's alive" in a room full of blood. The girl who had healed a devil with trembling hands. The eyes that had said "I'm sorry" at the end.
Why was she with that lunatic?
Why was she —
"Issei!"
A red magic circle blazed to life in the center of the room. Rias stepped through, followed by Akeno, Kiba, and Koneko. Her emerald eyes swept the room — the blood, the body, the shattered furniture — and landed on Issei kneeling on the floor.
"Are you all right?"
"...President."
Issei looked up.
"There was a nun. A blonde nun. She saved me."
Rias's expression shifted slightly.
"A nun?"
"Her hands glowed. Green light. She healed my wound — even the holy light damage."
Rias didn't answer immediately. She glanced at Akeno. Akeno shook her head — she wasn't sure either.
"This nun... she was with the exorcist?"
"Yeah. The lunatic called her Asia."
Rias's eyes narrowed.
"Asia... Argento."
She said the full name quietly. As if confirming a name she had heard of but never encountered.
"The rumored 'Holy Maiden' expelled by the Church. The nun stripped of her faith for healing a devil. Her Sacred Gear is called —"
Rias's voice dropped.
"*Twilight Healing*."
Silence held the room for a few seconds.
"President," Issei stood up. His knees were soaked in the client's blood. "That nun isn't a bad person. I could tell. She —"
"Issei."
Rias's tone was gentle but firm.
"She's with the fallen angels."
The words lodged in Issei's throat.
"The fallen angel faction currently operating in Kuoh Town is running some kind of plan. That nun — if she really is Asia Argento — her Sacred Gear is the core of it."
"What plan?"
Rias didn't answer. She turned toward the magic circle.
"We're going back. Kiba, handle the scene. Akeno, notify Sona's people. Koneko —"
"Already checking the perimeter." Koneko's voice came from outside the window. "The exorcist's trail goes south. And... fallen angel signatures. More than one. At least three."
Koneko dropped back through the window.
"Not just one. At least three."
Rias's expression didn't change. But beneath the composure she held up, something was very faintly, very precisely taut.
"They're gathering."
The next day.
Issei didn't go to the club room.
He went looking for Asia.
This wasn't a task Rias had given him. In fact, Rias had explicitly told him not to approach anyone connected to the fallen angels. "You're too weak right now," she had said. "One hit from holy light and you'll take serious damage. Until you learn to control your Sacred Gear, don't go near danger on your own."
But Issei wanted to see Asia.
Not to fight. Not to gather intelligence. He just —
He wanted to know why she had apologized.
He found her in the park after school.
She was sitting on a bench with a paper bag in her lap. The bag held bread — convenience store bread in plastic packaging. She was tearing off pieces and tossing them into the pond for the ducks, her movements careful and deliberate, as if she were afraid of startling any of them.
"Asia... miss?"
She looked up.
Then her eyes lit up.
"Oh — you're the one from last night!"
She stood. The paper bag slipped from her lap, bread rolling across the ground. She scrambled to pick it up, nearly cracking her head on the armrest of the bench. Issei caught a rolling melon bun before it escaped.
"Your arm — is it all right? Did the wound heal properly? Is there a scar?"
She took Issei's left hand and turned it over, examining his forearm. Her fingers traced the place where the wound had been. Nothing. Not even a line.
"...Thank goodness."
She let out a breath. A smile broke across her face like sunlight through clouds.
Issei looked at that smile, and something in his chest gave a small, involuntary lurch.
They sat on the bench and talked.
Asia said she was from Italy. She had grown up in a convent. She had possessed the ability to heal since childhood — any wound, even shattered bones knitted back together in seconds. The Church called her a "Holy Maiden." The faithful treated her like a miracle.
"And then... one day, an injured person collapsed at the church door."
Her voice went quiet.
"He was badly hurt. Nearly dead. I used my ability to heal him."
"Wasn't that a good thing?"
"...He was a devil."
Silence.
"The Church said I was a heretic. That I had defiled God's gift. That a Holy Maiden healing a devil was blasphemy against God."
She lowered her head. Her golden hair fell forward and hid her face.
"They drove me out."
Issei's hand tightened into a fist.
"So you —"
"Lady Raynare took me in."
Asia looked up. The smile came back, but underneath it was something thin and fragile, something that could shatter at any moment.
"She said I could keep helping people here. Use my ability to heal whoever needed healing. Without worrying about whether they were human or devil."
Issei looked into her eyes.
Green. Clear. Without a trace of darkness.
This girl — in a world full of blood and madness — had not a single shadow in her eyes.
"Asia."
"Yes?"
"...Have you ever considered that Raynare might not have taken you in to let you help people?"
Asia's smile froze.
Not because she didn't understand what Issei was saying. Because she did. She understood better than anyone. But she had chosen not to think about it. Because if that answer was true, the last solid ground beneath her feet would crumble away.
"...Issei."
Her voice was very small.
"You're a good person."
She stood up. Brushed the dust from her skirt.
"Thank you for talking with me today. I'm really glad."
She smiled.
"It's been a long time since anyone talked to me like a friend."
Then she turned and walked away.
Issei watched her go. The white of her habit turned orange in the evening light. Her steps were small and careful, as if she were afraid of breaking something underfoot.
He had a feeling.
A bad one.
The feeling came true three days later.
Rias received intelligence. Sona's peerage had detected a massive surge of fallen angel energy near an abandoned church in the southern district of Kuoh Town. Not one or two — at least five fallen angels concentrated in the same location.
"What are they doing?" Issei asked.
Rias's expression was grave.
"Sacred Gear extraction."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
"The fallen angels have a forbidden ritual — they can forcibly extract a Sacred Gear from its host. Once extracted, the Sacred Gear exists as a crystallized form that can be transplanted into someone else."
"But the host —"
"Dies."
Rias's voice didn't waver.
"A Sacred Gear is bound to the soul. Forced extraction is forced soul-tearing. No exceptions."
A sound like static filled Issei's head.
Asia.
Twilight Healing.
Raynare had taken her in — not to let her help people. For her Sacred Gear. It had always been for her Sacred Gear.
"President — I'm going to save her!"
"Issei."
"She's not a bad person! She was just used! She thought Raynare was helping her, but actually —"
"Issei."
Rias's voice was as level as still water.
"I know. That's why we're going."
She stood. Her red hair spread behind her like a banner.
"But not out of impulse. Out of a plan."
She turned to Kiba.
"Kiba, go inform Kyoya Hibari. Tell him tonight's target — the abandoned church in the southern district of Kuoh Town, fallen angel stronghold."
Kiba paused for a fraction of a second.
"...Will he agree, President?"
"Don't mention saving anyone. Don't mention a battle plan. Just tell him there's a group of fallen angels there."
The corner of Rias's mouth lifted slightly.
"He'll decide the rest himself."
The Disciplinary Committee office.
Six in the evening. The setting sun came through the windows and stained the entire room orange-red. Hibari sat behind his desk, reading through the day's patrol reports. The lower-ranking members' handwriting was uneven, but the format followed his rules exactly — date, area, incident, resolution, signature.
A knock at the door.
"...Come in."
Yuuto Kiba pushed the door open.
He was wearing a different expression than usual — not the sunny, smiling face he turned on girls in the hallway, but something more careful, the look of a diplomat being received by an unpredictable king.
"Sorry to interrupt, Hibari."
Hibari didn't look up.
"Talk."
"Tonight at ten. The abandoned church in the southern district of Kuoh Town."
Kiba's voice was steady.
"We've detected at least five fallen angel energy signatures concentrated there. Raynare is among them."
Silence.
Hibari turned a page.
"And?"
"The president thought you might want to know."
Hibari finally looked up. His gray-blue eyes were like two patches of winter ice.
"What are you planning to do?"
"We're moving in tonight."
"So you came to recruit me as muscle."
"No. Just —"
"Get out."
Hibari's tone didn't change. He might as well have said "close the door on your way out."
Kiba didn't move. He stood where he was, mouth opening and closing, visibly weighing his words. In the end he chose the simplest option —
He bowed. Turned. Walked out.
The door closed. The Disciplinary Committee office returned to silence.
Hibari looked back down at the report.
Three seconds passed.
He set the report down.
Outside the window, the sky was shifting from orange-red to deep violet. In the distance he could make out the silhouette of Kuoh Town's southern district — low rooftops, a few trees taller than the houses, and a spire with a broken cross —
A church.
He stood up. Reached under the desk and retrieved his tonfa. The metal caught the last of the evening light and threw it back cold.
Not for Rias. Not for Issei. Not for anyone.
It was the smell.
Those fallen angels — the smell of ash and ozone and rotting sweetness — had been lodged in his memory since the night he was reincarnated. Not fear. Not hatred. Something simpler.
That smell existed in his town.
That was unacceptable.
The abandoned church. 9:53 PM.
Hibari arrived.
Seven minutes before Rias's plan called for. Before anyone else.
The front door was locked — a rusted iron padlock. Hibari looked at it once, then tapped the shackle with the butt of his tonfa. The lock didn't open. It disintegrated. Corroded fragments scattered across the ground with a faint metallic whisper.
He pushed the door open.
The interior was larger than he'd expected. A vaulted ceiling. Shattered stained glass. Long wooden pews tilted at odd angles, blanketed in dust. The air smelled of rotting wood and —
Fallen angel.
Strong. Not one or two.
He closed his eyes.
His senses spread through the dark like radar, sweeping the space. Ground level: three biological signatures — two in the shadows flanking the nave, one behind the altar. Below ground: at least two stronger signatures — one of them, very strong.
Raynare.
The smell from the park, from the crossroads where she had tried to finish him off. He remembered. His body remembered.
He opened his eyes.
"...Interesting."
The corner of his mouth moved. Not a smile. The instinctive response of a predator confirming its hunting ground.
Then he moved.
The first fallen angel never saw him.
It was hiding behind a stone pillar on the left side of the nave, four black wings folded against its back, a light spear forming in its hand. It was waiting — waiting for Rias's peerage to come through the front door, then strike from the flank.
It didn't get Rias.
A sharp crack.
The tonfa came around from the other side of the pillar and connected with its temple. The sound of metal meeting skull rang through the empty church. The fallen angel's body was flung sideways by the momentum, slammed into the opposite wall, and embedded itself in the stonework. Its wings spasmed twice, then went slack.
One strike.
Hibari didn't break stride. He walked past the fallen angel without looking at it, and a flick of his wrist cleared the blood from the tonfa.
The second fallen angel heard the sound.
It burst out from behind the altar. More cautious than the first — no frontal charge. It flew up to the vaulted ceiling, spread its wings, and hurled light spears downward. Three at once, arranged in a triangle to cut off Hibari's movement.
Hibari didn't dodge.
The Rook's enhancement activated in an instant. Muscles expanded. Bone density surged. His skin seemed to acquire an invisible layer of steel.
All three light spears hit him.
Two shattered. Like glass striking iron plate, they burst into fragments of light.
The third drove into his left shoulder — about two centimeters deep, then stopped.
Hibari looked down at the spear in his shoulder.
He pulled it out.
Like removing a pin from a lapel. The wound stopped bleeding within seconds — the Rook piece's defensive power combined with a devil's regeneration.
He looked up at the fallen angel hovering near the ceiling.
The fallen angel saw Hibari's expression.
That was not the expression of someone who had just taken three light spears. There was no pain in it. No anger. Not even battle-readiness.
There was only —
Boredom.
"...Is that all you have."
Hibari's voice carried through the empty church. Flat. Measured. The tone of someone grading a failing exam.
Then he jumped.
Not with his legs alone — the Rook's offensive power flooded into both legs in a single explosive burst. The floor cracked where he launched from, the fragments still falling when he was already at the ceiling.
The fallen angel had no time to react.
The tonfa swept horizontal.
A wing broke. Black feathers scattered through the air. The fallen angel lost flight capability and dropped like a stone. Hibari caught up with it on the way down — in midair, a second tonfa strike came from above and drove into its back.
The impact was thunderous.
The fallen angel cratered into the stone floor. The flagstones cracked. Dust billowed. Its body convulsed in the depression it had made, then went still.
Two.
The third was below.
Hibari walked down the stairs behind the altar. His tonfa trailed behind him, the metal tip tapping against the stone steps in a steady rhythm.
One step.
One step.
One step.
The door to the underground chapel was open. Light came from inside — not electric light, but the light of a magic circle. Dark violet, pulsing.
He walked in.
He saw the altar. He saw the cross-shaped metal frame. He saw the golden-haired girl chained to it — her nun's habit replaced with a white robe, a green orb of light being slowly drawn from her chest.
He saw Raynare.
Black wings. Dark violet energy. A smile of cruel elegance, looking down from above.
The smile vanished the instant she saw Hibari.
"You —"
Raynare recognized him.
She couldn't not recognize him. That night, at the crossroads — the human boy who had fought three fallen angels with his fists and his teeth. The one who should have died and didn't. The one Rias Gremory had reincarnated —
"How did you get in here? The guards outside —"
"Asleep."
Hibari's voice was flat.
He wasn't looking at Asia. He didn't know her, and she wasn't his concern. From the moment he had walked into this room, his eyes had fixed on one target.
Raynare.
The smell from that night.
"We didn't finish last time."
He raised his tonfa.
Raynare's expression cycled through several rapid changes — surprise, calculation, then a cold smile.
"You think becoming a devil means you can beat me?"
Her hand withdrew from above Asia's chest. The green orb hung suspended in the air, the extraction ritual paused — not out of mercy, but because she needed her hands free.
"Last time you were still human. Three against one and you barely lasted a few minutes. You think one Rook piece is enough to —"
Hibari didn't wait for her to finish.
He didn't like wasted words.
The tonfa's speed under Rook enhancement was beyond what human eyes could track. Raynare's fallen angel reflexes let her barely turn aside — the tonfa grazed her cheek and left a thin, clean line across her face.
A drop of blood fell from her jaw.
Raynare's pupils contracted.
Her wings snapped open. Dark violet energy poured from them and condensed into three light spears — three times the size of the ones upstairs, the light denser, the resonant frequency lower and heavier.
All three fired at once.
Hibari shifted half a step right. The first spear passed his left ear.
He stepped forward. The second spear grazed his ribs and scorched the fabric of his jacket.
The third —
He raised the tonfa in his left hand.
Metal met holy light. Fire and light-fragments erupted simultaneously. A white burn mark seared across the tonfa's surface, but it didn't break. The impact numbed Hibari's arm — but the Rook's defense absorbed the force.
He deflected the spear.
Then he closed the distance.
Raynare was a ranged fighter. Light spears, energy waves, aerial mobility — her entire combat style was built on distance. Once someone got inside that distance —
The tonfa struck the base of her right wing.
The sound of bone breaking.
Raynare screamed — a real scream, not a performance. The right wing dropped, black feathers drifting from the break. She lost her balance and lurched left.
The second tonfa strike aimed at her left knee.
It connected.
Raynare went down on one knee. Dark violet energy surged violently around her — a defensive burst — but against Hibari's tonfa, the energy shield held like paper.
Not because Raynare was weak.
Because the Rook piece's offensive power was absurd. And the vessel carrying that Rook piece — Kyoya Hibari — had been capable of injuring fallen angels with his bare body before he ever became a devil. Now the Rook's enhancement layered on top of that foundation —
It was a rout.
Hibari stood over the kneeling Raynare. The tip of his tonfa rested on her shoulder. Not heavily. But the posture —
Was a verdict.
Raynare looked up. The wound on her face was still bleeding. One wing broken. One knee shattered. But in her red eyes —
Arrogance remained.
"You won't kill me."
Her voice had gone rough, but the certainty in it hadn't moved.
"Kill me and you'll be in open war with the fallen angel governor's office. The Gremory family, the Sitri family — every devil in Kuoh Town gets dragged in. Your master won't allow —"
"I don't have a master."
The pressure of the tonfa increased by one degree. Raynare's shoulder joint produced an ominous creak.
"Your politics have nothing to do with me."
His voice was a factual report.
"But your smell makes me uncomfortable. Your presence makes my town unclean."
He lifted the tonfa from her shoulder.
Not mercy. Disinterest.
A fallen angel with a broken wing and a shattered knee was no longer a target worth continuing to swing at.
He turned and looked at the altar.
Asia was still chained to the cross. The green orb — her Sacred Gear — hung above her chest, flickering unstably because the ritual had been interrupted. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips gray, her chest barely rising.
Hibari looked at her for three seconds.
He didn't know this girl. Didn't know her name. Didn't know what she was.
He only saw one thing.
The green orb was drifting away from her body, slowly, steadily.
And she was dying.
He didn't know how to put it back.
He stood in front of the altar. His tonfa hung at his side. The dark violet light of the magic circle fell across his face and turned his gray-blue eyes into something else.
He did nothing.
Because he didn't know what to do.
Footsteps.
Rapid, chaotic footsteps from the direction of the stairs.
"Asia —!!"
Issei Hyoudou came crashing in.
His uniform was covered in dust and blood — left by the remaining fallen angel subordinates upstairs. The Red Dragon Emperor's gauntlet was still blazing red on his right hand. He burst into the underground chapel and his eyes swept the space in a frenzy —
He saw Raynare collapsed on the floor. One wing broken. One knee shattered. Unable to move.
He saw Asia on the altar.
He saw Hibari standing in front of the altar.
Issei's brain short-circuited for a second.
"Hibari... how did you —"
"She's dying."
Hibari's voice carried no emotion. He didn't even turn to look at Issei.
"That green thing is leaving her body. I don't know how to handle it."
He tucked his tonfa back into his sleeve.
"The rest is your problem."
Then he left.
Not through the way Issei had come — through a side door in the underground chapel. That passage led to another corridor in the church, where a handful of low-ranking fallen angel subordinates were still struggling.
The sound of metal striking flesh came from the corridor. Once. Twice. Three times. Each strike followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the ground.
On his way out, Hibari cleared everything that was still moving.
He didn't look back.
Only Issei and Rias remained in the underground chapel.
Issei knelt in front of the altar. Asia was in his arms. Her skin was cold, her lips gray, and the green orb above her chest — Twilight Healing — flickered unstably from the interrupted ritual, like a lamp about to go out.
"Asia... Asia!"
Her eyelids moved.
Green eyes opened halfway. Her pupils were unfocused, as if she were looking at something very far away.
"...Issei... ?"
"I'm here! I'm right here! You're going to be okay —"
The corner of her mouth moved.
A smile.
Almost imperceptible — just a millimeter of upward curve.
"...You really are... a good person..."
Her hand lifted. Slow as movement through water. Her fingers touched Issei's cheek.
"...Having someone... like a friend... I'm so glad..."
The hand fell.
Her eyes closed.
The green orb flickered one last time, then went dark.
"The Bishop piece."
Rias's voice came from behind Issei. Very quiet.
"Her Sacred Gear — Twilight Healing — is most compatible with the Bishop piece's attributes. If she were reincarnated..."
Issei looked up.
His eyes were red.
"President —"
"Reincarnation means she's no longer human. No longer a nun. No longer a servant of God." Rias's expression was serious. "She would become a devil."
Issei looked down at Asia in his arms.
"She said —" His voice was so rough it was barely audible. "She said she didn't care whether someone was human or devil. She just wanted to help people who were hurting."
He looked up.
"She won't care what she is. As long as she can keep healing people."
Rias held his gaze.
Then she knelt. From her pocket she produced a chess piece — the Bishop piece.
Red light filled the underground chapel.
A magic circle spread beneath Asia. The piece floated above her chest — above the empty space where her Sacred Gear had been — and slowly sank in.
The light expanded. Warm. Gentle. As tender as Asia's own healing light.
Issei held her.
And waited.
Waited for her to open her eyes again.
Outside the church.
Hibari stood on the roof. His tonfa rested across his knees. The night wind moved through the broken cross and made a low, hollow sound.
His school jacket had several spots scorched by light spears. The wound on his left shoulder had healed, leaving only a small circle of pale new skin.
He didn't know whether the girl had lived. It wasn't his concern.
What concerned him had been resolved.
The smell of fallen angel in this town's air had thinned considerably.
Not enough. There were still traces. But most of it had been cleared.
He looked out at the night sky. Kuoh Town's lights stained the horizon orange-yellow. Somewhere in the distance, a siren — probably unrelated to any of this.
He stood. Dropped from the roof. His shoes met the asphalt with a clean, sharp sound.
He walked in the direction of the school.
The Occult Research Club. 2 AM.
Rias sat on the sofa. Her tea had gone cold. She held the cup without drinking, her fingertip tracing slow circles along the rim.
Asia was in the next room. The reincarnation had succeeded. The Bishop piece and Twilight Healing were a perfect match. She would live — as a devil, as a member of Rias's peerage.
Kiba stood by the window.
"President."
"Mm?"
"Hibari —" Kiba chose his words carefully. "He got there before us."
"I know."
"The two fallen angels upstairs were his. Raynare was his. The remaining forces in the underground passage — he cleared those on his way out."
There was something complicated in Kiba's voice. Not admiration. Not entirely.
"He did the work of four people by himself. And —" He paused. "He didn't save that girl. Not because he didn't want to. Because he didn't know how. So he just stood there and waited for Issei to arrive."
Rias set down her cup.
"He won't admit he was helping." Kiba turned and leaned against the window frame. "He'll say he only went to clear out a smell that was bothering him. But the result —"
"The result is that he saved everyone." Rias's tone was mild.
She picked up her cup and drank a mouthful of cold tea.
"He wasn't helping us, Kiba."
Her emerald eyes moved to the window. The campus was empty at this hour, the streetlights casting long shadows across the ground.
"He simply will not allow anything to contaminate his town. Those fallen angels were a form of filth to him — the same category as trash in the hallway or delinquents at the school gate. Something that needed to be cleaned up."
She paused.
"It just so happens that his cleaning tool is a tonfa, and the thing he was cleaning up was fallen angels."
Kiba was quiet for a few seconds.
"...Then what is he, exactly?"
Rias smiled.
The kind of smile that held too many things, the kind no one could read all the way through.
"He's my Rook."
Her fingers brushed the faint red mark on her neck — already fading, barely visible.
"Even though he would never admit it."