The sky over Kuoh split open like the Red Sea when Moses crossed.
A low, bone-deep rumble made every window in the academy district tremble in its frame — then a blinding white flash that bleached the night into day for half a heartbeat.
Then the first explosion hit.
Not a bomb.
Something far worse.
A column of violet-black fire punched up from the old park near the shrine, swallowing trees, benches, half the fountain in a single gulp. The shockwave rolled outward like a clenched fist — glass shattered in a perfect ring, cars flipped onto their roofs, people screamed and scattered like leaves in a storm.
I was already airborne on Nelu when the second rift tore open.
Shinra Tsubaki threw up a barrier fast — see-through sigils snapped into place over the district, boxing in the fire and the Oblivion assholes.
For one second I thought: Nagano could've looked like this if someone gave a shit and did that sooner.
I crushed the thought.
Not again.
Suzuka flew at my right, her Astral Dress unfolding around her like shaped starlight. It glowed with suppressed power.
Behind me, Haruka leaned forward on Nelu's back, gripping tight but grinning like this was a festival opener instead of an invasion.
"This time…" Suzuka said softly.
No place for tremor or hesitation.
Just a decision she already made.
"I won't stand behind anyone. If they chose to come here, then they chose what happens next."
No heat. No shouting.
Just quiet resolve — and a line she was ready to cross.
Haruka pumped her fist. "That's what I'm talking about! Let's go, Suzuka!"
She shot me a grin. "Kokonoe-kun, try not to brood mid-battle, okay? We're kind of saving the city!"
I snorted. "I'm not brooding."
Another rift split open above the shrine, violet lightning webbing across the false sky.
"I'm taking notes," I added dryly. "Next time someone attacks, we'll split the heavens first. Save them the effort."
Nelu roared beneath us as the first wave of Oblivion constructs spilled from the burning tear.
"This time," I muttered, calm edged with steel, "we end it before it becomes a memory."
Everyone moved.
The ORC snapped into formation like instinct.
Akeno's lightning tore through the dark, flashing white. Issei's Boosted Gear lit up red as he slammed into the front wave, gauntlet smashing.
Kiba's Sword Birth tore the streets open, blades ringing as they carved through Oblivion soldiers in clean hits.
Koneko didn't rush. She walked.
Every step slow, every hit heavy. She tackled one of the stretched things — pavement cracked under them. It didn't get up.
Then the Student Council joined the fray.
Sona's water rolled through the streets in controlled waves, knocking clusters of them off their feet and slamming them into walls. Sigils glowed inside the water — sharp, planned.
Saji's Absorption Line shot out like a whip, caught one of the big ones mid-lunge. He yanked, swung it hard, and threw it straight through a storefront. Glass and black limbs flew everywhere.
Above the street, holy light sliced through the smoke.
Irina's Excalibur Mimic flashed — quick and clean — cutting off limbs that burned away before they hit the ground.
Xenovia came right after, swinging Durrandal hard. Every hit smashed through armor and cracked the pavement.
Where they moved, the Oblivion soldiers broke. They turned to ash and dark sludge that spread across the street.
We weren't outnumbered anymore.
Now it was a full-out war.
Suzuka moved first.
Wind whipped up around her, tight and fast, then exploded outward.
The whole front line of Oblivion grunts staggered — razor gusts shredded their cover and threw them into the open. Their silver rounds went everywhere, bouncing off Tsubaki's barrier or spinning uselessly into nothing.
They tried to pull back together.
Didn't work.
From up top, we hit them.
Nelu banked sharp, wings snapped once — twice — and the sky turned deadly.
Haruka and I fired in sync: icicles forming mid-air, bullet-shaped, shooting off like automatic. Dozens. Then dozens more.
Each one screamed down, punched through gray skin, pinned them to the ground, froze joints solid before cracking them open.
Haruka whooped into the wind.
I didn't.
I just kept shooting.
Then, I glanced sideways at Suzuka — and before I could stop myself, I winked.
"You're doing great, Suzuka. Keep it up."
Her eyes widened a little, surprised, then softened. She gave a small smile — warm, quiet.
"Merci, Kokonoe-kun," she said, the French word slipping out soft even in the middle of all this.
Haruka leaned forward over Nelu's back, sounding pissed.
"Hey! Excuse me?" she yelled over the wind. "Why does Suzuka get the special praise? I'm right here!"
I didn't turn.
"Because it's her first real fight," I said flat. "You? I already trust with my life."
Silence.
Then Haruka made a choked little noise.
She punched my shoulder — not hard enough to mess up my aim, just enough to make her point.
"At least you know who's got your back, hmph!"
Her face was red, but she was grinning wide. The next icicles she fired came faster, sharper — like she was trying to prove something.
Suzuka laughed quietly, wind still moving around her fingers like it was nothing.
I kept my eyes forward.
Proud, aware both of them were exactly where they needed to be.
But the numbers were overwhelming.
A violet pulse swept across the field.
Irina caught the edge of it.
She screamed — short, sharp — and stumbled mid-swing. Blood spread fast across her shoulder, soaking her battle suit red.
Xenovia lunged, grabbed her before she hit the ground, teeth clenched as she dragged her back. Irina's armor was cracked; her arm hung limp at a bad angle.
Across the street, Saji jerked as a rifle round punched through his thigh. He dropped hard.
"Damn it—!" he hissed, clutching the wound as blood soaked his pants.
Tsubaki was on him in seconds, pulling him behind a broken wall. She started chanting — a barrier snapped up over them like thick glass.
Suzuka didn't wait.
She dropped down fast, landing next to Xenovia first. Her hands lit up — soft gold, steady.
"Hold her still," she said quietly.
The light flowed over Irina's shoulder. Torn skin closed, muscle pulled back together, blood dried up. The wound was gone in seconds.
Irina blinked, stared at her arm, then broke into a huge grin.
"Oh! Oh, praise the Lord!" she gasped, clasping her hands. "God bless you! That was incredible! You're like an angel!"
Suzuka's cheeks went a little pink, but she kept calm.
"I'm glad you're okay."
She moved to Saji next.
He tried to sit up straighter when she got close, like he didn't want to look weak.
Her hands hovered over his leg. The hole sealed fast — skin whole, blood gone.
Saji flexed his leg, surprised.
"…Doesn't even hurt," he muttered. Then he looked up at her properly.
"Thanks. Seriously. That was… yeah. Incredible."
He scratched the back of his head, awkward.
"Uh… we haven't actually met. What's your name?"
Suzuka gave him a small smile, brushing hair behind her ear as the light faded.
"Midorikawa Suzuka," she said softly. "Nice to meet you. Hopefully next time under better circumstances."
Saji blinked.
"Yeah. That'd be good. I'm Genshirou Saji, by the way."
The core group stayed in the fight.
But the tide kept coming.
4,200 soldiers.
The first wave came through the smoke — hooded figures with black canes veined in faint runes. Each swing sent out a burst of dark flame, tight and controlled, exploding on contact.
Above, snipers crouched on broken rooftops. Rifles steady. Barrels marked with glowing sigils.
Each shot cracked sharp — silver bullets wrapped in demonic energy, aimed clean and deadly.
They moved like a unit.
Their formations held under pressure. Their spells weren't wild bursts anymore — they were tight, focused, efficient. Dark sigils snapped into place clean, beams converged instead of scattering.
It wasn't just training.
It felt engineered.
I watched one of the reincarnated devils lift his hand. His demonic aura didn't flicker or spike like unstable hosts usually did. It flowed smooth. Thick.
Too thick.
"They upgraded," I muttered, knocking aside a lance of voidfire. "Body mods, maybe. Reinforced channels. Artificial cores."
Haruka glanced over mid-volley. "You're saying they modded themselves?"
"I'm saying someone gave them an upgrade," I said dryly.
Suzuka's eyes narrowed as she scanned the field. "Their output is way past normal reincarnation limits. Even with training."
Exactly.
Reincarnated devils weren't built to handle that much demonic power without ripping apart. Unless—
"LaVey," I said, the name tasting sour.
If he'd figured out how to reshape reincarnated but average human bodies to carry demonic power cleanly…
That didn't make him a fanatic.
It made him a bio-arcane engineer.
"A mad scientist," I added, voice flat. "On Azazel's level."
And that wasn't a compliment.
Azazel pushed limits, but he had rules. Research. Oversight. Some twisted ethics.
LaVey?
If this was his work, he'd gone straight to human trials.
"More dangerous than Valper Galilei ever was," I said quietly.
Valper chased relics and theories.
LaVey was rewriting the hardware.
Under these conditions, unity wasn't optional. It was survival.
The Three Factions already proved they could share a trench when getting wiped out was the alternative. Devils, church girls, fallen — bad blood dropped because something worse was at the door.
That mattered.
If the Khaos Brigade was running human-grade militia — engineered devils crossing borders — this wouldn't stay in Kuoh. It would spread. Border by border.
Collaboration wasn't optional. It was necessary.
My mind went west. Romania's vampires.
If I could get them in, the math changes. They're isolationist, proud, territorial. But this threatens them too.
LaVey is Hungarian.
Revisionists like him never shut up about Transylvania.
He's escalating this hard — he won't skip that region. My homeland.
They talk about reclaiming land.
But Hungarians abroad? Useful when convenient, invisible otherwise.
I was only half Hungarian in that life.
Budapest never let you forget what you were supposed to be — and what you weren't.
That's why I leaned Romanian.
We were just there. Same schools, same streets, same apartment blocks. Spoke both languages when needed.
Székely Land was different — Hungarians majority, identity sharper. But I didn't grow up there.
Brașov wasn't a slogan.
Romanians, Hungarians, Roma — same markets, same gray blocks, same freezing January air.
Real life isn't what politicians scream about.
Budapest's "our people" never included me.
Romanian society absorbed us. Harder to stay mad.
If LaVey wants Transylvania for his project, the vampires are targets whether they like it or not.
That's leverage.
If this war spreads, I spread with it.
No more fighting solo.
I was lost in my head when I noticed Suzuka went quiet.
When Galilei came up, her face changed — not scared, not angry. Just hurt.
"The way he talked about people…" she said quietly, eyes down for a second. "It was so… dehumanizing."
She looked at me again, gave a small, real smile.
"Thank you. For standing up for me back then."
"Anytime," I said. Simple. Honest.
It pissed me off more than I showed — the way Galilei treated her like a footnote. Some spirit in an old book, last mentioned hundreds of years ago. A thing to study.
Not a person.
Not the girl who woke up as a Wind Spirit and leveled Paris — the city she died in — with one breath.
History remembers the damage.
It forgets the girl inside it.
Reincarnations like us are a blessing and a curse mixed together.
And people like Galilei always want to turn that into a label instead of a life.
Kiba was close enough to hear us.
His black wings cut clean arcs through the wind as he drifted nearer, blade still humming faintly in his grip. When Galilei's name settled between us, something in his expression shifted — not explosive, not loud.
Just heavy.
"My comrades…" he said quietly. "They died because of that man."
There was no trembling in his voice. Just a calm bitterness.
"I killed him. But that won't bring them back."
Of course it wouldn't.
Revenge was easy. Death wasn't.
I exhaled slowly and filled Suzuka and Haruka in — the Holy Sword Project, the children turned into experiments, the artificial compatibility, the ones who couldn't withstand it. Kiba, the sole survivor. The weapon that walked away when the others couldn't.
Suzuka's gaze softened as she listened.
When she looked at him, it wasn't pity. It was recognition.
"I think… I understand," she said gently.
The wind brushed at her Astral Dress, starlight folding around her like a quiet halo.
"My best friend died in Nagano. And if it wasn't for Kokonoe-kun… I would have died too."
Her voice stayed steady. Soft. Honest.
She reached out and placed a light hand on Kiba's shoulder.
"But Aika-chan would have wanted me to keep going. I'm certain your friends feel the same way."
Kiba's eyes lowered. For a moment, the composed knight slipped, and the boy underneath showed through.
"Yes… certainly," he replied.
Careful and polite.
Like if he repeated it enough times, it might stop feeling like a betrayal to still be alive.
I said nothing.
There wasn't a speech in the world that could untangle survivor's guilt.
"…Suzuka, you're kind of amazing at this," Haruka said, quieter than usual. The usual bounce was gone, but the warmth was still there.
"Like… actually amazing."
She looked ahead at the burning skyline instead of at us.
"I guess we've all been through something," she added. "Sometimes you just… keep breathing because there isn't another option."
I glanced at her.
"Careful," I said evenly. "You're starting to sound like me."
Haruka huffed, a small laugh escaping.
"Please. My delivery's still better."
Even now, she wouldn't let the dark win without a fight.
"You three really are extraordinary," Kiba said, offering one of those composed, princely smiles of his. It didn't quite hide the fatigue in his eyes. "I'm relieved Kokonoe-kun has people he can rely on.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose.
"I was never closed off," I said flatly. "I just had a different battlefield."
My gaze flicked briefly toward the academy buildings where Akeno's lightning tore through the invading Oblivion units.
Her command of the ORC was rooted in her adaptability.
"Surviving Rias's order took most of my bandwidth," I added dryly. "Doesn't mean I didn't see you all as comrades. I did. Still do."
I paused, then shrugged lightly.
"Suzuka and Haruka are just… closer. That's all."
No grand speech. No embarrassment.
Just the truth, laid out without decoration.
Haruka chuckled softly. "He'd be dead without us."
I didn't bother answering.
Suzuka cupped her cheek, gently, like dealing with a child.
Kiba's eyes met mine, calm but calculating. "Yeah. I suppose it's better having you on our side, after all."
"I can say the same," I said, casually.
My gaze shifted to Koneko, who was tearing through the Oblivion soldiers with nothing but raw force.
The only other one who had fought in Nagano with me and the girls.
We were both Rias' rooks. And we both moved without waiting for orders.
She glanced up mid-strike, as if she'd felt me looking. Our eyes met across the chaos.
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Senpai…" she said quietly.
I gave her a brief wink in return.
Sometimes, it was all the communication we needed.
I'd already mapped it out.
Sona's water would herd them. Suzuka's wind would tighten the funnel. Push them exactly where we wanted.
Akeno's lightning from above. My missiles from the sky. One synchronized strike.
Hundreds gone in a single breath. Maybe more.
After that, cleanup. Koneko and Hyoudou on the front. Kiba slicing whatever's left. Saji backing them. The church girls sealing the gaps.
I trusted them to handle the rest.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn't just reacting.
I was calling the shots.
Not some survivor scrambling in the smoke.
A commander.
I waved Akeno and Sona over and laid it out quick and clean. No theatrics. Just angles, timing, impact zones.
Sona adjusted her glasses, lenses catching the red light bleeding across the sky.
"…It's viable," she said after a beat. "If our timing is precise."
Akeno tilted her head, lips curving.
"Ara~ Kokonoe-kun thinking like a proper general?" she teased, one hand lightly covering her mouth. "How unexpected."
"I watched real war footage," I replied, shrugging. "Back when I worked for TikTok."
I let the words sit.
"I'm the military nerd you didn't know you needed."
Maybe there was a hint of arrogance in my tone.
But if this worked, they wouldn't complain.
And it worked.
Sona and Suzuka swept the streets clean, water and wind herding the constructs exactly where we wanted them — straight into the kill zones.
Akeno's lightning came down next. One blinding strike. Hundreds erased in an instant.
While the smoke still rose, I poured mana through Nelu and shaped it into more missiles — smaller, more compact.
9K720 Iskander. Russian. Short-range.
Nothing flashy like a Hwasong.
Just easier to mass-produce.
The missiles hit the kill zones and wiped out everything caught inside. Hundreds, gone in a single coordinated strike.
Any attempt to regroup died with the smoke.
"Retreat!" their commanders barked.
And just like that, they pulled back — shadows dissolving, formations collapsing into nothing.
One of the commanders lingered a moment longer, eyes fixed on me.
"Kokonoe Takashi," he called out evenly. "Our Supreme Leader would like to meet you."
I looked at him. Didn't move.
"Tell him I said 'bazdmeg a kurva anyád, faszfej'," I replied, deadpan.
The commander didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
Just stared for half a second — then dissolved into shadow like the rest of them.
The rifts snapped shut one by one.
No final explosion. No parting shot.
Just gone.
Smoke drifted.
Burning debris popped in the silence.
The battlefield was ours again — scarred, smoking, but ours.
Before anyone could speak, a black rift tore open above the academy courtyard.
Azazel stepped through.
Hands in his pockets.
Cigarette lit.
I felt a little proud. See, Grandpa? I can do it.
_____
Vali arrived high above Kuoh, wings of silver light cutting through the smoke like knives.
He came for one thing: Kokabiel. Azazel's orders were clear — end the rogue fallen angel before the city became a crater. No mercy, no negotiation. Just a quick, decisive kill.
The battlefield was already a mess below. Rifts vomiting black-armored soldiers. Violet fire eating streets. The ORC and Student Council holding lines, barely.
Himejima Akeno's lightning flashing. Sona Sitri's water walls rising. And that black haired kid — Kokonoe Takashi — raining ice from a giant bird familiar, looking more annoyed than scared.
His lips curled.
Pathetic.
Vali hovered above the chaos, arms crossed, watching like it was a bad movie.
His eyes locked on one guy in red armor smashing through the enemy line — Boosted Gear roaring, power spiking wild.
Issei Hyoudou.
The Red Dragon Emperor.
Vali's mouth twitched — not quite a smirk.
There you are.
Ddraig's heat burned red and angry against the cold silver light in Vali's veins.
Red vs White.
That was the only thing worth watching.
But Issei was still struggling — pushing, straining, forcing power instead of owning it.
Not there yet.
Vali looked away, already bored.
"Get stronger," he muttered.
Because when Red finally stood up straight—
White would be ready.
He dropped like a comet, Divine Dividing humming around him. Power halved in pulses as he passed through enemy ranks — soldiers staggered, spells weakened, constructs slowed.
Kokabiel spotted him first.
The fallen angel laughed, ten wings flaring wide.
"Vali Lucifer! Come to finish what your father started?"
Vali didn't answer.
He raised a hand.
Divide.
Silver light washed over Kokabiel. Power halved. Wings flickered. The fallen angel lurched mid-air, grin faltering.
Vali closed the distance in a blink, fist cocked.
But then LaVey stepped forward.
The man — tall, hooded, calm — raised one hand. The Holy Nail gleamed in his grip, pale gold light pulsing like a heartbeat.
The air changed.
Vali felt it instantly — a pressure that wasn't power, wasn't magic, wasn't even demonic. It was **authority**.
His silver field shivered. The halved energy he'd stolen from Kokabiel snapped back into his own body, uncontrolled, burning like acid in his veins.
Vali's eyes narrowed.
"That's… interesting."
LaVey's voice was quiet, almost polite.
"The Nail doesn't halve.
It claims what is holy."
Golden light rolled outward — slow, inevitable.
It pressed against Divine Dividing like a hand on a throat.
Vali's wings stuttered. His halved power field collapsed inward.
For the first time in years, Vali felt something close to caution.
He glanced at Kokabiel — still alive, still laughing weakly, clutching his chest.
Then at the Nail.
Then at LaVey.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Not today."
He flicked his wrist.
Three Excalibur fragments — Transparency, Rapidly, Nightmare — tore free from Kokabiel's grasp like they were nothing.
White wings snapped shut.
He vanished in a flash of silver light — gone before the Nail could fully lock on.
Kokabiel laughed again, hoarse and manic.
"Coward!"
LaVey didn't laugh.
He simply lowered the Nail, golden light dimming.
"He'll be back," he said quietly.
"And next time… he won't leave."
The report came through LaVey's private channel.
Kuoh wasn't holding by luck. It was being stabilized — redirected — by Kokonoe Takashi.
Kill zones. Air control. Coordinated strikes.
Efficient.
"Retreat," LaVey said calmly into the headset.
No hesitation.
As the feed cut, he caught the Hungarian insult tossed into the smoke.
LaVey smiled faintly.
"I knew there was something special about this kid."
Something shifted.
The board was bigger now.
And the pieces were moving faster.