The barrier maintained by Falbium Asmodeus became a crucible of distorted reality. There was no "up" or "down" anymore—only the overwhelming pressure of Red and the cutting sharpness of Silver.
Issei and Vali moved at speeds that turned them into streaks of liquid light.
"Crimson Blaster!"
Issei punched the empty air. Under the Law of Domination, the space didn't just vibrate; it obeyed. A massive column of concussive force materialized instantly in front of Vali.
Vali didn't dodge. He flared his twelve silver wings.
"Divide."
The column of force hit an invisible wall of Supremacy and was instantly compressed into a sphere the size of a marble. Vali flicked his finger, sending the compressed destruction shooting harmlessly into the sky, where it detonated like a nuclear warhead.
"You can't touch me, Issei!" Vali laughed, teleporting behind the Red Dragon. He delivered a kick clad in divine light, heavy enough to split a mountain. "I exist outside your rule!"
Issei took the hit. The crimson armor sparked, but didn't crack. He didn't flinch. Instead, he grabbed Vali's leg with a grip that felt like the weight of a planet.
"KNEEL."
[DOMINATE.]
The gravity around Vali increased by a factor of a thousand. The Law of Domination commanded the White Dragon to fall. Vali grit his teeth, his silver armor groaning under the crushing weight. He felt his knees buckling, forced down by the sheer authority of Issei's will.
"Don't... underestimate... Me!"
Vali roared, his silver aura turning jagged. He didn't fight the gravity; he cut it. He compressed the concept of "weight" around his body to zero. Breaking free from the hold, he spun, slamming a fist of condensed white light into Issei's faceplate.
BOOM.
They separated, skidding back through the air, panting heavily. The strain of maintaining Super Devil forms for the first time was tearing at their stamina. Their bodies were screaming, but their souls were singing.
"One last hit," Vali wheezed, his armor glowing with a blinding, final brilliance. "Let's see which Law breaks first."
"Yeah," Issei grunted, his crimson cannons charging with every ounce of energy left in his blood. "One last hit."
"Empireo... LUCIFER SMASHER!"
"Cardinal... LONGINUS SMASHER!"
Vali fired a beam of compressed, silver-white supremacy—a lance of light designed to pierce through existence itself. Issei fired a beam of dense, crimson domination—a roar of energy designed to crush all opposition into nothingness.
The two beams met in the center of Kuoh.
For a moment, there was sound. Then, the energies canceled each other out, creating a void of absolute silence. A sphere of pure white and red energy expanded, eating the space inside the barrier.
High above, Falbium Asmodeus broke into a sweat, reinforcing the hexagonal walls with every ounce of his Satan-class power. "These brats... they're actually trying to break my defense?!"
CRASH.
The explosion finally detonated. The light swallowed everything.
When the light faded, the town of Kuoh—or what was left of the school grounds—was a smoking crater of glass and melted rock.
In the center of the ruin, two figures lay side by side on their backs, staring up at the artificial sky of the barrier. Their armors were completely gone.
Issei lay with his uniform burned away to the waist, his right arm bruised deep purple. Vali lay with his silver hair matted with blood, his left leg twisted at a painful angle.
They were completely drained. Not a drop of magic left.
"I... didn't... kneel," Vali coughed, a pained, arrogant smirk tugging at his lip.
Issei let out a dry, wheezing laugh, staring at his clenched fist. "And I... didn't... break."
Silence settled over them, heavy and comfortable. The rivalry that had started with ancient dragons and bloodlines had been forged into something new.
"Algernon..." Vali muttered, closing his eyes as exhaustion took him. "He knew... this would happen. He even staged this."
"Yeah," Issei whispered, his consciousness fading. "He's... a scary... King."
As their breathing slowed into the rhythm of unconsciousness, the hexagonal barrier above them finally dissolved. Falbium descended slowly, looking at the two unconscious Super Devils with a mix of annoyance and impressed awe.
"Well," Falbium sighed, scratching his bald head. "Now, I suppose I have to clean up the mess."
________________________________________________
The heavy, enchanted obsidian gates of the Grand Hall groaned as they swung open, the sound echoing like thunder across the vast, silent chamber. The atmosphere within was suffocating, heavy with the density of the Emperor's aura.
Two Tier 1 Peak Royal Guards—elite demons handpicked and enhanced by Ajuka's new training regimen—marched into the room. Between them, they dragged the broken, wingless figure of Kokabiel. The former Cadre, once a symbol of war and pride, was now a ragged mess of dried blood and torn robes, his feet barely touching the floor as he was manhandled toward the dais.
At the front of the procession walked Kuroka. She moved with a swaying, predatory grace, her kimono rustling softly. As she reached the steps of the throne, she offered a mischievous wink, her form dissolving into a swirl of black mist.
In the next heartbeat, a sleek, black Nekomata with two tails emerged from the smoke. She leaped effortlessly onto the throne, curling up instantly in Algernon's lap.
Algernon sat upon the high seat of the Underworld, his posture radiating a terrifying boredom. His legs were crossed, and his head rested lazily against his propped-up arm.
He didn't even look up as the prisoner entered; his attention was seemingly focused on idly stroking the soft fur of the cat in his lap, his fingers scratching behind Kuroka's ears, eliciting a low, vibrating purr that echoed in the silent hall.
Kokabiel was hauled to the center of the room, directly beneath the Emperor's gaze. Even battered and stripped of his wings, the old warmonger tried to muster a shred of his former arrogance. He looked up, his eyes burning with hate, and opened his mouth to speak, likely to spit a curse at the devil who had orchestrated his downfall.
"You—"
CRACK.
He never finished the word.
One of the Royal Guards delivered a precise, bone-shattering kick to the back of Kokabiel's knees. The force was calculated not to kill, but to break posture. Kokabiel's legs buckled instantly, and he collapsed, his knees slamming violently against the cold stone floor.
The guard's hand slammed onto Kokabiel's shoulder, pinning him down.
"Silence," the guard hissed, his voice void of emotion. "You do not speak to the Emperor until granted permission. Kneel."
Algernon finally shifted his gaze. He stopped stroking Kuroka for a brief second, his cold, golden eyes sliding down to look at the prostrate Fallen Angel.
"Welcome to Athelgard, Kokabiel," Algernon said softly, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the room. "I trust the Red Dragon's hospitality was... impactful?"
Kokabiel struggled against the grip of the guards, his pride stinging more than his torn wings. He looked up at the bored Emperor, his face twisting into a sneer of absolute contempt.
"Sirzechs is really a fool to submit to a brat like you!" Kokabiel spat, his voice echoing with desperate arrogance. "You all will be destroyed if you don't unhand me!"
They won't kill me, he assured himself, his confidence surging. I am a leader of the Grigori. I am the ultimate bargaining chip. If they kill me, they lose all leverage against Azazel. They need me alive as hostage.
He opened his mouth to demand a negotiator, his confidence returning.
But in the next moment, his eyes widened.
He only saw a slight, almost imperceptible twitch of Algernon's finger as it scratched behind Kuroka's ear.
SCHLICK.
There was no pain, only a sudden, confusing shift in perspective.
An invisible slash—a manifestation of Algernon's space Law—cut cleanly through the air. Kokabiel's confident expression froze on his face. A thin red line appeared on his neck, and then, with a wet thud, his head slid off his shoulders and rolled across the polished floor.
The body remained kneeling for a second, blood jetting from the severed neck, before collapsing sideways in a heap of useless meat.
The hall went deathly silent. The "valuable hostage," the "bargaining chip," was dead in seconds.
Algernon didn't hesitate. He had simply decided that the noise was annoying.
Algernon didn't even look at the corpse. He continued to stroke the black cat in his lap, his expression unchanged.
"Drag it away," Algernon ordered, his voice flat.
The guards didn't hesitate. They grabbed the heels of the headless corpse, dragging Kokabiel's body across the stone floor, leaving a thick, dark crimson trail that glistened under the chandelier light. The head was scooped up unceremoniously by a third attendant.
Algernon watched the doors close behind the grisly procession, his hand resuming its rhythmic stroking of Kuroka's fur.
He raised his eyes to the upper balcony, where the communications team stood ready, trembling slightly at the brutality they had just witnessed.
"And announce to the whole world," Algernon commanded, his voice rising just enough to carry the weight of an absolute decree. "That in response to the unforgivable act of aggression committed by the Cadre Kokabiel against our territory and the heiresses of our Great Houses..."
He paused, a cold, ruthless smile touching his lips.
"The Azeroth Empire declares total war on the Grigori."
Algernon stood up, lifting Kuroka—who shifted back into her humanoid form, clinging to his arm—and looked out over the assembly of Dukes and Pillars.
"Mobilize the Army," Algernon commanded, his voice echoing with finality. "By dawn, I want all the Devil and Vampire legions—other than Falbium's defensive corps—armed and ready on standby."
The Dukes and Generals bowed low, scrambling to execute the order. The heavy doors of the throne room groaned shut.
Kuroka shifted, looking up at Algernon with wide, curious eyes. She tilted her head, her ears twitching.
"Nya... ?" she asked, her voice soft. "I don't understand. Issei and the others went through all that trouble to capture him alive. You said we needed him as proof."
She glanced at the spot where Kokabiel's blood still stained the floor.
"If he was so valuable... why did you kill him the moment he arrived? Wouldn't a living hostage be better for negotiations?"
Algernon stopped stroking her hair. A dark, amused smirk curled his lips as he looked down at her.
"Only we know that he is dead, Kuroka."
He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with Machiavellian brilliance.
"Right now, spies are already reporting back to the Grigori. They saw Issei defeat him. They saw the capture. Azazel thinks we have Kokabiel alive in a high-security dungeon. He believes we are holding him as living evidence of their aggression."
Algernon chuckled low in his throat.
"As long as Azazel thinks Kokabiel is alive, he will hesitate. He will be cautious, wondering what secrets Kokabiel is spilling to us, or if he can negotiate for his return to avoid a scandal."
Algernon ran a hand down Kuroka's back, making her arch into the touch.
"It doesn't matter if Kokabiel dies now. His death serves me better as a secret. By the time Azazel realizes his 'General' is already headless... our fleets will already be burning his tower."
____________________________________________________
The broadcast sent shockwaves through the supernatural world. The revelation was twofold and devastating: God was dead, and the Devils were marching on the Fallen.
In the golden halls of Mount Olympus, Zeus watched the magical projection, a thunderous, mocking laugh shaking the pillars. "So, the old man really has been gone all this time? And now his wayward children are tearing each other's throats out. Let them bleed. When the dust settles, we will sweep up the remains."
In the snowy peaks of Valhalla, Odin leaned on his spear, his single eye narrowing as he analyzed the report. "The Biblical Factions are collapsing into civil war. If we intervene, we unite them. But if we wait... they will consume themselves."
From the Hindu Pantheon to the Youkai Factions, the consensus was unanimous and cold. No one would send aid to the Grigori. No one would sanction the Devils. They would all sit back, content to watch the monotheistic powers that had dominated the world for millennia grind each other into dust.
______________________________________________________
Back in the Throne Room, Algernon sensed the shift in the world's atmosphere.
"See, Kuroka?" Algernon murmured, scratching her chin as she purred against his chest. "Zekram feared that attacking the Grigori would make us a target for the world. He was thinking like a soldier, not a King."
He gestured vaguely to the map of the world.
"By revealing God's death, I made the Biblical Factions look weak—a headless giant flailing in the dark. And by declaring war immediately, I framed it as an internal squabble—a 'Biblical Civil War.'"
Algernon's smirk deepened, his golden eyes cold and calculating.
"The Greeks, the Norse... they are arrogant. They believe that if they sit back, the Devils and Fallen will exhaust each other, leaving the Biblical Faction broken and easy to conquer."
He stood up, gently setting Kuroka down on the throne as he walked toward the balcony.
"They are waiting for us to get consumed by this war," Algernon whispered, looking at the massive fleet of airships and dragon riders assembling under the moonlight. "They don't realize that I don't intend to fight a long-term war. I intend to end it before they even finish warming their seats."
(END OF CHAPTER)
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