POV: Ravel
What is morality?
What do humans believe they grasp when they speak of good and evil?
Ravel considered the way humans spoke about good and evil and she found it strange how seriously they treated something that shifted so easily depending on who held power at the time and who was forced to obey it. From where she stood morality looked like a rule written by the frightened to slow down those who were bold enough to reach further than the rest.
She knew devils did not pretend otherwise, they did not hide their nature behind soft words. They accepted that strength decided outcomes and that desire drove action, and while humans called this cruel she could not help noticing that human history moved in the same way even while they covered it in talk of justice and virtue and sin.
Humans confuse opinion with truth. They argue about right and wrong as if there were a final answer waiting somewhere. When two people fought to the death over their beliefs, no one said the dead man had been proven morally wrong.
His death only showed that he had been willing to risk everything for what he believed, and in that moment the argument stopped being about words and became about will, and will was the only thing she truly respected because will changed the world while opinions only filled the air.
If there were some higher court that judged all things, then it did not speak in human language and did not care about human ideas of fairness. Life and death happened every day without any sign that justice had been consulted, cities rose and fell, nations burned, great figures crushed countless small lives beneath their steps, and still the world continued as if this was simply how things worked, which made her suspect that what humans called moral right had no authority beyond their own fear.
She considered the human habit of asking why their god did not stop evil and found it almost naive. If some omnipotent God existed and truly wished to interfere with the degeneracy of mankind, then wouldn't he already have done so?
Wolves cut down their own kind without shame, humans did the same on a much larger scale, and devils on a grander scale still, and history showed endless cycles of ruin and rebuilding, which suggested to her that the universe did not share human discomfort with suffering.
Humans hated suffering when it felt pointless yet endured terrible pain when they believed it had meaning. They went to war, they worked themselves to exhaustion, they sacrificed their lives for causes - all because they believed their pain served something greater.
The real curse for them was the idea that suffering might be meaningless, and so they invented moral frameworks to give shape and purpose to the chaos around them.
there are no moral facts in the world, only moral interpretations placed on events after they happened, a battle was called glorious by one side and tragic by the other, an execution was justice to some and cruelty to others, and the event itself did not change based on the label, only the feelings of those who judged it, which made morality seem like a lens rather than a law.
In the end things settled where they always had. The greatest heights were reached by those capable of reaching them, the deepest ideas belonged to those able to think them, rare experiences were lived by rare individuals, and this distribution was not fair or unfair, it was simply how existence arranged itself.
Demanding equal moral standards for everyone ignored the obvious differences in ability, vision, and force of will between people.
Some individuals were simply extraordinary. The kind of people who reshaped eras, who broke rules and were later praised for it, who committed acts that would damn an ordinary person and yet were remembered as great.
Such people did not need moral permission because their very nature set them apart, their actions carried weight because they could change the direction of history, while most others lived and died within boundaries drawn by those very figures.
It was simply a matter of scale. A single life mattered deeply to the one living it yet barely registered in the movement of the world, and those who could move the world operated on a different level where ordinary moral language felt too small.
Some beings simply stood beyond conventional law by virtue of their greatness. Their impact, not their moral perfection, placed them in a different category of existence.
She knew humans would call this evil, they would say that allowing the strong to act freely invited tyranny and suffering. They were not wrong about the suffering, yet suffering had always been part of life and always would be, and trying to erase it through rules had never succeeded, so she wondered if their morality was less a solution and more a comfort, a way to believe that the world ought to be gentle even when all evidence showed it was not.
In the end Ravel saw good and evil as stories humans told to endure a reality that did not promise fairness, stories that helped them accept pain and justify hope, while beneath those stories the same simple truth moved everything forward, that those with the will and strength to act shaped the future, and the rest learned to live inside the shape that remained.
"Any news from Haruki, Ravel-san?" Asia asked gently as she opened her lunch box and took out a neatly wrapped sandwich, the scent of fresh bread and herbs drifting faintly into the quiet park where they had chosen to sit.
"I'm afraid not, Lady Asia," Ravel replied with her usual poise, folding her hands over her lap as she maintained a straight posture even upon the wooden bench.
"I told you a thousand times already not to be so formal with me," Asia said, attempting sternness, though the effort carried all the ferocity of a kitten trying to imitate a lion's roar.
From all the time Ravel had spent observing her, she had reached a conclusion that would have sounded absurd had anyone else voiced it aloud. Asia Argento did not possess a single bone in her body that could be described as threatening, spiteful, or even mildly cruel.
Something that defied Ravel's understanding of the world, since even the gentlest creatures carried within them some capacity for selfishness or malice. No one could be wholly altruistic, yet Asia came closer than anyone Ravel had ever encountered.
That was why she had not protested when her master ordered her to escort Asia away from Kuoh to some distant refuge, to lay low and protect her should danger arise. She would have preferred to remain at his side, to serve him directly in whatever grand design he pursued, yet she could not bring herself to consider guarding Asia a waste of her time.
"I wouldn't dare be so rude, my lady," Ravel answered sincerely, for she truly believed familiarity toward one's superior to be inappropriate. A servant had no business addressing her master or those dear to him with casual intimacy. "Besides, shouldn't you be accustomed to such treatment? You were, after all, a holy maiden of the Church."
Ravel watched as Asia lowered her gaze slightly and offered a soft sigh before whispering a prayer over her meal, her fingers lightly brushing the cross at her neck before she began to eat.
"Well, yes," Asia admitted after a moment, her voice soft as a summer breeze. "People always looked at me with reverence whenever I used the Lord's gift to heal those in need. It's in humanity's nature to revere miracles, to cling to anything that shines brighter than their ordinary days. But I never felt comfortable being raised above others simply because my Sacred Gear could mend wounds. It always felt as though the light passing through me was being mistaken for something that belonged to me alone, when in truth I was only a vessel permitted to carry it for a time."
"But you are special," Ravel insisted, her brows knitting together. "Out of billions, you were chosen to receive such a blessing. With a single touch you can close wounds that would otherwise claim lives. From my perspective, that makes you far more valuable than most."
"All people are equal in the eyes of the Lord," Asia answered softly, her voice calm and unshaken. "Everyone is entrusted with something. Some receive strength, others kindness, patience, or courage. Many believe only the gifts that shine brightly or shake the world hold value, yet the quiet ones sustain just as many lives. A warm meal offered at the right time, a promise kept, a hand that refuses to let go when someone is drowning in despair. If each of us gives what we have without calculating who deserves it, the world grows gentler in ways that no single miracle could ever accomplish."
"I would still argue that some abilities carry greater weight in difficult choices," Ravel said thoughtfully. "Imagine a burning building moments from collapse, and inside stand you and ten ordinary people with no extraordinary talents. A rescuer has only enough time to save one side. If he saves you, you may go on to heal thousands over your lifetime. If he saves the ten, their lives end with themselves. Any rational mind, and I would say any ethical one, would choose you for the sake of the countless lives your hands could still preserve. In such a dilemma, how could all lives be considered equal?"
Asia looked at her with gentle reproach, though amusement flickered in her eyes. "You are cruel to place someone in such a position, even hypothetically," she said. "My Sacred Gear is proof that somewhere, someone was hurting, and I was allowed to help. That is all a gift is meant to be, an opportunity to ease another's burden. If people looked at me with awe, then I only felt I had failed to explain that the light never belonged to me in the first place."
She lowered her sandwich slightly as she continued. "Power is frightening when it stands above others. It becomes beautiful when it kneels beside them. I was never meant to stand apart from people, only to stand with them. If my hands could close a wound, then they should also be the same hands that hold someone when they cry. Otherwise the miracle is hollow."
"I don't understand why being revered is undesirable," Ravel admitted. "Isn't it simply recognition of your worth?"
"I don't want to be an idol, Ravel-san. Idols stand on pedestals and cannot walk beside anyone. I just want to be someone who makes the road a little less lonely. If I'm untouchable, then the people who are suffering might hesitate to reach for me, and that would make the gift meaningless."
Ravel concluded once more that humans were endlessly perplexing creatures, forever yearning to be seen yet uneasy when placed too high above others.
"It's about him, is it not?" Ravel asked softly, knowing she did not need to clarify the name.
"Perhaps," Asia answered, sadness coloring her tone. "He's so determined to carry everything alone, to shoulder every burden himself, that he pushes away those who care for him. The path he walks is steeped in solitude and sorrow, and he seems resolved to drown himself in it."
"He has achieved what no one before him dared even to imagine," Ravel said, her voice tinged with awe. "He destroyed Agreas Island, ensuring that no human will ever again be transformed into a devil. He became the first devil to ascend to godhood, something that was once considered an absurd impossibility. He is like Icarus reborn, except his wings strengthen as he draws nearer to the sun rather than burning away. He has chosen the path of greatness."
"I don't want him to be great," Asia said firmly, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of her lunch box. "I want him to be happy. I want to see him laugh without weight in his eyes and to rest without fear."
"You don't approve of his actions?" Ravel asked.
Asia looked into the distance, thinking for a long moment. "I don't know," she said quietly. "What he did will prevent endless suffering in the future. Ending the system that allowed humans to be turned into devils will save many lives. I believe that is good in the long run."
"But?" Ravel prompted when she heard the hesitation.
"He unleashed so much chaos and bloodshed to accomplish it," Asia said softly. "I know he acted out of love for humanity, and I know I should be endlessly grateful for what he has done for me. I am grateful. I care for him deeply. Yet I can't bring myself to accept the suffering that followed in the wake of his choice."
Ravel found herself unable to fully comprehend the contradiction. It was clear that Asia did not hate Haruki, and that her affection for him was far too deep for condemnation, yet Ravel struggled to understand why she could not embrace his actions.
From a detached perspective, the destruction of Agreas Island and the prevention of further human corruption seemed an unquestionably correct decision for one devoted to safeguarding humanity. The disorder that followed felt like an inevitable consequence of dismantling a corrupt structure.
To Ravel, such collateral turmoil was justified by the magnitude of the outcome, though Asia's expression suggested she did not share that conclusion.
Perhaps sensing her confusion, Asia continued in a trembling voice. "On the phone you bought me, I watched some of the recordings from the underworld. I saw a mother pleading with soldiers to spare her young daughter and to do whatever they wished to her instead, and those soldiers laughed as they committed unspeakable acts upon the child, who couldn't have been more than ten years old, while the mother was forced to watch. That was only one instance among countless atrocities that have risen in the wake of lawlessness."
Ravel was aware of such events. With Sirzechs Lucifer dead and Ajuka Beelzebub sealed, the structures that upheld order had crumbled, and devils had reverted to their most primal instincts, inflicting suffering upon one another as tribal rivalries and ancient grudges resurfaced unchecked.
When the pillar that supported governance collapsed, chaos was the natural result, and in Ravel's mind such upheaval was an expected phase in the birth of a new era, even if the cost was steep.
"Surely you're not blaming Haruki for these acts of depravity?" Ravel said, her brows drawing together as a faint crease formed between them. The breeze that moved through the park stirred the ends of her twin tails, and she regarded Asia with incredulity that she did not bother to conceal. "He can't be held responsible for the actions of the wicked. War has always drawn out the ugliest impulses in people, and that is the way of the world. It has always been so and it will likely remain so."
"Even so, I can't accept it," Asia replied with quiet firmness. Then, unexpectedly, she let out a soft chuckle, though there was no real cheer in it, only a distant sadness.
"What's so funny?" Ravel asked, more sharply than she intended.
"Oh, nothing," Asia said gently. "I was only remembering something Haruki once asked me." There was a trace of melancholy upon her pure features, a sorrow that seemed misplaced upon a face so unblemished by malice.
"What did he ask you?" Ravel pressed, curiosity overtaking irritation.
Asia lowered her gaze as if recalling each word with care. "He said, Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last, but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature, that baby beating its breast with its fist, for instance, and to found that edifice on its unavenged tears. Would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me. And tell the truth."
Ravel blinked in surprise. Knowing Haruki, she could believe he would ask something like that. He always thought on a scale that stretched far beyond ordinary people, and questions of morality must have weighed heavily on him.
"I told him that I wouldn't consent," Asia continued softly. "I could not accept a world built upon the suffering of an innocent child. My answer still hasn't changed. But it seems that his has."
Ravel let out a short laugh, unable to contain it. The situation struck her as deeply ironic. "You truly are extraordinary," she said, shaking her head. "A nun who weeps for devils. I would never have imagined such a thing."
Yet even as she laughed, Ravel understood why Haruki cherished this girl. There was a purity in her that was disarming, a deliberate choice to remain gentle in a world that rewarded cruelty. It was naive in certain respects, yet undeniably beautiful.
Somewhere deep within her thoughts, Ravel felt a quiet stirring at the idea that someone raised to condemn devils could look upon them and feel compassion.
"That little girl was brutalized by soldiers," Asia said softly, her hands tightening slightly. "She didn't deserve that. No one deserves that. A mother should never have to watch her child suffer in such a way. There is something profoundly wrong in a world where such things occur. If I ever come to accept that as a necessary cost, something inside me will break beyond repair."
"She was a devil," Ravel replied, though her voice lacked its usual conviction. "The Church would rejoice at such news."
"All I saw was a child," Asia answered without hesitation. "If you placed her among human children, no one would notice a difference. If the Church calls me a heretic for calling the murder of a child murder, then they are wrong."
"Careful, Lady Asia," Ravel said with a faint attempt at levity, hoping to ease the tension that had tightened between them. "Some might accuse me of corrupting you."
"They may say whatever they wish," Asia replied. "Before, I had never known a devil personally. It was easy to believe what others told me. It's easy to hate those you have never met. Now I have met you, Rias, and the others. I have seen with my own eyes that devils are not creatures devoid of grace. There is still something within them that reflects the Lord's light."
Asia rose to her feet, and when she met Ravel's gaze, the determination in her green eyes startled her. The gentle nun who hesitated to raise her voice now stood with quiet resolve.
"Ravel-san, may I ask for your help?" Asia said.
"I'm yours to command, my lady," Ravel replied, standing and offering a respectful bow.
"Promise me that you will not hinder me," Asia said firmly. "Promise that you will not stand in the way of what I must do."
Ravel straightened, confusion flickering across her face. "What do you intend to do? I don't understand."
"I'm going to find Haruki and knock some sense into that stubborn head of his," Asia declared. Her hands clenched lightly at her sides. "He thinks pushing everyone away will keep us safe. He believes that if he destroys himself alone, the rest of us will be spared. He still doesn't understand that no one destroys themselves alone."
Ravel stared at her, stunned. The soft spoken girl who apologized to insects she stepped near now stood with a resolve that felt almost unshakable.
"So I will ask again, Ravel," Asia said. "Will you stand in my way?"
The supernatural world was in upheaval. Laws that had endured for centuries were shattered. Events once dismissed as impossible had become reality. Prophecies lay in ruins, and even beings who prided themselves on foresight found the future clouded and uncertain.
All of this stemmed from the actions of a single man whose will had altered the course of an entire era. Ravel felt the pull of that reality keenly. Haruki Yamashiro had overturned long held assumptions, mocked limitations declared absolute, and forced both gods and devils to reconsider what could be achieved.
Ravel could not deny the admiration she felt for him, nor the desire to witness the full extent of his ascent. He had broken through every boundary placed before him and reshaped the world through sheer determination.
And now Asia stood before her, intent on confronting that same man and attempting to alter his course. Ravel felt a quiet curiosity take root within her at the thought. She wanted to see whether such resolve, born not of ambition but of compassion, could influence someone who had already bent the world to his will. To see if fire could be tamed without burning everything indeed.
…
After she had given Asia her word that she would not hinder her self imposed mission and had even offered to accompany her despite knowing how unpredictable the situation had become, Ravel excused herself for a short while and made her way to one of the most extravagant hotels in the surrounding district, for there remained a matter she needed to settle before anything else could be decided.
The building itself rose in polished marble and glass, its entrance framed by gilded columns that reflected the afternoon light, and even the air inside carried the faint scent of expensive incense and freshly polished wood. She took the private elevator to the highest floor without speaking to anyone, her heels clicking softly against the immaculate tiles, and stopped before a grand double door at the end of a quiet corridor.
She knocked once.
The door opened almost immediately, revealing a room so lavishly furnished that even she had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. Gold trimmed curtains framed tall windows that overlooked the city skyline, crystal chandeliers cast warm light across marble floors, and in the center of the room stood a throne like sofa upholstered in crimson velvet and adorned with gilded carvings shaped like flames.
Upon that throne-like seat lounged a blond haired young man with sharp features and a self satisfied smile. He wore a bathrobe loosely tied at the waist, and in one hand he held a glass of deep red wine which he swirled lazily. His posture carried the effortless arrogance of someone who believed the world itself existed as a stage for his performance.
Ravel's eyes moved slowly from the bathrobe to the wine, then to the throne beneath him.
"Did you arrive early and prepare all of that," she asked dryly, gesturing at his attire, the glass in his hand, and the overly dramatic seating arrangement, "in order to look cooler?"
"What, of course not," Riser replied at once, placing a hand against his chest in mock offense. "You know very well that I do not need to exert effort to look cool. It's entirely natural charm, I assure you, little sister."
She gave him a long, unimpressed look before stepping into the room and allowing the door to close behind her.
"How's the family?" she asked after a brief pause, deliberately shifting the topic.
"They are fine," Riser answered with a casual shrug, taking a slow sip of his wine. "House Phenex has largely kept itself removed from the recent chaos."
"I expected to see father, or at least Ruval," she said as she took a seat on one of the ornate chairs opposite him, crossing her legs neatly.
"You wound me, dear sister," Riser declared dramatically, placing the back of his hand to his forehead. "Here I believed my adorable little sister had come because she missed her elder brother dearly. Alas, I see I've been mistaken, and in my sorrow I shall commit seppuku at once."
Ravel closed her eyes briefly and exhaled through her nose in an effort to remain patient. "Can you refrain from theatrics for a single moment?" she said evenly. "Father sounded genuinely serious and concerned when he contacted me."
"Oh yes, they are very worried," Riser replied with a casual wave of his hand. "It was quite an unsightly display if you ask me."
That was precisely why she found it exhausting to discuss serious matters with him. She loved her brother and nothing would change that fact, yet Riser possessed an infuriating tendency to dismiss anything he considered aesthetically displeasing, even when the subject at hand concerned the survival of their house.
"Why are they worried?" she asked, keeping her voice level.
"You know how older generations are," Riser continued, swirling the wine in his glass as he spoke. "They overthink matters until they become paralyzed, endlessly debating questions whose answers were obvious from the beginning. It truly is unpleasant to witness."
"What question would that be?" Ravel asked, already accustomed to his circuitous way of speaking.
"Nothing particularly grand," he said lightly. "They are merely considering whether House Phenex should align itself with the rebels or with the son of Lucifer in what some are calling Civil War 2.0."
Ravel felt irritation rise at the flippant tone with which he reduced a potential catastrophe.
"Riser, if you don't speak plainly I will personally set you ablaze," she warned without raising her voice.
He regarded her without the slightest concern. "I keep telling you, little sister, the family is undecided. If they join the rebels, they risk drawing the wrath of Rizevim upon themselves. If they join him, they gamble everything on the hope that he prevails. They were hoping you might offer insight before they commit to either course."
She understood the implication immediately. "They wish to know which side Lord Haruki supports before making their decision," she said.
Riser nodded once in confirmation.
She understood their hesitation. The son of Lucifer was a super devil whose power demanded caution, and crossing him without certainty could mean annihilation. At the same time, siding with the rebels was fraught with danger, especially given how few pillar houses and pure blooded devils had openly opposed him.
If Rizevim discovered House Phenex aiding the rebels, he would likely move to eliminate them without hesitation.
"So then, dear sister," Riser continued, leaning forward slightly with genuine curiosity in his eyes, "what does the great Haruki think of this?"
There was no mockery in the title he used, only a candid interest.
"What have you decided?" she asked in return.
He looked almost offended by the question. "Rizevim is an ugly little creature," Riser said flatly. "There is no beauty in him whatsoever. The fact that he intends to harm my beautiful peerage only deepens that ugliness. I have already joined the rebels and taken my girls with me."
Ravel blinked in surprise.
Her brother had always acted according to his own peculiar sense of aesthetics, determining right and wrong through his personal definition of beauty. Once he made a decision, neither persuasion nor pressure from their parents could sway him.
While it did not shock her that he would depart from House Phenex if he deemed it necessary, she had not expected that he would judge the son of Lucifer as fundamentally lacking in beauty, for Riser's criteria often defied conventional understanding.
"Is that why father sent you?" she asked carefully.
"Yes," Riser answered. "They fear that spies may be watching the main estate, and Father didn't wish to risk direct communication. Since I have already departed and aligned myself with the rebels, he asked me to seek you out."
Ravel considered the implications. The Underworld had become increasingly unstable, particularly after Rizevim's declaration that reincarnated devils must contribute to the war effort in order to be acknowledged as true devils. That statement alone had forced many houses and individuals into difficult positions, unsure whether neutrality was even possible any longer.
"So then, sister," Riser said, setting his glass aside and fixing her with a perceptive gaze that showed he was far less careless than he appeared, "you have delayed long enough. What message shall I carry back to the family?"
"I don't know," she answered at last, her voice quieter than she intended.
"You don't know?" Riser repeated, one brow lifting as he leaned back into his gilded seat. "What a dreadful maid you are. You can't even track the whereabouts of your own master?"
"Shut up," she snapped, irritation flaring at his teasing tone. "I haven't seen him in months, and I suspect I will not see him for quite some time."
Riser studied her more closely then, the humor fading slightly from his expression. "You have remained by his side for a considerable period," he said thoughtfully. "Surely you can infer what he intends to do."
The honest answer was that she could not.
She could not comprehend someone like him in full. The difference between them felt like that between a frog crouched in a pond and an eagle soaring far above the clouds, each living under the same sky yet perceiving entirely different worlds.
Their natures were fundamentally misaligned. One moment he could bring about the destruction of an entire race with calm resolve, and weeks later he would sit across from her discussing Greek tragedies as though blood had never stained his hands. She had witnessed both sides and could reconcile neither.
She could not understand him.
Yet perhaps she did not need to understand him completely to make an educated guess.
"Tell them to join the rebels," Ravel said finally. "I admit it's a gut feeling more than anything, yet I can't imagine him tolerating Rizevim's ascent. There is always a deeper design to his actions, something layered beneath what the rest of us perceive."
"You believe the rebels will prevail?" he asked, his tone no longer flippant.
"If there is a design in motion, then yes," she replied steadily. "He would never accept Rizevim's vision for the underworld. Whatever else he may be, he's not indifferent to that."
"Very well," Riser said with a soft exhale, lifting his glass once more before setting it aside untouched. "That will suffice for Father and the others." He allowed himself a faint chuckle. "It's amusing in hindsight. The man who shattered my wedding has become the axis around which half the underworld now turns."
"Do you hate him?" she asked quietly.
"Hate him?" Riser echoed, looking genuinely perplexed. "Don't be absurd. I cherish beauty in all its forms, and among them beauty in tragedy holds a particular brilliance. He embodies it completely, a being shaped by ruin and determination, rising higher the more the world attempts to restrain him. How could I despise something so compelling?"
She rarely followed the logic of her brother's worldview, yet there was an unexpected clarity in his words that resonated with her. She found herself nodding despite not entirely agreeing, because beneath his peculiar obsession with aesthetics lay a perceptiveness few credited him with.
Riser's expression turned serious once more. "Will you return with me, sister?" he asked quietly. "Many factions feel threatened by what he has accomplished, and even if they lack the courage to confront him directly, you are publicly acknowledged as his servant. There will always be opportunists who believe harming you might draw his attention."
She could see that the matter weighed upon him more than he allowed to show, for he had never approved of the bargain she made, even if he had refrained from opposing it openly. She had sworn herself by oath, and regardless of doubt or fear she would see it through.
A small part of her suspected that Haruki would not be moved enough by her peril to be manipulated, which granted her a strange mixture of comfort and disappointment.
"I have committed myself elsewhere for the moment," Ravel replied softly. "You need not worry. I'm under his protection."
The final sentence was not entirely truthful, yet she reasoned that since Haruki valued Asia's safety, proximity to the nun offered a measure of security. She intended the reassurance for her brother's sake.
They remained together for some time after that, discussing the state of the rebels in greater detail. She inquired whether the rumors were accurate that House Gremory had already aligned itself with the insurgents and whether Lord Falbium had taken command.
Riser corrected her with mild amusement, explaining that it was a figure known only as Zero who served as the leader, while Falbium acted merely as the strategist behind the scenes.
The revelation stirred her curiosity. An individual capable of uniting devils beneath a single banner in such a volatile climate could not be ordinary. She found herself wondering who this Zero truly was and what manner of ambition or conviction would drive someone to stand at the forefront of a rebellion in a world already fractured by greater forces.
…
POV: Dulio Gesualdo
A blinding light of the purest and holiest kind illuminated the dark room where he had been waiting patiently for the arrival of his distinguished guests. The radiance filled every corner of the chamber, banishing shadows and transforming the simple stone walls into something that seemed almost ethereal.
Dulio turned his attention to the two young women he had chosen to accompany him for this sacred meeting. Irina Shidou and Xenovia Quarta. Both stood at attention beside him, their expressions a mixture of nervous anticipation and reverent preparation.
He could have easily selected someone of higher standing or summoned exorcists whose power far exceeded theirs, however the request from the shining ones had been explicit in their desire to remain discreet and maintain humble company during this earthly visitation.
These two had seemed the natural choice, and besides their obvious devotion to the faith, each wielded a holy sword with considerable skill and possessed enough strength to be useful should circumstances require it.
The light continued to intensify, becoming so blindingly pure and overwhelming that if he had not grown accustomed to such divine manifestations over the years, he would surely have found himself collapsed upon his knees, weeping uncontrollably at being graced by such transcendent purity and holiness.
He watched with understanding compassion as Xenovia and Irina immediately fell to their knees, their bodies trembling with overwhelming reverence as their eyes became fixed upon the two magnificent seraphim who had begun to materialize before them.
The angels floated gracefully in the center of the room, their twelve wings of the purest light spread wide, each feather seeming to contain its own radiance. The two young women's faces were streaked with tears of profound joy and spiritual contentment, their expressions reflecting the indescribable wonder of witnessing heaven's highest angels descending to stand among mortals.
Their lips moved in silent prayers as they gazed upon beings whose very existence confirmed everything they had ever believed, every prayer they had ever whispered, every moment of faith they had ever maintained.
"BE NOT AFRAID," said a voice that filled the entire hall with a resonance that could not be mistaken for anything human. It carried the depth of distant thunder and the clarity of a great bell. Dulio immediately recognized it as Gabriel.
Be not afraid my ass, Dulio thought wryly. He observed the two angels whose holiness radiated throughout the dark hall with such intensity that everything in their immediate vicinity seemed somehow diminished and made lesser simply by virtue of existing in the same physical space as these angels of the Lord.
How exactly were mortals supposed to remain calm and unaffected when witnessing such magnificently pure and mighty beings, whose very presence seemed to purify the air around them?
Yet even as he entertained these irreverent thoughts, he could clearly see that the expressions upon the seraphim's faces conveyed nothing but pure love and genuine happiness at this opportunity to see them.
Metatron, who had remained silent, gently reached out and tapped Gabriel's shoulder. His expression remained calm as he gave a small shake of his head. Gabriel blinked once, then seemed to realize her mistake.
"My apologies," she said, her voice lowering at once. It was still powerful, yet no longer overwhelming. "I forget that I must restrain my voice and presence while walking upon the earth. Forgive me for the discomfort."
It was a simple adjustment, yet Dulio could feel the pressure in the room ease. The angels, especially the seraphim, were too great to walk freely in the mortal world without careful control. Their presence alone could distort the air and crack stone if left unchecked. The earth was not made to hold such beings without strain.
"You need not apologize, least of all to us, my lady," Dulio said softly as he bowed his head. "May the grace of God be with you both. Allow me to introduce my companions. This is Irina Shidou, and beside her is Xenovia Quarta."
The two girls lowered themselves even further until their foreheads touched the floor again. Under their breath they whispered blessings and fragments of prayer, their voices shaking as they avoided looking directly at the angels.
"Greetings, sisters. May the grace of the Lord shine upon you," Gabriel said gently.
In the next instant she stood before them. There was no sound or movement that Dulio could follow. She simply was there. She reached down and took both girls by their shoulders, lifting them with ease before pulling them into a firm embrace.
"You need not bow before us. I am your fellow servant, and of your brethren who have the testimony of the Lord. Are we not all equally servants and children of the Most High God? Worship God, not us."
Irina let out a small, broken sound that might have been a sob. Xenovia's grip tightened briefly around Gabriel's robe as if to confirm that this was real. Both of them were crying openly now, their faces flushed and their eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude.
Dulio watched with a faint smile of his own. Seeing them so happy stirred something in him. It reminded him why he had once devoted himself so fully.
He studied the two angels carefully. Gabriel's golden hair fell loosely over her shoulders, shining faintly in the holy light that surrounded her. Metatron stood slightly behind her, his long dark hair smooth and straight, his purple eyes calm and observant.
Their robes were simple and white, free of ornament or decoration, untouched by dust despite their bare feet resting upon the stone floor. There was no jewelry, no crown, no visible sign of rank beyond the twelve wings that marked them as seraphim.
When Gabriel finally released the two girls, she turned to Dulio and stepped forward with a bright expression.
Before he could react, she embraced him as well, holding him tightly as one would greet a brother returning from a long journey.
"How have you been, Dulio," she asked warmly. "We of the Host have missed you. You should visit us more often in Heaven."
Irina and Xenovia stared in stunned silence at the casual invitation.
"Perhaps I will, if time allows, Sister Gabriel," he replied with a polite smile.
In truth, he had avoided returning to heaven since his last visit among the seraphim. The beauty and peace there were so complete that coming back to earth had left him with a heavy sense of loss.
He feared that if he went again, he might not wish to return at all. He did not have the heart to say that aloud.
"Michael will be pleased to hear that, and the others as well," Gabriel said, her eyes bright.
Dulio cleared his throat gently. "Why have you descended to earth, Sister Gabriel, Brother Metatron. Does it concern the theft of Lignum Aeternum? Or the recent rumours of a new god being born."
"It's no mere rumor," Gabriel replied quietly. "We witnessed his birth. And yes, we have come regarding both matters. We believe the theft of the holy artifact and the rise of Haruki Yamashiro are connected."
Dulio exhaled with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. "So it's true. To think a new god could arise in this age…"
He had initially refused to believe the reports, the idea that a human could destroy the accursed island responsible for the creation of the evil pieces, do so beneath the notice of the Satans themselves, and ascend to godhood, seemed impossible. Yet it had occurred.
A human, and he would think of him as nothing else, had accomplished what had been unthinkable for millennia, and Dulio could not help but feel a quiet sense of pride at the scale of the achievement.
God had gifted humanity with sacred gear to protect themselves and the vulnerable, yet it was this simple human, lacking sacred gear and far from being a Longinus, who achieved what even the greatest wielders of the Longinus could not.
Gabriel nodded softly. "That was one of the reasons we have descended to earth. We of the host have deliberated upon what must be done regarding Haruki Yamashiro and the consequences of his actions. We understand that his rise to godhood has caused ideological conflicts even among the most faithful."
Dulio thought to himself that calling it a conflict was an understatement. The death of God was not widely known, yet the creation of the evil pieces, the evolution of the sacred gears, the extinction of vampires, and the rise of a devil or human to godhood had left many questioning the foundations of their faith.
Some had even begun to think heretically, claiming that a devil had been rewarded for wickedness and treachery with godhood. It made sense for a seraph to descend and speak with the church hierarchy, who were demanding answers from the Pope.
"Men are ever inclined to seek explanations for that which unsettles them," Dulio said carefully. "Given the upheavals within the spiritual world, many find their faith tested. It has long been held that a devil could not ascend to godhood. The implications of this event trouble them deeply."
"As is their right," Gabriel replied, her voice steady and composed. "Would that we possessed complete understanding ourselves. The ways of the Most High extend beyond our sight, and we must proceed with caution in these uncertain days, lest rash judgment cast us into greater turmoil."
So even they don't know, Dulio reflected.
"What judgment has the Host reached?" he asked, his gaze shifting briefly to Metatron, who remained silent and watchful. "Is this new god to be regarded as an adversary of Heaven? Rumor paints him as both an instrument of divine will and as a traitor driven by ambition."
"We don't know," Gabriel answered, and there was no evasion in her tone. "The One remains silent, in this as in all other matters, and the breadth of His foresight eludes us. It's possible that either account contains fragments of truth. We hold hope that Haruki Yamashiro may yet be reasoned with."
The One remains silent, Dulio thought with a shadow of sadness. Of course, he would remain silent. Dead beings do not speak, not even gods.
"Is that why you have descended here then?" Dulio asked with quiet curiosity. He had been surprised when the archangel had reached out to him in his dream, informing him that two angels would descend to earth and asking if he could welcome them in secret and accompany them in fulfilling their purpose.
"Yes, we intend to meet Haruki Yamashiro and speak with him," Gabriel replied, her voice steady and calm, yet carrying the weight of her resolve. "We should have done this long ago, as soon as it became clear that he could wield holy powers, but we could not locate him. It was as though he had vanished from the face of the earth. Still, as is said, the best time to plant trees is yesterday, and the second best time is today. I only hope we are not too late once again."
There was an unexpected melancholy in her expression, a quiet sorrow that seemed strangely out of place upon a being so radiant, and it made Dulio feel an unfamiliar sadness for her.
"Not to question the decision of the host," Dulio said calmly, keeping his voice steady, "but is it truly a wise choice? How can we be certain that Haruki Yamashiro will not turn against us as he did with the vampires and the devils?"
"We have no assurance beyond our faith," Gabriel replied, her tone unwavering yet measured, "and yet we must act before it is too late. I will ask once more, for I understand the severity of what I am asking." Her gaze swept across the three humans before her, calm but commanding. "Will you accompany me in this quest, despite the likelihood of failure? Will you place your trust in me and journey to meet the god of devils?"
The two girls did not hesitate. They lowered themselves to one knee in immediate reverence. "We will accompany you to the ends of the world if necessary, O Radiant One," Irina said, her voice steady and resolute. Xenovia echoed her with equal determination, "There exists no greater honor than to aid the messenger of the Lord."
Dulio observed them and felt certain that he had chosen well, recognizing the strength of their devotion and the sincerity of their hearts.
"I will trust in your judgment as well, Sister Gabriel," Dulio said softly, his lips curving into a small, confident smile. In his thoughts, he added silently that if the situation demanded it, he would give his life to hold back Haruki Yamashiro, prepared to sacrifice himself to protect those he was sworn to serve alongside.
…
POV: Izanami-no-Mikoto
Izanami sat on her throne of dark stone and listened to the slow breathing of Yomi, to the quiet movement of souls passing through her land. She let her thoughts wander as they often did, back through ages that never seemed to end, back to a time when she had not been the queen of the dead, when she had walked under open sky and felt the wind on living skin.
She remembered the sky.
She remembered the first light on the waters when the jeweled spear churned the sea and the drops fell shining and thick, and land rose where there had been only endless blue.
She had laughed then, young and radiant, standing beside Izanagi upon the floating bridge of heaven, her brother, her husband, her equal, her other half. Together they shaped islands and mountains and rivers with hands that knew no death, no decay, no separation.
She had been a creator once, a mother of nations, a goddess whose body brought forth life after life, until the child of fire tore his way into the world in a blaze that devoured her flesh and burned her from within.
Her screams had echoed across the newborn land while her beloved wept and then in his grief slaughtered their son, spilling divine blood across the earth and calling more gods into being while she herself sank cold into the soil, buried and abandoned to the dark.
Death had taken her, and she had woken in Yomi, in the land of rot and smoke and endless hunger, where the air clung thick as oil and the ground pulsed with the slow decay of all things.
In her despair she had eaten of that realm, tasting the furnace of the underworld, binding herself to it, sealing her fate with a single act born of loneliness and desperation, and when Izanagi came for her at last, she had still loved him.
She had asked for one kindness, one shred of trust. That he would wait, to not look upon her while she sought permission to return, to remember her as she had been. And he had agreed, and still he broke his word, lifting flame to his comb and casting light upon her ruined form, upon the corpse she had become, the thunders writhing from her body, maggots threading her flesh, and in his eyes she saw not love, as she had hoped.
there was only horror, revulsion, rejection.
He could not love her enough to accept her as she had become.
Her suffering had made her unworthy of his eyes. In that moment she learned the truth of his love. It had conditions, it belonged only to the beautiful, the living, the pleasing.
He ran.
He fled from her, from the wife who had died bringing forth his child, from the goddess who had shared creation at his side. In his fear he chose the living world over her, sealing the passage with stone, condemning her to remain where even gods rot.
She raged and swore that a thousand would die each day, it was grief speaking through a broken heart. His answer, that fifteen hundred would be born, showed how indifferent he had become to the one he had proclaimed to love above everything, as if life could replace love, as if numbers could mend betrayal. Their marriage had ended there.
So she became what fate and cruelty shaped her into - queen of Yomi, mother of death, goddess of endings. Her name whispered in fear, her beauty remembered only in old songs.
Her heart was forced to harden in a realm where every soul arrived stripped of illusion, weeping, clinging, bargaining, and she judged them all with a gaze that had seen the birth of the world and the faithlessness of the one who swore to stand beside her forever.
A queen in a prison is still a prisoner.
She has ruled Yomi for ages beyond counting, watched generations rise and fall, watched lovers weep and warriors curse and children cling to fading warmth.
She has endured through it all, patient and waiting, because she is still a goddess and she still has a will.
Then a new presence shook the heavens.
She felt it even here, deep below, a birth that rang through heaven and hell and every space between, the rise of Haruki Yamashiro. The first devil to become a god, a being whose existence bent rules older than her.
She watched from her throne as the other gods turned their eyes toward him with fear and caution.
She felt something else.
Hope.
She watched as, as he was shattered and remade, as Odin and Thor fought the satans to aid him in his schemes. She knew the Allfather of old, knew his hunger for knowledge, his endless bargaining, the way he never acted without securing advantage.
She knew that if Odin lent his strength, then he had been promised something worthy of a king of gods.
she cannot leave Yomi to ask in person, her chains are woven into the land itself. And so she sent her servants, the Yomotsu Shikome, the Thunders, the Yomotsu Ikusa, to carry her will and her reminder of old debts, for Odin has walked paths through her realm before and he owes her still.
When the answer returned to me, she felt joy so sharp it almost hurt. Joy she had not known since before fire took her life, because in that answer she saw a narrow path, a way that could lead to her freedom.
Freedom to walk the earth again.
Freedom to see the sky with her own eyes.
Freedom to stand before Izanagi and let him see what she has become without turning away.
Long ago, two souls passed through her realm. A man and a woman who had lived and died as followers of another god, souls that should have gone on quickly to their promised heaven. Curiously, however, she felt a thread of fate around them that touched her own, faint and strange. So she held them back, just a little, just enough to watch.
She did not know then why they mattered, only that they did.
She has learned patience in this place, patience carved from endless years. She waited and watched the weave of fate tighten, and when that impossible birth shook the underworld, when that perfect presence broke into godhood, she understood.
Haruki Yamashiro is tied to those souls.
Haruki Yamashiro is tied to her chance.
She sat on my throne in the land of the dead, hated by the husband who abandoned her, bound to a role she never chose, yet for the first time since the stone closed the entrance of Yomi, she can see an end to this story that is not written by his fear or her curse.
She will plan.
She will scheme.
She will smile when she must and threaten when she must and guide events carefully, because she is still Izanami no Mikoto, goddess of death, queen of Yomi, mother, wife, castaway, and she will not remain in this darkness forever.
AN: I had planned for Asia to be more involved in the beginning, to act as a moral restraint on Haruki, but somehow that just was not possible. Haruki, perhaps sensing her positive influence, kept her far away from his scheming and pushed Ravel toward her to protect her and distance her from himself. I find it interesting that Haruki is now doing the exact thing he criticized God for in Chapter 8, which says a lot about his character development, or moral regression, depending on how you look at it.
Another thing I have been delaying is Haruki meeting the angels and Heaven in general, so they are starting to make their moves as well. Izanami is also making her move. I have always found her story in the original myths very tragic and sad. Being abandoned by the one you love and left alone to rot in the underworld is a terrible fate. Not very cool of Izanagi, who was also her brother-husband btw. What's with myths and incest?
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