In the hidden conference room beneath Kuoh Academy, a heavy atmosphere hung over the occupants.
Rias, Akeno, Kiba, Koneko, and Issei sat around a polished obsidian table, while Azazel stood near a magic projection displaying world events. Michael, clad in his luminous white robes, had been invited discreetly — a rare collaboration between Heaven and the Grigori.
Everyone here already knew the name "Amon."
And the terror that name carried.
"...It's unsettling," Michael finally spoke, his voice like a calm bell across the stormy sea. "Amon should have perished with the fall of Heaven's order."
Azazel shook his head, folding his arms. "He's a survivor. He always was. Even when Father—Yahweh—still walked this world, Amon was already... an Error."
Rias leaned forward, her crimson hair casting a shadow over her determined eyes. "You said he was after Issei. But not just for the Boosted Gear."
"Yeah," Azazel said grimly. "Amon doesn't care about artifacts alone. He preys on destiny itself."
Michael nodded. "He is unlike any fallen. He doesn't seek destruction for pride, or revenge, or chaos. He seeks it simply because he can manipulate the very foundation of fate itself."
The room was silent for a moment.
Issei, feeling the weight of the conversation, shifted uncomfortably. "So... he's like a super evil cheat code guy?"
Akeno chuckled lightly despite the tension. "That's one way to put it, Issei-kun."
Michael smiled faintly. "Simplified, but not wrong."
"More dangerous than cheating," Kiba added. "It's rewriting the entire game without anyone noticing."
Azazel pointed at the world map. "There's been unusual movements — faction meetings disrupted, ancient artifacts disappearing, and subtle political tensions rising in places they shouldn't." He paused, eyeing the group. "We suspect Amon is already playing his hand."
"And we're just chess pieces," Rias said quietly.
"No," Michael corrected gently. "You are players. He underestimates those with willpower."
Meanwhile, elsewhere — high above the mortal realm — Amon watched through countless reflections in water, glass, and even the glimmer of polished metal.
The monocle over his eye pulsed softly with a blue light.
He watched the meeting in Kuoh Academy with idle amusement.
"How quaint," Amon mused aloud, voice dripping with detached amusement. "They think knowledge is a shield."
He tilted his head, adjusting his silver monocle. His robes, once as pure as Heaven itself, now shimmered with a distortion that made reality seem to ripple around him. His gloved hand moved in the air, tracing invisible symbols.
From a distant palace in the Underworld, to a sacred vault in Heaven itself, unseen chains were forming.
"Puppets to the left... strings to the right..." he murmured. "Let us see how long you can dance."
Back at Kuoh Academy...
The meeting had shifted to practical concerns.
"We need to prepare defensive wards," Azazel said. "On Issei, on the school, on your homes. Anything Amon can exploit, he will."
Michael raised a hand. "I can send two Seraphim to oversee protections."
Azazel smirked. "Willing to cooperate now, eh?"
Michael's serene smile never wavered. "When existence itself is at risk, pride must be set aside."
Akeno suddenly asked, "Why hasn't he attacked directly yet?"
Azazel tapped his temple. "Amon's strength isn't brute force. It's patience. He moves through whispers, illusions, twisting fate itself."
Rias nodded. "He's waiting for something."
Azazel's gaze darkened. "The Rating Game."
The group froze.
"The match against Riser Phenex," Azazel elaborated. "It's the perfect stage for manipulation."
"Riser?" Issei frowned. "That flaming chicken?"
Akeno giggled. "Well, yes. But manipulated by someone like Amon..."
Rias bit her lip. "He could make Riser invincible."
"Or worse," Kiba said, eyes narrowing. "He could make Riser a puppet."
Azazel nodded. "Exactly. Amon may not care about Riser himself. But if he twists the outcome, he can create despair, imbalance, and — most importantly — force Issei's fate down a predictable, controllable path."
Koneko spoke up for the first time. "Then we must not let him."
Michael turned his serene gaze toward Issei. "Your will must remain yours alone, Hyoudou Issei. That is the key."
Issei gulped but pumped his fists. "Y-Yeah! No creepy monocle guy is taking my oppai dreams away!"
The tension broke slightly, a few chuckles escaping.
Azazel smiled grimly. "Good. We're not powerless. We can fight this."
In the following hours, preparations began. Layers of holy and demonic magic were woven around the school. Angelic wards hidden under the guise of janitorial repairs. Anti-possession spells hidden inside simple charms worn by students.
They worked into the night.
But even as they fortified their walls...
Far away, atop an abandoned cathedral where the stained glass depicted stories now forgotten, Amon sat upon the broken altar, flipping through a tattered book that contained no words — only possibilities.
"Fate is but wax," he whispered. "And I am the flame."
He closed the book, smiling.