As the heir apparent to the Sitri Clan, Sona Sitri had learned how to deal with any number of unusual situations, ranging from humorously absurd to monstrously stressful. She had once leveraged chess to counter a High Class Devil's attempt at arranged marriage, and since being thrust into the political world by Serafall's rise, had spent the better part of her teens honing her intellect to not only amass a powerful peerage, but also to navigate the power-hungry Underworld time and time again.

Indeed, with her meticulous planning and years of experience, Sona was confident she could have handled anything and anyone.

Anyone, that is, except for Rias.

Sona sighed. Across from her desk in the Student Council room, Tsubaki fidgeted but held her gaze, the aftereffects of her latest report still being felt from across the room.

"To review," she managed between massaging her temples, "you mean to tell me that Rias sped off into potential enemy territory—territory, I might add, controlled by an individual who handily defeated four Fallen Angels—all because of a hunch from her pawn?"

"Well if you'd framed it like that, I'm sure Rias would've—"

"Tsubaki," she said coolly. "The point is that Rias shouldn't have needed me to point out the foolishness of that haphazard exercise." Her fingers rolled against her armrest. "I can empathize with having an inexperienced pawn, but Issei… he's making her soft."

The weight of her words had an air of finality to them, and she gave herself a beat to acknowledge Tsubaki's reflective nod before leaning back in her chair.

"In any case," she continued, "what's done is done. Had Rias truly been in danger, she would've sent me a distress signal by now, which she hasn't. There's no use agonizing over something that I can reprimand her for later and in person."

She paused, leaning her cheek against her hand, before snorting to herself softly. "I don't suppose you have anything more promising to report though, do you Tsubaki?"

Her queen straightened. "That would be the last of it Miss President." She turned to open the bookbag at her side. "Though you'll be happy to know that the mail arrived earlier today."

Any trace of trace of the devil's bothered slump vanished in the face of the words and the newfound glint in her eyes. "Perfect. I was wondering when that would arrive." She nodded, stretching out her hands in wait. "Give it here."

Fishing around in her bag, Tsubaki drew a stack of newspapers and placed them onto Sona's outstretched palms.

She hummed. It had been a long-established habit of hers to monitor the latest on the Three Factions. "Let's see… Nothing important here, nothing important there, definitely not something to remember there," she paused, blinking hard before sifting through another paper. "Tsubaki, remind me to unsubscribe from The Outsider. As of late, these Fallen newspapers have been posting articles with very… questionable professionalism."

Her queen nodded before moving to check something off on her phone. A few seconds later, between mumbling to herself and furrowing her brow, Sona clicked her tongue.

"Oh. That's something."

Tsubaki blinked. "President?"

"It looks like the Phenex Clan really is serious about their marriage plans." She turned her copy of The Trumpeter toward her queen. "Even the angels have caught wind of the rumored 'wedding of the century.'"

Tsubaki frowned. "Surely the Gremory's won't take this lying down."

"Oh, I'm sure you're right," she remarked, turning the paper back around to continue her perusal. "Nothing's official yet, and I'm sure Rias's brother won't be happy with how fast the rumor mill is spreading. But sorting this out is bound to be political nightmare." She massaged her jaw. "I've told Rias before and I'll have to tell her again—she needs to take action before Riser himself starts taking matters into his own hands."

"In all fairness Miss President," Tsubaki noted, "not everyone shares your aptitude for chess."

She waved her hand dismissively. "The point still stands."

Unperturbed, Sona flipped through another paper, humming to herself all the while. Minutes later, and down to the last bulletin on the stack, she found herself chuckling as she took hold of the final paper.

"Hmm, The Satanel."

For a moment, the edges of her queen's lips twisted into a frown. She sighed. "I've never understood how you can read that Old Satanist garbage."

Sona hummed. "Even biased news has information to be gleaned from Tsubaki, and in my experience, it always pays to be well-informed." She flipped to the next page only to narrow her eyes and stop mid-scan.

"Incidentally…" She flicked through again with her eyes before furrowing her brow and motioning to her queen. "Tsubaki, come take a look at this."

Her queen rounded the length of her desk before looking over her shoulder and reading the headline aloud. "All Signs Point to the Vatican Preparing for War." She blinked, bemused. "Surely you don't believe this nonsense."

"Obviously not," she said distractedly. "But… there's something else."

Sona frowned. At face value, the article seemed as desperate to make something out of nothing as an Underworld tabloid could be. It was an exaggerated narrative about doomsaying levels of divine hostility, coupled with comically degrading comments about how new renovations to St. Peter's Basilica were a sign of 'holy weakness.' The conclusions drawn were erroneous; hell, the entire thesis was egregious. And yet, she knew The Satanel never flubbed the facts and statistics themselves—only the narrative.

Which was why, as she read the excerpts that stood out to her again and again, she felt herself growing more and more puzzled.

'Four hundred new exorcists' being admitted into the fold for a religious recruiting drive was excessive. Even for allegedly militaristic purposes, she hadn't heard of such a large, simultaneous amassment of forces since the Great War. Not to mention, for a routine restoration of the Basilica, it was highly unusual for 'The Pope himself to directly oversee renovations.' A ceremonial check-up she could buy. Hell, even a speech about the reconstruction would've been plausible. But direct oversight? Too many things weren't adding up. The timing for both irregularities was too spontaneous; too nonsensical.

Unless…

"Tsubaki," she called, still focused on skimming the paper before her, "correct me if I'm wrong, but St. Peter's has never served as a barracks for exorcists, correct?"

Her queen blinked, caught off guard by the question, before tapping her chin in thought. "Not to my knowledge, Miss President."

She pursed her lips. "Can you find which bastions of the Vatican do?"

"Let's see…" Her queen fished out her phone before scrolling through and reading aloud. "According to the most recent Vatican census, military combatants reside alongside the Papal Palace in Belvedere."

"Close to St. Peter's Square, but not the Basilica itself," she finished pensively. Another moment, and she ran her fingers through her hair. "What about personnel? How many are stationed at the Vatican on average?"

"Around 800 at any given time."

"And Belvedere's capacity?"

"Just short of one thousand."

She stopped, whipping around to meet Tsubaki's eyes. "You're certain about that number?"

Tsubaki bit her lip. "It's the most recent public record that's been angelically verified."

She blinked, half incredulous, half disturbed, before pinching the bride of her nose. "Two hundred men over capacity. That's… unheard of." She eyed Tsubaki's anxious face before chuckling half-heartedly. "So much for worthless news, huh?"

Her queen nodded weakly. "Should I make a note to investigate the inexplicableness of this further?"

She opened her mouth to reply in the affirmative, only to stop, eye the paper again, and draw her lips into a fine line.

"No," she disagreed, "not yet. I think… I think I might have grasped the cause."

The confusion on her queen's face was apparent, and she motioned toward a photo of the Basilica's renovations. "See this picture? Put aside St. Peter's lack of history for being a base for military personnel, and we could technically assume that the construction is for a barrack extension given the Vatican's apparent housing problem. But look at this." Her finger landed on a marking near the construction site. "That's a ward rune. A telltale sign that this is not only the end of outward construction, but also that new and improved defenses are being put into place."

"But if the renovations aren't intended to increase personnel capacity," Tsubaki argued, "then why bring in so many exorcists?"

"Exactly," she agreed. "That leaves us with three possibilities. Either the Vatican has a secret, off-book training facility, the Church orchestrated a discrete transfer of hundreds of personnel without triggering any flags, or they're covering up the only other logical reason that you'd receive reinforcements."

"An attack," Tsubaki breathed. "They're responding to an attack."

"But not just any attack," she continued. "Given the spontaneity of the Basilica's renovations, as well as their defensive nature, it wouldn't be a leap in logic to assume that someone attacked the Basilica and crippled enough forces at St. Peter's to warrant reinforcements."

"But why cover it up?" Her queen protested. "Supposing there was an attack, the Church wouldn't have hesitated to play martyr if it succeeded, or publicly herald their strength if it failed."

"Exactly," she agreed. "For them to have stayed silent, the attack must have been so potent that the resulting weakness would've been too great to reveal to the other Factions. The only question is, what could've left the Church so shaken? Was it embarrassment over revealing the true extent of the damage? Was it shame over the identity of the culprit? Or… was it fear over losing a deterrent that's long been feared by both Fallen and Devil kind?

The realization hit Tsubaki like a slap in the face. "You think that someone stole the Excaliburs."

"It's certainly a possibility, yes." She rested her cheek against her hand. "Of course, no one truly knows where the Excaliburs are hidden, and I can only imagine what perpetrators were both bold and competent enough to succeed in such a heist." She locked eyes with Tsubaki and let her voice fall to a grave whisper. "But, if the most dangerous holy swords on the planet happened to be in possession of an unpredictable and dangerous enemy, I doubt it would hurt to reinforce Kuoh's wards, wouldn't you agree?"

The implication was about as subtle as a train wreck, and Tsubaki nodded uneasily. "How much should I tell the others?"

"Keep quiet for now," she replied. "It wouldn't do the peerage any good if we got them worked up over conjecture. Though as for Rias—"

Her voice stopped short as the sound of heavy footsteps swelled into the room, followed by the banging open of her office door. She tensed for a moment, half-expecting a hostile, before recovering her composure, not looking up. As audacious as barging into her Student Council room was, it only took a flash of red in her periphery and the lack of rebuke from Tsubaki to determine the identity of her visitor.

Speak of a devil, she supposed, and she will come.

"Hello Rias," she began evenly. "I was beginning to wonder when you'd be back from your little adventure. Though I don't suppose you could have been gentler with the door on your way…"

She looked up, expecting to meet her friend's calm blue eyes, before hearing Tsubaki's muffled gasp and finding her own next words dead in her throat.

Rias was a mess. Now that she looked at her, really looked at her, she almost kicked herself for not noticing sooner. Her friend's red hair, always flowing and pristine, looked unkept and disheveled. Her breaths, quite unlike any of their casual visits, were ragged. Even from across the length of her desk, she could see the way her legs shook ever so slightly. But it was her eyes that truly caught her.

Her wide, anxious eyes.

"Rias…" she whispered uneasily, "what happened to you?"

"It just doesn't make any sense."

Sirzechs turned away from the letter in his hand and glanced toward the other occupant in the room. Serafall was lounging on the sofa opposite from him, lying on her stomach, feet kicking in the air as she focused on the contents of the paper in her hand.

"So-tan's a smart girl," she continued, eyes locked onto her letter, "but the depths of what she's describing sound almost…"

"Contrived," he finished for her. "Yet for all that, Rias professes the same."

She pouted and scrunched her nose. "It's frightening. To think that a human could summon something like that."

"I wouldn't be so quick to take everything at face value," Sirzechs pointed out, raising his hand to massage his jaw, "but this Minato… he's certainly intrigued me."

Finally finished with her reading, Sirzechs watched as Serafall deliberately raised her head in his direction before dropping her letter on the couch.

"Intrigued?" Serafall repeated, clenching her hand into a fist before placing it on her chest with a heroic flair. "I almost have the mind to go down there and ensure my poor So-tan's safety myself!"

"Rias and Sona are capable girls," Sirzechs replied, returning his letter to the corner of his desk. "I'm sure they can hold out for a while yet."

The hitch in his voice was subtle, almost imperceptible, but its edge was caught nonetheless. Serafall studied him, blue eyes unblinking, before her typically cheerful demeanor turned thoughtful, almost sober.

"You know," Serafall drawled, placing her hands above her head as she arched her back, only to throw her legs off the side of the couch and rise to her feet, "for all the danger this Minato presented to Rias, I'm surprised that you're not more concerned about this."

He turned his head so that he could meet Serafall's eyes and pressed his lips into a fine line.

Why not indeed?

It had only been a few minutes since Serafall had barged into his office, head held high with new letters from Rias and Sona. For the past few years, it had been a favorite pastime of theirs to read and gush over their siblings' exploits and adventures. Yet instead of vibrance and humor, his Rias's most recent message had an air of foreboding. Inside were tales of a human boy who, seemingly without a Sacred Gear, had handily defeated the four Fallen that had toyed with his sister's pawn. In itself, it meant little more than a new independent who had entered the game. But then came writings of a mind-numbingly powerful bloodlust, an unflappable disposition, and that unsettling summon…

A summon with a blue dress, blonde hair, and piercing scarlet eyes.

He shook his head. "I just feel like we need more information."

There was a heavy silence as Serafall raised a lone eyebrow with a fixed stare. It wasn't outright challenge that was lurking within her eyes. Not quite, at least. But as the tension reached its precipice, it didn't stop her from stretching her shoulders and pacing toward the desk before him.

"From what I read Sirzechs," Serafall said finally, "all my So-tan could think about was how scared Rias looked as she spoke to her."

He hid his flinch with a grimace. "… I know."

"It was all your sister's rook seemed to talk about—how terrifying that boy Minato was."

"I know."

"That summon… it threatened the lives of every member of your sister's peerage."

"I know!"

Sirzechs was scowling now, and she took a step closer to the foot of his desk, eyes trained on his white-knuckled fists.

"So I'll ask you again Sirzechs," Serafall repeated evenly, "why are you not more concerned about this?"

He shot up, slamming his palms against his desk as he looked at Serafall with a fire that left the room several degrees warmer. "Are you questioning the lengths I'd go to protect my sister?"

He watched as she met his gaze unflinchingly before pulling back from the proximity's intensity. "No," she said quietly. "I know you Sirzechs. We both know what's important. That family is important."

The last few syllables were said with intensity, and in the next moment, Serafall's eyes bored renewed into his. "But I also know that you're brooding over something. Frankly, given the uniqueness of this newcomer, I'd be disappointed if you weren't. So, if Rias getting a fright is the price to pay for your ruminations, I won't lose any sleep over it."

What remained of the Maou's carefree disposition gave way to a darker resolve, and in an instant the air around them grew cold with ice. "But. If your flippancy leaves So-tan open to danger, I cannot and will not stand for it."

"If it's Sona's safety that you're concerned about," he replied calmly, his breath nearly misting from the frigidity of the air, "then you've forgotten that the line between caution and carelessness is one I do not tread lightly."

There was a long silence as Serafall considered his words.

"I believe you," she said finally, and as her usual voice returned, cheerful and agreeable as he'd ever heard it, the climate of the room returned to its normal state.

Sirzechs watched, almost amused, as Serafall returned to her usual spot on the couch with a plop. He gave himself a beat, then two, before glancing at his own seat and following suit.

"Now then," Serafall continued, "so long as we're both in agreement, I really would like to hear what's been gnawing at your mind."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced one last time at Serafall's expectant expression. He sighed.

"It's that summon," he said finally. "Something about the nature of it doesn't sit right with me."

She cocked her head. "You think he lied," Serafall guessed. "You think he really does have a Sacred Gear."

"It would be the easiest explanation to the imagination," he agreed distantly. "A human, trained in the ways of dark magic with an illusory sacred gear capable of conjuring powerful apparitions." He drummed his fingers on the table. "The type of magic fits. Just as Rias said—whatever that boy summoned wasn't tangible, but incorporable."

Serafall hummed, and her legs swung back and forth over the edge of the couch. "I'm sensing a but."

He nodded. "The problem is that if that summon is what I think it is, we may have a piece of history coming back to haunt us."

The swinging of Serafall's legs ground to a slow sway, and he shifted his jaw before pressing on. "When Ajuka first created the Evil Pieces, his work was predated by the efforts of two Archdemons. Do you remember their names?"

"Belial and Nebiros," Serafall answered. "Why?"

Grabbing the letter on his desk in one fluid motion, Sirzechs ran down the page with his finger before stopping at the penultimate line.

"But what scared me the most Sirzechs was that… thing. That thing with its blue dress, blonde hair, and piercing scarlet eyes." Impassively, Sirzechs looked up from the letter in his hand. "Those were Rias's words Serafall. Not mine. Now, think back and tell me whose description that reminds you of the most."

It only took a moment before the realization dawned in her eyes. "You can't mean… Alice?"

"The similarities are uncanny, wouldn't you agree?" He placed the letter down on his desk. "Alice: the first ever recorded resurrection by the Underworld. She predates our time, but if the stories are true, she must have been nothing short of low-level Ultimate-class, even at her conception." His pressed his lips. "I can only imagine that power like that would've matured over—"

A cold hand cut his words short as Serafall pulled him up by the collar and forced him to meet her gaze. He hadn't seen her move, though he hadn't truly tried, but from the pressing aura in front of him, he wasn't sure he would've even if he had.

"Sirzechs," Serafall hissed, her voice riding a disturbing line between sweet and irate, "explain to me again how leaving a potentially hostile Ultimate-class Devil near Kuoh is your idea of cautious."

He returned her gaze, unblinking, before placing a hand on the wrist that held him half-aloft.

"It's precisely because I'm acknowledging the possibility that makes what I'm doing cautious."

The grip on his collar loosened but did not falter.

"Think Serafall," Sirzechs continued evenly. "Never in recorded history has a human summoned a demon, let alone one of Alice's caliber. Even the brightest minds in the Underworld would be hard pressed to attempt such a feat. The odds are irrefutable—there is a laughably high probability that the boy's magic simply took after Alice's legend, but in no way replicated the genuine article."

He took a heavy breath. "But. On the off chance that what the boy casted weren't illusions; on the improbable, infinitesimally small chance that what was casted was Alice in the flesh; the change required of our position would be astronomical. We'd be going from reprimanding a human with a secret Sacred Gear to dealing with the a mage whose power could singlehandedly uproot political stability in the Underworld. The difference between those possibilities is too vast, and unless we can deduce where Minato's power falls on that spectrum with certainty, we can't afford to make moves that impact him directly."

The words were even but unapologetic, and in the seconds of silence that followed, Serafall's fist clenched, then shook, before she finally released him from her grasp. He caught himself, returning to his chair with poise in the same moment that his fellow Maou turned back to her own seat on the couch.

"Alright Sirzechs," she said finally, fixing him with a gaze that was neither soft nor intense, "you've made your point. What now?"

"Now," he finished calmly, "we wait. We observe. We forbid Rias and Sona from interfering directly, and only confront Minato ourselves if the need presents itself." He tilted his head to the side in thought. "If memory serves, Rias's knight's familiar is a raven. I'm sure he'd be willing to volunteer its eyes if Rias asked on my behalf."

Serafall studied him unblinkingly for another moment before raising her eyebrow in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

The smile Sirzechs returned was response enough, and it only took a second before she found herself covering her mouth to hide her amused grin.

"Oh, how the cunning machinations of Lord Lucifer have fallen," she giggled, then laughed. "Reliant on the whims of an itty-bitty bird."

"Perhaps, among other things," Sirzechs admitted freely. "If what Rias tells me is correct, her pawn is also on cordial terms with Minato and the priestess he's taken under his wing. Enough magical and indirect reconnaissance, and I figure we'll be able to amass a sufficient character profile in a matter of weeks."

He watched patiently as the last of Serafall's giggles trailed off into an expression of whist.

"So that's how it is," she drawled. She drummed her fingers against the sofa and hummed. "And have you considered the fatal flaw in this plan of yours Sirzechs?" She stared at him hard. "What happens if the boy makes a move against us?"

"He won't," he said curtly, and imperceptibly his eyes narrowed. "From what Rias explained, the ultimate altercation was of her own doing. For all intents and purposes, the boy isn't the type to act unless provoked."

The silence that fell in response to the words was heavy, and the two of them stopped to eye each other coolly. For a time, there was nothing—nothing but tension and scrutiny—until Serafall snorted to herself and raised a hand to wistfully inspect the state of her nails.

"I see."

She let her gaze flick back toward Sirzechs before clapping her hands with a cheerful, childlike grin.

"In that case, you can count on my full support for this plan! Just make sure you send the details to Rias as soon as possible, 'kay?"

In the face of such an utter shift in tone, Sirzechs simply smiled happily in reply. "Alright."

"Great!" she echoed, nodding.

She stretched her arms high above her head before reverting her gaze.

"In any case, I suppose I should get going. Magical girls have busy schedules after all, and I think this conversation is just about finished."

He nodded, watching amusedly as his fellow Maou pushed herself off the couch and skipped toward the door. "It was nice seeing you Serafall," he said, waving lightly.

"See ya later!" Serafall chirped, one leg already out the door before suddenly she stopped, mused, and finally laughed to herself quietly.

"Oh, right. One more thing Sirzechs."

"Mm?"

Slowly, Serafall turned around and looked again in his direction. "I know how much it means to you to go into everything well-informed. As much grief as it's sometimes given me, I've always respected you for it." She gave Sirzechs a toothy smile, even as she stared him down hard. "But just so you know, if it were me sitting behind that desk, I wouldn't have cared if that boy was a run-of-the-mill mage or a living, breathing Nephilim. If it had been So-tan, not Rias, that Minato had threatened that day…"

The grin she left him with was too wide to be mistaken as human.

"… I would've killed him."

The door shut closed, and silence returned as Sirzechs was left alone in the room. He watched the door for a time, lost in his own thoughts, before finally gazing at the letter on his desk and skimming over its passages one last time.

"… I know," he said to himself quietly, and for an instant, his lips twisted into the shape of a snarl.

Had he done any more to my sister, I would've done the same myself.

The following day and subsequent weeks, Minato found his life returning to some approximation of normalcy.

Asia had taken to his offer far more happily than he had imagined. In the wake of their ultimate conversation, the girl had accepted his invitation with a smile and more than a few tears in her eyes. In truth, the reaction had struck him more strongly than he had openly admit. For months he'd lived alone, living a routine that, while not unfamiliar, had given him no small amount of grief. To have someone value his company, so long after that span? To see someone react so happily at the prospect of staying by side?

Yes. Intellectually, he'd known how much he missed living side by side with S.E.E.S. But for all his sentimentality, it had been something else altogether to have a piece of that void filled after all this time.

Still, none of it had been to say that the transition had freed him of any 'growing-pains' at all. Not even a week after the move-in, it had been to his chagrin and Asia's zealousness that his assumed role as caretaker had been rendered moot almost immediately. In a fervent, almost unhealthy attempt to 'repay him,' Asia had made it her mission to undertake more household responsibility than he'd ever found necessary. On one particularly egregious morning, in which the priestess had insisted on grocery shopping, doing laundry, and cleaning the house, all while cooking breakfast, he'd numbly recognized that in the heat of their argument their eggs had burnt to a crisp. The look of dismay on Asia's face coupled with the smoky ring around his kitchen would've left Yukari banging her head against a wall in despair. But as for him, watching the scene of Asia frantically blowing away the housefire with nothing but her deep breaths had made him chuckle. Then, outright laugh.

It had been the first time, Virtue reminded him later that night, that he had laughed since being released from the Great Seal.

Frankly, he'd responded in turn, the news hadn't surprised him in the least.

Simply put, Asia Argento was kind to a fault, and her selfless nature and dutiful air called to mind memories of Fuuka and Aeigs. They bled into his treatment of her, and often he found himself patiently explaining facets of modern life and etiquette that were foreign to the girl, easing her out of her sheltered, disenfranchised upbringing provided by The Church, and later, Raynare's Fallen. It took time, and the transition was far from perfect, but by the week's end, he'd managed to convince her that she had every right to be cared for without needing to offer recompense in return. He'd only wished, after seeing the look of genuine surprise and gratitude on her face, that others had let her know that they could have been relied on before.

Life continued on though, and it wasn't long before it grew outside of their household circle. Just as he'd grown accustomed to Asia's presence in his home, Issei had showed up on their doorstep, bashful but determined, to ask if he could check in on the two of them. To say that he'd been expecting the visit would have been an understatement. What he'd shown the boy and his peerage during their last confrontation had almost necessitated follow up. So, despite being happily received by Asia, it hadn't surprised him to see the sideways, almost frightened glances that the boy threw him when he asked where he'd learned his 'magic.' Nor had it bothered him to see Issei's disappointment when Asia formally declined Rias's offer, affirming her wish to remain a human.

What had caught him off guard was his own pity toward seeing the devil so restless. Perhaps it had been his guilt for scaring the boy and his peerage half to death, or maybe it had been his inclination to include one of the only friends Asia had left, but before Issei wore himself out awkwardly babbling on, he had interrupted to apologize for his behavior days earlier, served him a cup of tea, and insisted that if he ever returned to chat, he'd have to loosen up a little.

The effect of his words had almost been more than he'd bargained for.

Issei became somewhat of a perennial fixture in his and Asia's apartment, and his visits accrued on a weekly basis. Taking his request to 'loosen up' to heart, the conversations between the three of them grew far warmer, and as he, Asia, and Issei settled on friendlier terms, he found himself being reminded of his brash, but lighthearted conversations with Junpei. It was also by the same token that he'd learned of the boy's more "unsavory" habits, and while it was an unfair to say that he'd had the poignant mental image of his impression of Issei being doused in gasoline and set alight, he had heard Yukari's voice cry 'more like Stupei!' indignantly in his mind.

In the end, he did not entirely consider Issei a friend, though from the value the boy placed in his and Asia's company, he had little doubt that Issei considered him one. It had been for that reason, as time went on, that he had almost expected more devils to join their teatime bastion; if not to smooth things over in the wake of their last, uneasy confrontation, then to do so because Issei's comfort with him and Asia would've spurred him to bring the rest of his companions. Many a time, he'd brewed additional pots of tea in anticipation and had steeled himself for a rehashing of first impressions.

Yet no matter how many times Issei had visited, no one else showed.

It had been an startling precedent in what had become a puzzling trend: after such a boisterous introduction to the supernatural, signs of it had seemingly grown non-existent. For all the loose ends that had been left in the wake of their last discussion, Rias and her peerage never returned. Despite being befriended by a literal devil, Issei neither pried about peerage, nor demonstrated flagrant evidence of his own abnormality. When all was said and done, save for dodging Issei's initial questions about his capabilities, not once had he had to face the consequences for evoking his Persona in the past.

Of course, the flashes of regard he'd expected hadn't been rendered completely nonexistent. While the devils had remained silent, Asia had asked him about Personas on more than one occasion. He'd explained the technicalities the best he could, summating what it meant to have 'The Potential' and a Sea of Souls; though as much as he'd grown to care for the priestess, he still wrestled with how much trust he'd been willing to extend. It had been in lieu of elaborating on the number and nature of Personas he possessed that he'd evoked Alice to join the two of them every so often. From the shine the girl had taken to the priestess, he'd hoped her presence would further familiarize Asia with Personas as a whole.

Several 'play' sessions later, it had been to his chagrin and Asia's tentative pleasure that Alice had declared the girl to be her new pseudo-sister instead.

Still, for all the chaos that Persona-interaction could bring, the simple truth remained that life for him and Asia had grown unexceptionally. He hadn't quite known what to make of it once he'd realized it. In his past life, the routine of living peacefully with his friends had been everything he'd ever wanted. From what he knew of Asia's even, living a life free from supernatural natural influence would've been her own dream come true. Yet for all the apparent blessings that being left alone provided, the lack of any supernatural interaction hadn't sat well with him. Perhaps it had been his unease over seeing how shaken Rias had looked that day, or maybe it had been his paranoia from having been burned too many times by the Dark Hour, but the lull in mystic activity hadn't seemed invariable.

To take a page from Mitsuru's book, it had seemed like the calm before the storm.

In the end, the turning point came to pass just two weeks after Asia's initial decision to stay. That afternoon, while the two of them watched TV, a broadcaster reported that renovations to the Church of England and the Orthodox Catholic Church were underway, freshly in the wake of the Vatican's own reconstruction. He hadn't missed the way Asia's eyes widened at the news, nor had he overlooked the way she'd gazed off distantly for the rest of the day. That night over dinner, he'd brought it up, concerned over whatever it was that disquieted her.

He hadn't been prepared for the nervous yet determined look she'd given him, nor the abrupt question that came afterwards from her mouth.

"Minato…" she started tentatively, "I think… I think want to go back to the church again."

He stopped. Hanging in the air, her words suspended and crystalized like a heavy snowfall long overdue, wrapping themselves around the silence that followed and utterly enveloping the room.

He frowned.

"Why?" he muttered heavily, "What brought up this up now?"

She turned to stare at him with wide eyes before biting her lip. He winced inwardly. He hadn't meant to be so blunt.

"I…" she started, then faltered. "I'm sorry. I know it's a sore subject, and it's not like I doubt all the things you told me about that day. It's just…"

She wrung her hands, and in the silence, his gaze softened.

"You can't stop thinking about it," he finished for her, "can you?"

She hesitated before nodding in return.

"I'm sorry. It's a stupid reason isn't it? I already asked you so many questions, and at this point it's already so late, but after seeing the news about the Orthodoxy and the Protestant Church, I just…" her throat caught, and she steadied her voice before she sighed, "I want to see it. I want to see what happened to the church I cared for with my own two eyes."

The quiet détente that settled between them was fragile, unsure and as tentative as treading through uncharted waters. He pursed his lips. In between Asia's timid gaze and his hardened stare, it only took a moment for him to process the crux of what he heard and to conceive a plethora of reasons for why it was a badidea. The 'abandoned' church had been ravaged at its foundation; the odds of it remaining a supernatural hotbed were low, but present. Most of all, by returning, it meant that she'd witness something that represented everything that he'd done his best to live down.

Yet as startling and ill-advised as Asia's appeal had been, in his heart, he understood why she'd asked. Before him, before the Fallen, the abandoned chapel had been all she'd had. In her blood ran an entire lifestyle devoted to her place of worship; bombarding her were broadcasts that played reminders of churchly renovations. It had only been a matter of time before she'd think to the church again, and seeing her now, it was all he could do to not berate himself for not realizing it sooner.

She trusted him. Trusted him enough to confront him. Trusted him enough to ask for his help reconciling her life, past and present.

He took a deep breath and sighed.

"You really want to do this, don't you?"

She bit her lip. "I do," she nodded.

Their eyes met, sapphire and emerald, and for a moment, he spared himself a breath amidst the understanding silence that settled between them.

He stood up from his seat and nodded.

"Alright then," he replied, pushing in his chair before gesturing determinedly toward the door. "Let's get going."

Silently, a raven perched on a nearby tree cocked its head before flying off after them.

The clack of shoes upon stone reverberated through the church's halls, distorting every so often upon contact with dried blood and shards of wood. From his vantage point along the broken clerestory, Freed Sellzen looked upon the remnants of what had once been a complete and undamaged building, and smiled in mixed fascination.

Broken shards of glass; splintered pieces of wood; scattered pieces of tile. Underneath his feet were an assortment of debris, chief among them being the black, dried blood that pooled from the quartet of decapitated corpses on the ground. To his right, he glanced at what looked to be Mittelt, her remains punctuated by the bloody dismemberment of her wings. And, at his side, he looked to Varden, his Fallen escort, who surveyed the remaining three with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Freed…" the Fallen managed hoarsely, "t-this is—"

"—Absolutely breathtaking, isn't it?"

The cackle he let out alongside the words was throaty, almost primal, and it only took a moment for Varden to look at him with a growing sense of horror.

"I always considered myself to be somewhat of a murderous savant, but this…" he howled again in laughter, "this is something else."

"You…" Varden's voice trailed off, shaken, before gaining a harder grit. "What is the meaning of this Freed?" Lord Kokabiel told us to rendezvous with your Fallen allies stationed in Kuoh!"

"And so we have," Freed chirped, gesturing flippantly toward the four disfigured remains. "At least, what's left of them anyway."

If Varden's expression had been unnerved before, it was horrified now. "You mean… this is the Fallen stronghold we were tasked to find?"

"The very same." Jumping off the clerestory with a flourish, Freed stretched his arms wide. "Even after leaving for two weeks, this sorry excuse for a church is unmistakable."

"It… can't be," Varden stammered. "How could this have happened? Who could have done this? What are we going to—"

Focused too much on his thoughts, Varden could only widen his eyes as Freed suddenly appeared in front of him, an index finger placed squarely upon his lips.

"Now, now, let's not give too much sweat to the details. The more you look at it, the more you realize this is a good thing, really." Walking past Varden with his hands behind his back, Freed stopped in front of the remains of the altar and looked down with a smile. "For instance," he drawled, reaching forward before grabbing the remains of a bloodied form, "take a look at this."

Varden looked, appalled, as Freed turned around, the severed head of a Fallen palmed like a trophy in his hand. For his part, Freed smiled expectantly before furrowing his brow at the stunned silence, only to slap his forehead afterward in an exaggerated expression of embarrassment.

"Ohhhhh. Right. Given that the four of them are, well, dead, I suppose you never got properly introduced." He gestured toward the head and then toward the Fallen. "Varden, this is Raynare. Raynare, this is Varden."

The Fallen's eyes betrayed a mixture of dread and shock. "Raynare? You mean… Lord Kokabiel's favorite?"

"More like Kokabiel's dog," Freed said, sneering. "She was a real bitch, fawning over every little word the big man said, only to act like she had the power of a god in the face of her peers." He turned the head back toward himself and gazed into its lifeless expression of fear. "You would not believe how satisfying it is to see her knocked down a peg."

He watched helplessly as Freed tossed Raynare's head over his shoulder and skipped toward the other remains at her side.

"And don't even get me started on the others. Dohnaseek, Kalawarner, Mittelt. Oh if only you could have met them." His face went still for a moment before he burst out laughing. "I'm kidding, obviously. They were all pretentious bitches and bastards that were worth less than the blood stains on my boots. But I digress."

Kicking the severed head of one of the Fallen like a soccer ball, Freed reverted his gaze and smiled.

"As you can see, these four were worth next to nothing while they were alive." He smirked. "Now that they're dead… well, I can assure you that things are bound to be far more interesting."

The smug declaration was met with deafening silence as Varden stared at Freed's conceited posturing with fragile poise. It only took a moment for what remained of his composure to be broken, and another still to leave his trembling hands balled into fists.

"You…" he whispered. "You…"

"What's that?" Freed asked. "You have to speak up."

He bristled. "You're insane Freed. You're goddamn insane."

The exorcist blinked hard before looking on dispassionately. "Two weeks with me in Europe wreaking havoc and stealing Excaliburs, and you just realize this now?"

"How could you say that about your own allies?" Varden cried. "These Fallen were your former comrades!"

"Well, comrades is a bit much," Freed retorted. "At best, they were eye candy, and at worst, royal pains in the ass."

"And to think," Varden continued, fuming, "that you'd desecrate their bodies—most of all Lord Kokabiel's favorite—without any ounceof respect! They were Fallen—celestials above compare—and you, a mere exorcist, danced on their remains! Who do you think you are Freed? Who do you think you are?"

The last words were punctuated with a fervor, and by the end of them, Varden's hand pointed vehemently at the exorcist's face. He panted for a moment, then two. But just as he stared hard into what he'd expected to be cowed, submissive eyes, he found himself taken aback by the most impassive expression he'd ever seen in his life.

"You done?" Freed asked calmly.

Under the exorcist's eyeline, Varden had the sudden, uncomfortable urge to squirm.

"I…" Varden managed. "What I meant was—"

"No, no. You asked a question. Who. Am. I?" Freed cocked his head. "Isn't that right?"

He wet his lips and swallowed.

"Well," Freed continued, casually brushing the hand pointed in his face aside, "allow me to remind you."

Almost faster than he could follow, Freed unsheathed the light sword at his side and stabbed through what remained of Raynare's head on the ground.

"Freed!" Varden cried. "What are you—"

"See," the exorcist interrupted, raising his sword to watch the head skewered on it slide down the blade, "something else I hated about Raynare and the others was their condescending attitude. For all their self-supposed importance, I could have killed anyone of them with just a thought. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Smiling, Freed watched as the head slid completely off the blade with a plop.

"The reason why I'm here Varden is because I'm the alpha. I'm here, because I kill monsters and devils for breakfast. I'm here because I'm Freed fucking Sellzen. And, just so you know," he smirked before leaning on the pommel of his blade, "I could kill you without breaking a sweat too."

Haltingly, Varden took a step back before narrowing his eyes.

"You think that you could kill me?" the Fallen ground out. "You think you could kill one of Lord Kokabiel's chosen—"

"Kokabiel, Kokabiel, Kokabiel." Freed repeated, rolling his eyes as he cut off Varden's words by pressing a finger against his lips. "Let me tell you something about your precious Kokabiel."

He clicked his tongue. "True, the big man has power. Power so great that I'm willing to bow my head in deference. But just because he's powerful doesn't mean that his 'chosen' are too." He stared hard into Varden's eyes. "You want to know why you're here Varden? You're here because you're my leash. If Kokabiel wanted my submission, he would have sent a six-winged Fallen. If he wanted my obedience, he could have sent a four. But you're a two-wing. A pitiful, measly two-wing. All you are is an expendable watchdog, sent to monitor me in case I get 'too out of hand.'"

"You…" Varden trembled, knuckles white as he summoned the beginnings of a light spear. "You insolent little shit! If I kill you now, Lord Kokabiel will praise me for my—"

Before he could so much as react, Freed was there, eyes hard and blade mere inches from his throat.

"I told you Varden," Freed said evenly. "If I wanted to, I could kill you without breaking a sweat."

He swallowed, eyes wide as the light spear in his hand dissipated in surrender. "You… you wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I though?" Freed asked, humming. "I never really liked you Varden. Ever since you helped me during the Excalibur campaign, I knew you for what you were. Stubborn, blindly devout, and pretentious as all hell." He chuckled. "Just like Raynare, only without the perks of a rack."

He grimaced. "If… if you do this, Lord Kokabiel will—"

In one smooth motion, Freed dug his blade deep enough into Varden's neck to draw blood.

"If you say Kokabiel's name one more fucking time," Freed snarled, "I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand."

Varden glowered, but said nothing.

"Good," Freed said, smiling. "Now then, as magnanimous as I am to have not killed you already, I think we both know that you have really—really—gotten on my nerves today. So, I'm going to offer you a deal." He licked his lips and smirked. "If you can convince me to not kill you by the time I'm done counting to five, I'll take this sword away from your throat and we can forget that this whole charade ever happened. On the other hand, if you can't come up with a reason that would satisfy yours truly…" he snickered to himself, "well, let's just say you'll be fucking dead. Got it?"

Spitefully, Varden nodded.

"Perfect," Freed said, grinning. "Now then, here goes nothing…"

"One."

Varden grit his teeth. With the blade still lodged firmly against his throat, he had no choice but to rack his brain for some kind of answer.

"Two."

Lord Kokabiel couldn't save him. Not now, anyway. But he was a Fallen—a goddamn Fallen. He was above humanity; more resourceful than they could ever imagine.

"Three."

All he needed was a way to buy time. Just a way to buy—

"Four."

He blinked. Wait a moment. Were those…?

"Fi—"

"Voices!"

Freed blinked, his right arm just short of extending the full length of his blade.

"Excuse me?"

"Voices," Varden repeated, stronger this time. "Just beyond the church, there are others talking outside."

Freed frowned, but craned his neck to listen nonetheless. The Fallen hadn't lied. Exposed by the cracks in the church's walls, the sounds of muffled dialogue could be heard from outside the chapel doors.

He clicked his tongue. "I see. So that's your angle."

Shifting his jaw ever so slightly, Freed pulled his blade back and eyed Varden with a thoughtful air.

"Alright Varden, tell you what. All this pent up frustration has left me in a rather… murderous mood. So, how about you make yourself useful and help me deal with these intruders first, whoever they may be?"

Rubbing away the last of the blood trickling down his neck, Varden met Freed's gaze, half-bitter, half-begrudgingly-grateful.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Oh, it's simple really," Freed replied, waving his hand dismissively. "I just need you to stand over there in direct view of the door."

He blinked. "The… door? Why there?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Freed answered, smiling. "The more visible you are, the more unnerving this place will be! Just think of it: the sight of this mess coupled with your presence as a distraction. You'll be the bait that keeps on giving; the trap that'll make picking off any passerby scared stiff a cinch."

He paused, tapping his chin in thought as Varden moved exasperatedly to follow his instructions.

"Though, I suppose I should add that all of this is contingent on you already being dead."

Without so much as a warning, cold steel burst through the Fallen's stomach, spilling his insides and rendering any hope of resistance futile. His eyes bulged. Feebly, he let out a cry of pain, but between his gurgling and coughs of blood, it was all he could do to let out a half-groan, half-gasp.

"Freed…" he rasped, turning so that his pale eyes could meet the exorcist's manic own, "I thought… you said…"

"Shhhhhh," Freed whispered, shoving his finger against the Fallen's lips before wrenching out his blade with a sickening squelch. "I know what I said. Or rather, I know what you thought I said."

Standing over his collapsed and bleeding frame, Freed smiled before leaning in close.

"But I told you already, didn't I Varden?"

His vision darkening, the last thing the Fallen saw was the shadow of an exorcist retreating high into the rubble-ridden ceiling.

"You're just like Raynare. You're more useful to me dead than alive."

The gravity of what they planned to do truly occurred to him the moment the dilapidated church came into his field of view.

Any further observations were then barred by the soft, stricken gasp that sounded beside him. He turned, keen to Asia's tight expression as she fought to keep her emotions from breaking her composure. It was a close battle, but she managed to keep herself steady by leaning on his arm and taking a slow, composing breath.

"Minato…" Asia managed, "Is that…?"

He nodded solemnly.

Fractured and fallen into a state of disrepair, whatever warmth the church once had no longer felt recognizable. Shattered stain-glass windows painted a foreboding mosaic, while the rubble-ridden grounds punctuated the chapel's disarray. As it was, the sight still put him on edge, even after shouldering the responsibility and agonizing over his actions weeks prior. For Asia, the chief instigator of the chapel's once proud renovations, he could only imagine how poignant the reversion appeared, what with having witnessed only relatively minor damage just weeks before.

He laid a hand on Asia's shoulder and sighed.

"You don't have to do this," he said once the silence stretched on.

She closed her eyes, and her hands clenched and unclenched as she recollected memories she had no wish to recall.

"You're right," she turned to him with a weak smile, "I don't. But I asked for this Minato. This chapter in my life… it needs to be closed."

The voice and her words were as soft as zephyr's wing, and as she pulled away so as to stand under her own power, he only hesitated for a moment before nodding, understanding. Together, they rounded the final block to the church and entered the rusted-open gate, each slow step more restless than the last. Between them, the silence filled itself with the echo of Spring wind and the rustling of trees, and as they ascended the final steps of the churchyard, he felt his pulse quicken, aggravated as his body remembered the last time he stood before the chapel's wooden double doors.

He sighed. To his side, Asia did the same.

There was only thing left to say.

"Are you ready?" he asked finally.

She glanced at him, eyes tired but determined, before chewing her lip and averting her gaze.

"I think so," she started, then faltered. "It's just… I was wondering if you could…?"

He followed her downcast gaze, only to stumble upon her small, outstretched hand.

He fought the urge to smile.

"Of course."

Hand in hand, he sucked in a quiet breath before reaching out and opening the door.

Cast in shadow and undercut by the evening draft, the threshold of the church looked and felt several shades darker than its exterior. Hidden behind the overcast sky, the moonlight filtered weakly through the broken stained windows, doing little for visibility, but reflecting off a number of glass shards scattered about the room. He swallowed heavily. Behind him, the wooden doors eased closed with a thud, and as their weighty echo swelled into the nave, he steeled himself for a sordid scene he'd been all too uneager to recollect.

What he was met with instead was not at all what he'd expected.

Without warning, a visceral chill ran down his back, leaving every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He seized up. At his side, Asia squeezed his hand, unnerved by his tension, but unaffected by whatever left him afflicted. His grimace deepened. Dark as it was, he could only make out the room's generalities: the red-black marks charred along the walls, the uneven mass of scattered tile, and the vague outline of wooden pews scattered haphazardly over the antechamber. Yet as undetailed as the picture may have been, none of the highlights seemed inconsistent with his memory.

It disturbed him. Asia's unsettlement toward the damage he could understand. Even his own, caused by re-confronting his past anguish he could buy. But to feel such a poignant sense of wrongnesswithout any reason as to why? He knew better than to doubt his instincts—months in Tartarus had made sure of that—but between the circumstance and the intensity, something about it all just felt so…

"Minato," Asia whispered, tearing him from abruptly his thoughts, "do you hear that?"

As though her words were a stirring gust of wind, the flames of his disquietude fanned even higher, leaving him restless and wary and cold. He craned his neck and listened.

Was that… groaning?

He narrowed his eyes, grasping onto Asia's hand before peering into the shadows. There was no hiding it now. Something was definitely wrong. He could feel it; he could hear it; he just couldn't—

As if on cue, the caw of a raven sounded from the remnants of a broken stained-glass window, foretelling the lightening of the cloud covered sky, and reverberating as far stronger beams of moonlight revealed the entirety of the church before him.

He stiffened. At his side, Asia stumbled and clasped her hand over her mouth to muffle her stricken wretch. Looking it at it now, it was almost the same scene he remembered: the burgundy gore, the dried blood, and the slew of mutilated corpses littered about the room. The details were in the right places, the gruesomeness was consistent with his memory, and yet, for all of that…

His blood ran cold.

He remembered killing four Fallen. Not five.

"Asia! Get back!"

The sharp crack of gunfire echoed throughout the church, sounded by a bullet embedded mere inches away from where the priestess once stood. A beat later, the barrier that was Tetrakarn pulsed translucently before fading from view, its use spent. He sucked in a breath. At his side, Asia clutched his arm tightly, her wide eyes flickering from him to the bullet that ricocheted cleanly off her feet.

"Well… shit," a voice sounded indignantly from above. "That was fucking disappointing."

Dropping from the rubble-ridden ceiling and into his field of view, the speaker—the gunman—clicked their tongue before eyeing the unidentified corpse distractedly. He narrowed his eyes. The figure was a young man, clad in an exorcist's robes and sporting a mop of dirty silver hair. The man's back was to them, his stance nonchalant, but made menacing by the oversized handgun in his right hand. In his left, he palmed a sword, one lacking a cross guard. The bloodstained blade seemed almost ethereal.

"I mean really," their assailant continued, exasperated. "I had such high hopes for the bait idea. Such high hopes." He sighed disgruntledly. "Looks like I was wrong, Varden. You're even more useless than I thought."

Unfetteredly, three more bright flashes of light were discharged, this time at the prone body that, if not dead before, was certainly dead now. The figure frowned, kicking the corpse on its side for good measure, before nodding to himself, seemingly satisfied.

"Right. Well then. Sorry not sorry you two, but it looks like I'm gonna have to kill you both the old-fashioned…"

Finally turning toward the two of them, the speaker's words trailed off, stopping as his red eyes shimmered darkly in recognition.

"Oh," their assailant breathed, his face twisting into a grotesque mockery of a smile.

"Now that's a surprise."

As though the words and newfound attention were a dark, foreboding shadow, Asia stiffened at his side, clenching his arm with a stricken, white-knuckled grip.

"No… It can't be…" she whispered, terrified. "Freed?"

The hand that had been reaching for his Evoker dropped to his side. He turned to her, surprised.

"You know him?"

The man known as Freed laughed loudly from across the room. "Know me? Oh yes. Asia and I go way back." His snicker died down but his smirk remained. "How are you doing kiddo? I see you've gotten yourself a new boy toy in Raynare's absence."

Caught under the exorcist's eerie gaze, Asia withered, eyes wide, before taking a stricken step back.

"You… you shouldn't be here," she whispered, trembling. "You can't be here. Raynare… Raynare said you were finally going to be gone!"

"Now, now," Freed responded chidingly, "that's no way to treat someone that's finally returned home from England after two-and-a-half weeks." The exorcist's expression darkened. "Surely you're not that eager for me to break some respect into you all over again?"

The way the color drained from Asia's face was palpable, and as she shuddered, her fragile frame clung all the closer to his side. He pressed his lips into a thin line. Afflicted as Asia was, there were a plethora of questions running through his mind, not in the least why he never so much as heard their assailant's name mentioned before. The man's connection to Raynare was inscrutable; his relation with Asia, even more so.

But he knew Asia's look. Recognized it, from the time the priestess had lamented about her fate at the hands of The Church and Raynare's Fallen.

He clenched his jaw before taking a quiet, composing breath.

"Asia," he said slowly, "what does he mean by that?"

She glanced up at him, eyes wide and reflecting her inner turmoil, before Freed smirked and inclined his head.

"It means," the exorcist answered, his voice malignant, "that she should know better than to be anything but a submissive little bitch before me."

The words struck him as much as they did Asia, and as he processed the assertion and all it implied, Freed burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Oh, don't tell me she didn't tell you?" Freed wondered, shaking his head in disbelief before turning his attention towards him. "Not even a peep about the times we spent together at the church?" His smile turned into a leer. "Not even a word about fun the two of us shared?"

Next to him, Asia cowed, her mouth opening and closing as she recollected memories she had no wish to recall. He turned towards her, his heart hungry for some modicum of an explanation, before meeting the priestess's stricken eyes and realizing the hopelessness of it all.

He turned back to Freed and narrowed his eyes.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Freed smiled darkly, "that back when I was in town, Asia and I used to have a very special relationship. The kind that involved a girl, so desperate to find a place where she belonged, that she was willing to do anything for hospitality," he licked his lips ferally, "and a man who, while doing business with the church here, was more than happy to oblige."

Reading into the implication must have not boded well for his expression, because not a moment later, Freed titled his head and sneered.

"Of course," the exorcist shrugged sheepishly, "I've never fancied myself an abuser. I'm more a murderer myself. But every so often, I've found that there's a certain catharsis to lording one's superiority over others." Slowly, his lips split into a disturbingly wide grin. "Needless to say, the first time I laid a hand on that girl, the sight of her on the ground, submissive, bloody, and teary eyed was something else entirely."

He stiffened, too disturbed to speak, before Freed peered into his eyes and chuckled haughtily.

"In fact, it may have been the most satisfying thing that I had ever seen in my life."

Without warning, a throbbing pain ran along his hand, tingling ever so slightly before moving up the length of his arm.

Dully, he noted that it was his fingers, having dug so tightly into his palms that they'd broken skin and drawn thin trails of blood.

"In that regard," Freed continued, seemingly oblivious to his indignation, "I suppose I should extend the both of you my thanks. If there was anything I was disappointed about when I came back here to see Raynare and her merry band of idiots dead, it was realizing that I wouldn't be able to have any more fun with abuse."

The exorcist eyed him and Asia before grinning balefully. "Now that you're here though and have all but fallen into my lap, I wonder if instead of killing the two of you like run-of-the-mill passerby," he sneered directly at Asia," I should take my time instead."

And just as the balefulness flourished through Freed's voice like shadows under moonlight, so too did his own mood sour before finally being pushed over the edge.

"That's enough."

The vehemence that crept into his tone was enough to command the room, echoing throughout the antechamber for a several second long span. At his side, Asia turned to him wide eyed, her expression a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. Across from him, Freed fixed him with a harder stare, his eyebrow raised, bemused.

"Oh?"

He glowered, one hand placed in front of Asia protectively, the other, hovering ready at his hip.

"I won't let you touch her."

Every word was spat viciously, none more so than the object of his concern, and for a moment, Freed looked taken aback before his surprise twisted into a leer.

"Oh, that's rich," the exorcist chucked loftily. "A knight in shining armor coming to princess Asia's aid."

Leveling his sword so that the moonlight reflected remnants of blood, Freed scoffed, his face a sudden picture of deadly calm.

"Pray tell Mr. Boy Toy," Freed wondered coolly. "How in God's name are you going to stop me?"

He clenched his jaw, squeezing Asia's hand in a final act to reassure her, before stepping forward and meeting the exorcist's glare alone.

He drew it out, wrapping his hand around the familiar grip and placing the muzzle against his temple.

Across from him, Freed blinked, then frowned, before finally snorting in disbelief.

"You've got to be kidding me," Freed deadpanned.

He was not. And as that realization dawned in the exorcist's eyes, it was all Freed could do not to laugh.

"You motherfucker," Freed drawled wryly, "you might be more insane than I am."

Unable to withhold his laughter any longer, the exorcist howled before glancing at him again with mirth wide in his eyes.

"I mean seriously," Freed mused, his smile still widening. "What are you planning to do? Amuse me to death?"

He allowed the sudden influx of power to flow through him, filling his conscience with its sinister presence, before materializing it with the pull of a trigger.

Actually, I was thinking I'd beat you to death.

The voice that sounded was as malefic as it was ethereal, and without warning, three tendrils of darkness violently ripped through the floor, catching Freed off guard and forcing him off-balance and to the side. Barely, he dodged the first—the projection falling just short of his heart—but the others found purchase, grazing his shoulder and torso with enough force to draw blood.

If there was any trace of amusement in the exorcist's eyes before, there certainly wasn't any now.

"What the hell?" Freed growled.

As though privy to the exorcist's words, the shadows leapt forth, enwrapping the church's interior in a shroud of darkness. From the swirling mass, a bright blue dress flowed into view, accentuated soon after by the emergence of bleached blonde hair and cold scarlet eyes.

Behind him, Asia's eyes widened, her expression typified by a look of tepid recognition.

"Alice?" she wondered softly. "Is that you?"

Shifting her piercing gaze from Freed to Asia's own, Alice immediately brightened, her smile light.

Hi Asia! Just sit tight okay? Big Sis Alice has some business that she needs to take care of first.

Scathed as he was, Freed tensed in place, gritting his teeth as Asia tentatively nodded and Alice turned intently toward his direction.

"Who are you…?" the exorcist swallowed before shouting angrily. "What are you?"

Alice snorted, a half-smile gracing her features, before crossing her arms deliberately behind her back.

Who am I? Is that what you want to know?

The question was laced with challenge, and as the chill of her gaze grew colder, Alice tilted her head and giggled, contemptuous.

Very well. I suppose I can indulge you.

The intensity that had faded with Asia's interruption returned wildly and in full force, and he watched as Freed took a wary step back. Behind him, Asia did the same, her eyes a mixture of awe and unease, while he looked on, struck with a poignant sense of déjà vu.

I am the revenant of fables. The shadow that lurks in your imagination. I am the reason that you'll never, ever, lay a hand on Asia again.

The declaration reverberated throughout the antechamber, and as tendrils of magic twisted around her ankles, the girl smiled at Freed and curtsied.

My name is Alice, of Wonder and Madness.

And immediately, her smile grew too wide to be mistaken as human.

But you can call me the girl that's about to teach you the true meaning of insanity.

Author's Note

Another long hiatus, another compensatorily long upload.

In all seriousness, this chapter was a lot of fun to write, not in the least because of the amount of new character perspectives introduced. You may have noticed that I took some liberties, what with Sona showing evidence of her intelligence, Sirzechs and Serafall having an edge reflective of their power as Maous, and Freed being, well, just my favorite character to write. Like Asia, all of it was done to give these characters more depth, and I hope you enjoyed my take on them.

Anticipatorily, I'll also address Minato's summoning of Alice in this chapter. There are a plethora of reasons for why it was done, both pragmatic (Alice has a connection w/ Asia so she'd want to step in) and thematic (insanity vs insanity), but I also know that it's typical of Persona-DxD fics to have new personas for every fight. Rest assured, a more diverse cast of personas is in the wings, but right now I'm taking this as this iteration of Minato would (remember, I am Thou, Thou art I).

Also, come on. It's Alice. Who doesn't like more Alice?

In any case, that's it from me. Canon is on the cusp of utterly diverging now-it's no mistake that the Excalibur arc is being hinted at early-so I'm already excited to go and storyboard the possibilities. Hope you enjoyed everyone. And I hope you're still reading.