Spreading Chaos and Mischief across Worlds

Kuoh City at dawn was bathed in mist, its streets unusually quiet, as though holding its breath.

Inside a modest apartment on the edge of town — one that existed outside any registry, yet appeared precisely when needed — Amon watched the sun rise backwards. He sipped tea brewed from dreams he had stolen during the night.

In front of him floated a silver monocle, suspended in mid-air. It shimmered with glimpses of future echoes and past lies.

"Today's lesson," Amon mused aloud, "is divine tragedy."

He turned to the chalkboard that had somehow been carried from the school and now stood inexplicably in his living room. Upon it were three names: Issei, Asia, and Raynare.

Beneath them, he wrote a single word: Fracture.

Meanwhile, at Kuoh Academy...

The atmosphere was tense.

News had spread fast — Issei Hyoudou had survived a mysterious attack near the abandoned church district. Rias had already claimed him as her new servant. Akeno had sealed off the area with her lightning sigils, and Koneko had taken to quietly patrolling the grounds.

Only Kiba seemed calm, though the way he gripped his sword said otherwise.

The Occult Research Club gathered in their base, all eyes on the boy who had barely survived the night before.

"I saw her," Issei said, rubbing the back of his head. "Raynare. The cute one. Except, you know... wings and murder."

"She's a Fallen Angel," Rias confirmed. "They've been sniffing around lately. But this..." Her voice dropped. "This wasn't subtle. This was provocation."

"Which means it's coordinated," Kiba added.

"And there's only one person I can think of who'd enjoy watching this unfold like a play," Akeno said.

Koneko's voice was a quiet dagger: "Amon."

At the Abandoned Church

Raynare stood over a makeshift altar. Around her, the shattered remains of stained glass reflected blasphemous colors.

Mittelt knelt beside her, wings trembling. "He's coming for us, isn't he?"

Raynare didn't answer at first. Her eyes stared at the candles that never melted, at the blood sigil that refused to fade.

"He speaks through the air now," she whispered. "Every time I close my eyes, I see his mask."

Don't lie.

That's what he had told her — not with words, but with presence.

She'd tried to laugh it off. But each time she donned another identity, each time she played sweet Yuma to some poor human, something pulled at the seams of her disguise.

Now, her confidence frayed like old silk.

"Prepare Asia," she finally said.

"What for?"

"To bleed."

The Hospital – Asia Argento

Asia stared at the ceiling, hands clasped in nervous prayer. Her time in Kuoh had been short, but kind — until the man in the top hat had visited her room.

She hadn't remembered him arriving. She only remembered the way her hands had gone cold when he touched the cross she wore.

"You heal others," he had whispered, "but who will heal you when your faith breaks?"

Asia had wanted to scream. But the room had shifted then — the bed dissolved into a church pew, and the lights became floating candles.

When it was over, she awoke alone. But the shadows now whispered her name.

In the Hidden Room Beneath the ORC

Rias sat across from Amon.

She'd found him waiting there, drinking wine that no cellar in the world had ever stored.

"Asia's gone missing," she said without preamble. "And I know you know where she is."

Amon smiled thinly. "Of course I do. I've seen her path unravel before."

"Then tell me."

"I could," he said, swirling his glass. "But wouldn't that ruin the fun?"

"You think this is a game?"

"Oh, no. This is many games layered together. And you're losing most of them."

She slammed her hand on the table. The room trembled with magical pressure.

Amon didn't flinch.

"You play at being a King," he said quietly, "but you still think like a piece."

Rias opened her mouth — and froze.

Amon's monocle shimmered. For a heartbeat, she saw herself reflected — but wrong. Her hair was silver, her eyes vacant, her body crucified to a chessboard.

Then it was gone.

"I'm trying to save people," she said, voice shaking.

"So was Lucifer," Amon replied. "Look where that got him."

Elsewhere: Issei Follows the Trail

With Kiba beside him, Issei had followed the faint trail left by Asia's sacred energy. It led deep into the abandoned church district, where every step felt like it echoed wrong.

"I'm just saying," Issei whispered, "if she's already captured, shouldn't we, like, call for backup?"

"We are the backup," Kiba said grimly.

Suddenly, the world shifted.

The walls around them stretched like wax. The pews turned to bones. And from the altar emerged Raynare — wings spread, eyes wild.

"You're too late," she crooned.

Behind her, Asia was chained to a cross of light, tears running down her cheeks.

"Her Sacred Gear will be mine," Raynare declared. "And then—"

A slow clap echoed through the chapel.

All eyes turned.

At the doorway stood Amon, wearing a priest's cassock and a devil's grin.

"Forgive me, sister," he said to Raynare. "But you are delivering the sermon all wrong."

The Showdown

Lightning struck from above — Akeno.

Flames followed from the side — Rias.

Koneko punched through the wall.

The Occult Research Club arrived in full force.

Raynare shrieked, summoning her spear of light.

Amon simply leaned against a broken pillar, sipping spectral wine.

"Let's see," he mused. "Betrayal? Check. Sacrifice? Check. Catharsis pending."

The battle exploded around him.

Issei dashed forward, catching Asia as her restraints shattered.

Raynare lunged — and found herself caught in a temporal loop. Each time she moved, her body returned to the same spot.

"What—?!" she gasped.

Amon raised his monocle, now glowing with dozens of rotating symbols.

"I prefer my drama with slow motion," he said.

With a gesture, Raynare's illusions unraveled. Her true form flickered — not an angel, but a hollowed-out echo.

"You lie even to yourself," Amon whispered.

And then she shattered.

Aftermath

Asia wept into Issei's chest.

Rias knelt beside them, offering a soft smile. "You're safe now."

But her gaze darted behind them — to where Amon was already walking away, his shadow twisting in impossible directions.

"Why?" she called after him. "Why help us?"

He didn't turn.

"Because sometimes," he said, "breaking a toy is less satisfying than watching it change."

Elsewhere — Grigori Headquarters

Inside a chamber of books older than any religion, surrounded by archaic tech fused with holy steel, Azazel, Governor-General of the Fallen Angels, studied a shimmering screen of soul-signatures. His eyes weren't focused on the data — but on the anomaly that kept rewriting itself in real time.

"What are you?" he murmured.

The figure was faint — cloaked in contradictions. It didn't register as holy or demonic, human or divine. It was a walking error in the universe's ledger.

He zoomed in on Kuoh.

The moment Raynare shattered like glass, the anomaly had stabilized. Not vanished — not hidden — but almost as if… it had decided to be visible.

Azazel leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

"He hijacked the entire Raynare sequence. Didn't just interfere — he orchestrated it like a playwright."

Beside him, the artificial intelligence node representing a captured Seraphim's cognitive remains softly intoned: "Do you wish to assign the anomaly a threat level?"

Azazel didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he flicked a switch, replaying psychic echoes from the battlefield.

A voice emerged from the static — Amon's voice:

"You play at being a King, but you still think like a piece."

Another fragment:

"Breaking a toy is less satisfying than watching it change."

Azazel sat in silence for a long moment.

"This isn't a god complex," he finally said. "It's not even malevolence."

"What is it?" the AI asked.

Azazel's golden eyes narrowed. "He's not trying to destroy the board. He's trying to see what else the game can become."

He pulled up a corrupted mythos file, cross-referencing ancient void fragments and dream-born anomalies. One term kept surfacing, tagged by multiple forbidden sources:

"Sequence Pathways"

"Lord of the Door"

"The Fool Who Laughs at the Gods"

Azazel closed the files.

He stood, wings spreading in irritation and curiosity.

"If he's a devil, he's not one of ours. If he's a god, he doesn't care for worship. If he's a man…" He paused.

"Then humanity has evolved into something far stranger than I anticipated."

He looked again at the data trail in Kuoh. The anomaly had shifted. Now it was in the high school again — likely waiting for the next scene.

Azazel chuckled. "Well then, 'Amon'. Let's see how your story unfolds. But remember — some of us read ahead."