Spreading Chaos and Mischief across Worlds

There were three suns in the sky above Kuoh that morning.

Or so Issei thought.

He blinked. One sun. The same blue sky. But he was sure it had been three for a moment. One crimson, one violet, and one green. Like traffic lights in a divine judgment.

He clenched the coin in his hand. It had shifted form again.

No longer a circle. Now it was a hexagon, etched with unknown symbols, and each flip whispered in a voice like his own, only older… and laughing.

"Ddraig," he muttered beneath his breath, walking through the courtyard toward the occult club. "I think I'm going crazy."

{You're not crazy. You're just... being watched by someone who doesn't follow our rules.}

You mean Amon?

{Yes. He gave you a tool. But you're using it like a child playing with nuclear runes.}

Issei sighed. "Great. First I can't get a girlfriend, now I'm a timeline hazard."

Scene Shift: A Monocled Revelation

Somewhere beneath Kuoh Academy, within a forgotten mirror sanctum, Amon stood in front of a broken mirror. His fingers traced the edge of a crimson monocle, now suspended in mid-air by invisible forces.

The monocle pulsed—once, twice—and then clicked into place over his left eye.

Reality shifted.

Not for him, but for everything else.

The monocle showed him the truth behind illusions—not just physical, but narrative. Who thought what role they were playing. What scripts they clung to. What "truths" they told themselves to keep functioning.

"Ah," Amon whispered. "So that's her trauma…"

He saw Rias, in the sanctum's reflection, walking the halls of Kuoh in two timelines—one where she was the noble heir of the Gremory, and another where she had become something else. A fragment. A lie given power.

"And you, Azazel… Still pretending to be a teacher. Still burdened with guilt. Still waiting for a chance to fix what cannot be fixed."

Amon smiled faintly.

He spun the monocle and dropped it back into the reflection. The glass didn't ripple—it cracked.

Elsewhere – Azazel's Warning

In the staff room, Azazel placed a strange, glowing feather on the desk in front of Sona and Rias. The room was protected by three separate ward layers. Wong stood at the back, arms crossed.

"This feather came from nothing," Azazel said. "Literally. It didn't burn, it didn't decay. It simply wasn't there until it was."

Rias stared. Her fingers tingled as she looked at it. "He left it?"

Azazel nodded. "Or it grew because of him."

Wong added, "It's a fracture in symbolic causality. Things born from concepts that shouldn't exist. This is the beginning of shatter phases—when belief overrides structure."

"What do we do?" Sona asked.

Wong stepped forward and dropped a small card on the table.

It was blank.

Until they all looked at it.

Then it read:

HE KNOWS YOU'RE WATCHING.

Rias' Inner Crisis

That night, Rias sat alone in her room again.

She had begun dreaming of mirrors.

Not looking into them—but stepping through them. Every dream ended with her wearing a mask.

Sometimes it was her face. Sometimes it was Amon's. And sometimes it was something else entirely—a blank, featureless slate.

"I'm becoming him," she whispered.

Her hand trembled as she picked up her tea cup. It shattered, even before she touched it.

That wasn't a metaphor.

"We all wear masks," a voice said from the corner.

She turned. No one.

But there, hanging on her mirror, was the crimson monocle.

Issei's Slip

Elsewhere, Issei stood beneath the sakura trees, staring at the hexagonal coin.

He flipped it once more.

Clink.

The world stopped.

Literally. Wind froze. Sakura petals paused mid-air.

And he saw her—Asia Argento, walking across the courtyard, completely unaware.

But she was wrong.

She had six fingers.

And no shadow.

"…What the hell—"

{Flip it again!} Ddraig shouted.

Issei obeyed.

The world resumed.

Asia passed by with a smile, perfectly normal.

But Issei just stood there, panting.

"I think I'm breaking the world," he muttered.

Azazel's Gambit

At an underground chamber lined with arcane lenses and spell matrices, Azazel prepared a containment ritual—not for Amon, but for ideas infected by Amon.

He knew he couldn't trap the man directly.

But he could isolate the memetic trail—the fragments Amon left behind. Like the feather. Like the monocle.

He didn't notice the crack forming in the mirror near the ritual circle.

Or the words appearing behind him:

CONTAINMENT IS A LIE.

Amon's Cult Moves

The Witness, now fully robed, gathered seven others in the stairwell.

Each bore a mask—one smiling, one crying, one laughing, one silent, and the rest… indescribable.

They chanted Amon's name not as a god, but as a concept.

"Amon is the mask and the mirror."

"Amon is the door and the lock."

"Amon is the truth that breaks you."

As they chanted, the air itself changed. Not temperature—but tone. Like the world was listening.

Somewhere far above, the monocle pulsed again.

Climactic Mirror Confrontation

That same night, Rias followed the whispers in her head to the old storage building near the gymnasium.

The door opened itself.

Inside, the mirror sanctum had grown.

It now had dozens of mirrors, each reflecting a different version of herself.

Some wore crowns. Some were dead. One wore Amon's clothes.

In the center stood Amon, arms open, smiling.

"Welcome, dear Rias. Isn't it time we stopped pretending who you are?"

She summoned her demonic aura.

"Enough games. What do you want from me?"

Amon's smile didn't waver.

"I want nothing. I only offer clarity."

He reached up and placed the monocle on her face.

And then—

—Rias saw it all.

All her lives. All her deaths. All her lies.

She screamed.

But not in fear. Not in pain.

In laughter.

Rias begins awakening a dangerous new aspect—Half-Lie, Half-Lord—and begins subconsciously channeling Amon's narrative manipulation.

Issei resolves to confront Amon again, even if it kills him.

Azazel, realizing the containment failed, turns to Wong and says: "Plan B."

Amon, now outside the sanctum, watches the stars shift overhead, amused.

"Only ten more chapters until the climax," he muses.

"Let's raise the stakes."