The Phenex estate sat cloaked beneath ancient magic, a testament to the longevity and power of one of the great noble houses. In its heart, behind layers of wards and regal pride, Riser Phenex remained confined to his bedchamber, watched over by family and healers.
But nothing could mend what had already cracked.
He stared blankly at the ceiling, expression hollow. Flames flickered dimly around his body, lacking the vigor of a proper Phenex. The once-proud heir was reduced to murmurs and fragmented thoughts.
Outside the door, Lady Phenex paced. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she whispered to her husband.
"He doesn't respond," she said quietly. "Not to us. Not to healing. Even Ravel couldn't get through to him."
Lord Phenex folded his arms. "We must remain calm. We are noble devils. This… affliction is temporary."
"No, it isn't," Azazel said, appearing from a magic circle just inside the corridor. He wore a cloak and his usual half-smirk, though his eyes held no amusement.
Lady Phenex flinched. "Azazel…"
"I warned you before the game. Something was brewing in your son. You didn't believe me."
The Lord clenched his jaw. "We didn't see any signs—"
"No one ever does," Azazel interrupted. "That's the point."
He walked past them and opened the door.
Inside, Riser turned to face him.
The young noble's eyes were red—not the glow of power, but irritation, fatigue, and something else. Echoes.
"You're still here," Riser murmured.
"I'm always watching," Azazel replied calmly. "Even when you think I'm not."
He pulled a small device from his coat—something resembling a monocle carved from obsidian. He held it over his right eye and scanned the boy.
The lens pulsed once.
Azazel's face darkened.
"It's deeper than I thought…"
"What is it?" Lady Phenex asked.
Azazel turned. "A residual psychic stain. Not possession anymore—but… something closer to contamination. Like a fingerprint left in his soul. Amon didn't leave. He just… folded himself into Riser's subconscious."
Lord Phenex paled. "Can it be removed?"
"Maybe. But not without consequences."
—
Meanwhile, back at Kuoh Academy, the student body had no idea that one of the most powerful supernatural confrontations in recent memory had just occurred.
Issei found it surreal.
He sat at his desk, trying to pay attention to the teacher droning on about equations, but his mind buzzed with other numbers—battle stats, mana flow, the timing of his next training session.
Beside him, Asia scribbled quietly.
Behind him, Kiba was texting with Azazel, giving updates on the club's preparations.
When the bell rang, Issei stood up with a sigh.
"Clubroom?"
Kiba nodded.
The walk to the Occult Research Club was quiet, almost eerily so. The calm after the storm.
When they entered, Rias was already seated at the desk, eyes narrowed at a map of Kuoh. Several areas were marked in red.
"Activity?" Kiba asked.
Rias nodded. "Increased dimensional fluctuations. We think they're traces of Amon's influence."
"Like echoes?" Asia asked gently.
"Like attempts to anchor himself more firmly into our reality," Rias replied.
Issei clenched his fist. "We're not letting that happen."
Akeno entered next, carrying a tray of tea. "And yet we're not dealing with an ordinary invader. He's no devil, no dragon. He's a myth that walked out of the wrong book."
Koneko munched on a rice cracker and mumbled, "Even his magic feels fake."
"Not fake," Azazel said, stepping into the room through a secondary entrance. "Impossible."
Everyone turned to him.
He looked tired. Less amused than usual.
"I've spoken with the other leaders," he continued. "Michael, Serafall, and even some from the Church. They all agree—Amon must be contained, or the balance will shatter."
Rias folded her arms. "So what do we do?"
"We prepare a trap."
He pulled out a scroll and unfurled it across the table.
"This," he said, "is a ritual circle developed from old Grigori scripture mixed with reverse-engineered artifacts found in the ruins of the old city beneath Vatican territory. It's designed to isolate conceptual anomalies—like Amon."
Issei blinked. "That sounds… very complicated."
"It is. That's why you'll be the bait."
Issei froze.
"Excuse me?"
"Amon wants you, Issei. Or more specifically, he wants the narrative tethered to you—your potential, your fate as Red Dragon Emperor. He feeds on relevance, destiny, weight. That's what gives him power here."
Rias shook her head. "It's too dangerous. He's not ready."
Azazel looked her in the eye. "He won't be alone. We'll all be there. But this is a test run. A tether-point. We'll create a false anchor, something to lure Amon's attention. And we'll watch what happens."
Kiba nodded. "Like dangling bait on a hook."
"Exactly," Azazel said. "And if we're lucky, we might even get a response."
—
In a hidden mirror world—a fragmented dimension that mimicked Kuoh's skyline like a cracked painting—Amon stood atop a twisted spire made of glass and silver flame.
He gazed down at a floating shard of Rias' peerage, watching their movements, conversations, emotions—all echoing within the infinite reflections he had created.
"So they plan to lure me out," he whispered.
His voice echoed as if spoken by a hundred mouths in unison.
"They still do not understand."
He walked forward, each step fracturing and repairing the world beneath his feet.
"I do not come when summoned."
He smiled.
"I arrive when the story demands me."
One of the reflections twisted. Amon reached in and plucked a tiny mirror shard that showed Issei laughing with Asia.
"So pure. So afraid. So easy to rewrite."
He closed his palm.
The shard disappeared.
Then his eyes narrowed.
He looked across the expanse—and saw Azazel in one of the reflections, staring directly at him.
Amon's smile widened.
"Well then. It seems the game has begun."
—
Back at Kuoh, the preparations continued.
The club gathered at a sealed shrine on the outskirts of the town—far enough from civilians, yet strong enough in spiritual resonance to channel the binding ritual.
Rias stood at the edge, drawing sigils into the ground with powdered silver.
Akeno chanted softly beside her, reinforcing the barrier.
Issei stood at the center, wearing a modified training version of his Balance Breaker gear, its red armor muted to reduce output.
He exhaled slowly.
"I really hope this works."
Azazel adjusted the orb-like device from earlier. "It will. Just don't panic if something… looks back at you."
Issei blinked. "Wait, wha—"
A pulse of black light erupted from the mirror at the center of the circle.
A voice slithered through the air.
"Knock knock…"