The next day began like any other at Kuoh Academy—sunlight filtering through windows, students murmuring through drowsy yawns, and Issei Hyoudou waking up far too late.
What wasn't normal was the notice on the bulletin board:
New After-School Lecture: "Rewriting Mythology: When Gods Lie" – Professor Amondó. Mandatory attendance for supernatural-affiliated students.
The Occult Research Club gathered around it in silence.
Akeno was the first to speak. "He's... calling us out."
Rias narrowed her eyes. "No, he's baiting us."
Koneko added, "He wants an audience."
Kiba nodded grimly. "So let's give him one."
After School. Clubroom Auditorium.
Amon had transformed the mundane space into a surreal amphitheater. The chairs were arranged in concentric spirals instead of rows. The lights dimmed on their own. Classical music played backward beneath whispers no one could quite place.
As the ORC members entered, the room hummed with possibility.
At the center stood Amon, dressed in an even more flamboyant version of his usual attire—tall top hat, crimson-trimmed coat, and a black monocle that pulsed faintly with power.
"Ah, my guests of honor," he said with a bow. "Please, sit. Or stand. Or hover—whatever fits your station."
Rias sat, refusing to be unsettled. "Why summon us?"
"To teach, of course," Amon said, flourishing a chalkboard into existence with a wave. "You're special. Supernatural. Dangerous. And quite bad at hiding it."
The board filled itself with symbols from Enochian, Kabbalah, and languages even Rias couldn't identify.
"I figured," he continued, "why limit myself to mundane minds when I can bend the brains of devils?"
Koneko's ears twitched. "You're not normal."
Amon grinned wider. "My dear girl, I'm absolutely abnormal."
Then, with a tap of his cane, the board changed.
It displayed the symbol of the Three Factions—Heaven, Underworld, and Fallen.
"Let's begin today's lesson," he announced. "How to break a truce."
Elsewhere: The Fallen Watch
Raynare sat within the shadows of the ruined church, fingers trembling as a new voice invaded her thoughts.
"Do you miss the glory? The fire? The screams of Eden?"
She turned sharply—no one there. Yet the altar bled golden ichor, and the cross overhead had been inverted with no physical touch.
Behind her, Mittelt shuddered. "Raynare... this place isn't right anymore."
"We've slept too long," Raynare murmured. "Something else is moving."
She felt it in her feathers. Something older than God. And far less merciful.
Back in the lecture hall...
Amon now paced in front of a diagram depicting the hierarchy of devils, complete with caricatures of the Satans drinking tea.
"Your society is built on a lie," he said cheerfully. "Lucifer didn't fall because of pride. He was pushed."
Rias slammed her hand on the desk. "What is your point?"
"That truth is elastic," Amon replied, tapping his monocle. "Stretch it far enough, and it snaps. Then, you can tie it into new knots."
He turned to Kiba. "How's your sword of betrayal coming along?"
Kiba froze. "How do you—?"
"I know many things," Amon said casually. "Like how you weep when you dream of your old comrades. Or how you still visit the fountain at midnight."
Kiba stood, summoning a sword. "Enough!"
But Amon didn't flinch. He simply flicked his cane—and the sword twisted into a feathered quill.
"You're in my classroom, boy. Sit down or I'll make you write your memoirs in blood and self-pity."
Kiba sat.
Issei, ever the chaotic neutral, whispered, "Kinda hot."
Amon winked. "You're not wrong."
At the Gremory estate...
Sirzechs Lucifer reviewed the anomaly report personally.
"No spiritual signature. No divine resonance. And no known demonic trace..."
Serafall appeared behind him, unusually serious. "Sona felt it too. She described him as a 'wild card wearing reality like a skin.'"
Sirzechs frowned. "Then he's not aligned with any faction?"
"Or he's above them all."
Sirzechs turned to Grayfia. "Double security around Rias. I have a feeling our little sister is dancing with a cosmic serpent."
Later That Night
Amon stood on the school roof, gazing down at Kuoh with arms outstretched.
Behind him, Rias appeared once again.
"You're playing a dangerous game," she warned. "The factions won't tolerate this forever."
Amon didn't turn. "Why do you assume I play within the boundaries of your factions?"
"What are you?"
He finally turned, eyes glinting behind the monocle.
"I am what happens when a story refuses to end."
He stepped forward, and the world seemed to darken around him.
"I am the lie that became real. The god who wore a mask until he forgot his own face. The whisper in the holy text that shouldn't be there."
He stepped even closer, until Rias could feel the temperature drop.
"I am Amon. And I've come to collect the truth."
Elsewhere in Kuoh...
Xenovia and Irina, dispatched by the Church, were already on patrol when a series of inverted crosses appeared along the street in perfect symmetry.
"Someone's mocking holy territory," Xenovia muttered.
Irina nodded. "The Church will want a report."
Then a voice echoed—mocking, sweet, and detached.
"You pray for salvation... but what if Heaven outsourced it to something worse?"
The street around them twisted. Every light became an eye. Every sign, a riddle.
They ran.
Amon's Apartment (which shouldn't exist)
Within a room that folded like origami and hummed like a choir of madmen, Amon sat writing in a journal.
Each page contained a prediction:
Issei will awaken his Sacred Gear tomorrow.
Raynare will fail.
Asia will be betrayed.
The boy will bleed.
The girl will kneel.
The devil will beg.
And I shall smile.
He closed the book and stood, cane in hand.
"Tomorrow, the dragon roars. Let's poke it."