The sky above Kuoh was unusually quiet that morning, as if the sun itself was holding its breath.
Inside the Occult Research Club, the atmosphere had grown cold. Not physically, but spiritually—subtle distortions lingered like phantom fingerprints. The magic circle in the corner hummed slightly off-key. The tea pot rattled even without heat.
Akeno noticed. So did Koneko. But neither said anything.
Rias hadn't shown up to school.
And no one remembered that three students were missing.
Not even Asia, who always noticed when classmates were gone. Their names were gone from roll call. Their desks now belonged to someone else.
But when Akeno glanced at an old group photo on the wall… she could swear there were three blurred figures in the background that shouldn't be there.
Wong Appears
Far away—at least by human terms—a portal opened within the interstice between Kuoh's leyline and the Mirror Sanctum's bleeding influence. It shimmered like a soap bubble, revealing a chamber within Kamar-Taj.
Out stepped Wong, Sorcerer Supreme in Doctor Strange's absence, holding a sealed scroll and wearing an expression of weary concern.
He looked around, taking in the intangible corrosion spreading like philosophical mold across the ley lines.
"This place is infected," he muttered.
A ripple of distorted laughter echoed in response—Amon's voice. But only faintly. Only enough to let Wong know he was being observed.
Wong walked to a nearby shrine once used for honoring fallen spirits. The offerings had turned to ash. The incense was burnt before it was ever lit.
"This isn't ordinary dimensional leakage," Wong said softly. "This is mythos interference. Story logic… breaking down."
He opened the scroll.
The contents shifted as he read them—not words, but evolving glyphs that reinterpreted themselves based on reader intent. He frowned.
Subject: Amon. Known aliases: The Error, Door of All Worlds, the Shattered Monocle.
Threat Level: Conceptual Hazard, Class Ω.
Containment Strategy: Unknown. Observation only.
"Even the Book of Vishanti has no defense against you," Wong muttered. "So why… this world?"
Issei's Internal Disruption
Issei Hyoudou walked through the school corridors with growing unease.
The coin had changed again. Now, it didn't just return to his hand—it spoke to him. Not in words, but impressions. Symbols. Numbers. Like a probability engine built by a lunatic.
Today, it showed him visions.
He walked past a girl who dropped her books and saw her trip and die—only for the vision to collapse into dust a second later.
It happened again when he looked at a teacher: a flicker of the man turning into ash. A potential timeline? A warning? A joke?
{Ddraig}, he whispered internally. What's happening to me?
{You're touching something higher than the fabric of fate. That coin is… a fracture. It lets you see into stories that could have been. Or should not be.}
Can I stop it?
{Would you want to?} Ddraig asked cryptically.
Issei gripped the coin tighter.
He remembered Amon's smile, that maddening certainty behind the monocle.
No, he couldn't trust this… but part of him wanted to understand it.
Rias' Fractured Reality
Meanwhile, Rias sat in her room at the Gremory estate—her physical body present, but her mind wandering in dimensions slightly offset from reality.
She had returned home after feeling unstable magic inside herself. But the mirror's visions wouldn't leave her.
Sometimes, she caught herself laughing at things she hadn't thought were funny. Other times, she saw herself wearing Amon's attire—monocle, cape, gloved hands—standing at the head of a table where devils, angels, and dragons bowed to her.
"I'm losing myself," she whispered.
"No," Amon's voice echoed faintly in the distance. "You're just seeing more of you."
Rias turned suddenly—but she was alone.
Or was she?
A note had appeared on her desk. Handwritten, in swirling black ink.
The game is rigged because the board is a lie. Flip it.
There was no signature. But there didn't need to be.
Azazel and Wong Meet
Atop a lonely shrine beneath Mount Naruyama, Azazel waited. He didn't need to send a message. He knew someone would come.
Wong stepped through a fold in space without ceremony.
"You've seen it," Wong said, without preamble.
"I've studied it," Azazel replied. "And I still don't understand it."
The two stood in silence for a moment.
"His name is Amon," Wong said finally. "He's a being who exists in simultaneous states—liar, trickster, messiah, god. His presence rewrites causality. Not through force, but conceptual subversion."
Azazel nodded. "So it's not just demonic or divine… It's symbolic."
"Yes," Wong confirmed. "And this world runs on symbols. Angels, Devils, Sacred Gears. Everything here is a metaphor given life. That's what drew him."
Azazel frowned. "So we're… toys?"
"Stories," Wong corrected. "He's here to break them."
Back at Kuoh – The Unraveling
That afternoon, a teacher burst into the faculty lounge in tears.
He couldn't remember why.
Only that something was missing. A concept? A student? A class? His identity felt scrambled, like a sentence that no longer made sense.
Sona Shitori—Student Council President and secret Devil—noticed the disturbance. She accessed the school's magical lattice, and what she found disturbed her:
Time signatures had begun looping in micro-fractures around Amon's original point of arrival.
Causality lines between students were unthreading—friendships breaking down without reason, memories unsynching.
Even her own diary had begun rewriting itself.
She called Tsubaki.
"We need to activate the Mirror Protocol," Sona said.
"But that was only theoretical—!"
"It's not anymore."
The Cult Awakens
In an abandoned stairwell, one of the students who had entered Amon's mirror realm without returning began scribbling frantically in a notebook.
His name used to be Daichi. Now he called himself The Witness.
His notebook was filled with ramblings:
"The monocle sees the lie."
"Every world is a mask. Every god a con."
"I saw my mother before she gave birth to me. She apologized."
"Amon is not chaos. Amon is truth unbound."
The Witness turned and stared at the wall, whispering a mantra.
Behind him, dozens of eyes blinked open across the bricks.
Not paint. Not illusion.
Eyes.
Watching.
Rias tries to return to normal, but starts instinctively seeing the "masks" people wear—some literal, some not.
Azazel and Wong agree to collaborate, but Wong warns: "If he brings the other him here—the Door—it's over."
Amon, from the top of a church roof, grins as he watches a butterfly with too many wings fly by.
"Every story wants to be told. I just let them out."