04/06/2012, Underworld, Nighttime
Sirzechs Lucifer, the crimson-haired Satan currently bearing the mantle of Lucifer, sighed heavily as his quill scratched across the bottom of yet another parchment of bureaucratic nightmares.
The mountain of documents on his obsidian desk seemed to mock him, a testament to the endless bureaucracy governing the Underworld.
"Bureaucracy be damned," he muttered, rubbing his temples. The flickering light of enchanted sconces cast long shadows in the grand, yet oppressively silent, office.
A soft, precise knock echoed through the chamber. "Enter," Sirzechs called, the weariness momentarily replaced by a flicker of relief at the interruption.
The door opened soundlessly, revealing Grayfia Lucifuge. Her silver hair was immaculate, her maid uniform pristine, her expression the picture of serene professionalism, though a subtle warmth softened her ice-blue eyes when they rested on her husband.
"My Lord," she greeted with a curtsey that was both respectful and intimate.
"Oh, Grayfia," Sirzechs smiled, the tension easing from his shoulders. "A welcome sight. Please tell me it's time for a break involving something stronger than ink."
Grayfia allowed the faintest ghost of a smile. "We have received an urgent communication from Lady Rias. She requests to speak with you immediately. It bears the priority seal."
Sirzechs brightened instantly at his sister's name, then registered the urgency. "Rias? For me?"
He pushed his chair back, the weariness vanishing. Grayfia produced a sleek, obsidian communication device reserved for Satan-level emergencies.
Sirzechs snatched it, his earlier levity replaced by focused concern. "My dear Rias!" His voice was warm but carried an undercurrent of worry.
"Isn't it nighttime in the human world? What's—"
Rias's voice cut through, high-pitched and trembling with barely contained panic. "Brother! There's an emergency! A huge emergency here in Kuoh! Sona is calling Lady Leviathan! There was… there was something in the sky! Horrible! And then… a pillar of light! Divine light! I don't… I don't know what's happening! It felt… wrong!"
Her words tumbled out, breathless and laced with genuine terror.
Sirzechs's playful demeanor vanished. His crimson eyes hardened, radiating an intensity that momentarily made the room feel colder.
"Rias," his voice was calm, authoritative, cutting through her panic. "Calm down. Breathe. Describe what you saw. Slowly."
"It was… massive! Wings… so many black wings! And a face… and arms! It screamed, Brother! It screamed and… then the light came! Pure, holy light! It destroyed it, I think… but…" Rias struggled to articulate the cosmic horror.
"Understood," Sirzechs stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Stay where you are. Do not engage. We're coming." He severed the connection, the device clicking ominously in the sudden silence. He looked at Grayfia, his expression grim.
"Kuoh. Now. Something attacked. Divine light was involved. Rias and Sona are unharmed, but terrified. Utterly terrified"
Grayfia nodded once, already weaving a complex teleportation circle beneath their feet. Before the sigils could fully ignite, the office door slammed open.
"ZECHS!" Serafall Leviathan stormed in, her usually vibrant pink hair slightly disheveled, her star-tipped wand already sparking with chaotic energy. Her eyes, usually sparkling with manic energy, were wide with maternal fury.
"Sona! Kuoh! NOW!"
Without waiting for a response, she slashed her wand through the air, a swirling vortex of water and starlight erupting around her—a personalized, highly unstable teleportation spell.
Grayfia rolled her eyes imperceptibly at the Leviathan's dramatic entrance but didn't pause. Her own circle flared with precise, controlled power.
"We will appear on the signature of the divine residue, Lady Leviathan. Try not to level the town upon arrival," she stated dryly as the world dissolved around them.
04/06/2012, Kuoh Town, Nighttime
Reality snapped back into focus on a hill overlooking the smoldering remains of the abandoned church. The scene was one of devastation.
Stone laid shattered, timbers were charred and splintered, and the air hung heavy with the acrid tang of ozone, burnt feathers, and something colder, more alien—the lingering echo of void and erased divinity.
Sirzechs and Grayfia materialized with practiced grace, their senses immediately scanning the ruin.
Serafall appeared moments later in a splash of displaced water and shimmering stardust, her gaze sweeping the area until it locked onto a figure kneeling amidst the rubble, cradling something—no, someone—in his arms.
Recognition flared, followed by incandescent rage.
"You!" Serafall snarled, her voice losing all its usual playful cadence, becoming a blade of pure ice. Her aura, the vast, crushing pressure of the Leviathan, exploded outwards.
The very air crackled with the promise of obliterating frozen landscapes. She raised her wand, chaotic energy coalescing into a sphere of swirling, destructive water.
"What have you done to my Sona's town, Fallen?!"
Sirzechs, though equally tense, placed a restraining hand on Serafall's shoulder. His own power, the terrifying, infinitely dense potential of the Power of Destruction, simmered just beneath his crimson gaze, but reason held it in check.
Starting a war here, now, over assumptions… Azazel wasn't usually this brazen.
His eyes narrowed, taking in the scene: Azazel looked… haggard. Desperate. And the boy in his arms… Sirzechs felt a pang of concern unrelated to politics.
"Governor General," Sirzechs said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of Lucifer's authority. "Explain your presence. And the state of that human."
Elizabeth, standing nearby observing the tension with detached curiosity, chose that moment to interject. She tilted her head, looking between the bristling Serafall, the watchful Sirzechs, and the distraught Azazel.
"Friends of yours?" she asked Azazel innocently. He didn't respond, his attention solely on the unnervingly still form of Makoto.
"Are you a Fallen Angel too?" Serafall barked at Elizabeth, her wand still trained on Azazel.
"What are you both doing here? And what have you done to that boy?" Her fury was now mingled with suspicion directed at the enigmatic woman.
Elizabeth merely smiled faintly. "You all seem rather… tense. Perhaps introductions are in order?"
Azazel finally looked up, his golden eyes meeting Sirzechs's. They were bloodshot, filled with a frantic energy Sirzechs had never seen in the usually sardonic Governor.
"Lucifer, Leviathan," Azazel's voice was hoarse, strained. "I apologize for the circumstances, but explanations must wait. This boy needs urgent medical attention. I must take him to Grigori immediately."
He shifted Makoto slightly, revealing the boy's pale, lifeless face. Sirzechs felt a jolt. The boy looked dead.
Before Azazel could move, Elizabeth glided smoothly between him and the Satans.
"Councillor," she said, her voice calm yet carrying an undeniable weight. "Give Makoto to me. Then you can deal with these… enthusiastic individuals."
Her smile was serene, but it sent a shiver of unease down Azazel's spine. He hesitated, torn between instinct and the memory of Makoto's trust in her.
The standoff was broken by the arrival of Rias and Sona, sprinting up the hill, followed closely by Akeno, Kiba, and Koneko.
"Yuki!" Rias and Sona cried out in unison, their voices raw with fear as they saw the unconscious boy in Azazel's arms. Sona paled further, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Rias!" Sirzechs's demeanor instantly softened, relief washing over his features.
"Sona!" Serafall shrieked, her rage evaporating as she flied past Azazel in a spray of snowflakes, engulfing her little sister in a bone-crushing hug.
"My precious Sona! You're safe! I was so worried!"
Sona struggled futilely in the vice-like embrace, her cheeks flushing crimson. "Sister! Release me! Yuki is in danger! It is my duty as Sitri heiress to protect the inhabitants of this town!" Her voice was muffled against Serafall's shoulder.
Serafall gasped dramatically, pulling back slightly to stare at Sona. "What? What? What? My little Sona has a crush on a boy?"
She squealed, hugging Sona even tighter and bouncing on the spot.
"Tell me everything! Is he smart? Strong? Does he appreciate your organizational charts?"
Sona's blush deepened to scarlet. "N-no! W-what are y-you saying? I-it's n-not l-like that! It's… it's duty!" she stammered, mortified.
"My Sona is so adorable when she's flustered!" Serafall cooed, ignoring Sona's protests. "Don't worry, your big sister will fix this situation and bring your little boyfriend back to you!"
She turned back towards Azazel, her expression shifting back to protective fury, though now tinged with a bizarre sense of mission.
"Hand over Sona's beau, Governor!"
Meanwhile, Sirzechs had descended into his own brand of familial chaos. He swept Rias into a hug that lifted her slightly off the ground. "Oh Rias! I was so worried!" he whined dramatically. "You've grown taller since last week! And your hair is shinier!"
"Brother! This isn't the time!" Rias protested, trying to push him away, her face flushed with embarrassment. "And we saw each other last week!"
"It felt like an eternity!" Sirzechs lamented, setting her down but keeping an arm around her shoulders. "The paperwork, Rias! It devours time! I swear Grayfia hides extra forms just to torment me!"
A loud, exasperated sigh echoed from Grayfia. "Lord Lucifer," she stated, her voice colder than the depths of space. "You are Satan Lucifer. Cease this juvenile behavior immediately, especially during an official duty."
Sirzechs froze. Grayfia only used that tone—the 'wife' tone, not the 'maid' tone—when she was at the absolute limit of her patience. He slowly turned to face her, the playful light in his eyes replaced by a flicker of genuine apprehension.
"You… you can't disagree the paperwork is soul-crushing, Grayfia…" he ventured weakly.
Grayfia didn't blink. "Put Rias down and comport yourself with the dignity of your station, Sirzechs. Now."
Chills ran down Sirzechs's spine. He released Rias instantly, straightening his posture, his expression smoothing into one of serious authority. "Right. Of course. Duty."
Elizabeth observed the bizarre spectacle of the two most powerful Devils in the Underworld being scolded by their partners with undisguised fascination.
"Are all Devils like this?" she mused aloud, more to herself than anyone.
Azazel ignored her, his focus solely on Makoto. "We have to get him to a healer," he insisted, his voice tight with desperation. "Let me take him to Grigori!"
Elizabeth shook her head, her gaze steady. "Makoto is completely fine. Give him to me."
"FINE?!" Azazel roared, the sound raw and ragged. "He's freezing! His heart isn't beating! How can you possibly say he's fine?! I'm taking him to Grigori now!"
Driven by panic and the conviction that every second counted, Azazel reached into his coat and pulled out a small, intricately inscribed scroll—a pre-charged teleportation artifact linked directly to Grigori's medical facilities.
He began to unfurl it, magic circles swirling around the parchment.