April 14th, 2012, Whisper in the Breeze, Evening
The lingering tension from the confrontation at the shrine seemed to have seeped into the very walls of Kegawa's shop, settling like a fine dust over the assembled group.
The evening light, filtering through the windows of the second-floor sitting area, cast long, weary shadows. Around a low, lacquered table sat the two yokais, the two devil princesses, and the blue-haired messiah.
The air, thick with the scent of brewing tea and unspoken anxieties from all the presents, was only just beginning to clear.
Makoto had just finished his explanation, his voice a steady, low monotone that belied the incredible nature of his story. He had laid it all out for Tosen and Kegawa: the nature of Shadows, the Collective Unconscious, his role as the Universe, and the grave threat posed by Izanami and her father, the entity known as Nyarlathotep.
The weight of his words hung in the room, a palpable force.
Tosen, his former recklessness and bravado utterly deflated by the day's events, looked pale. He absorbed the information with a grim seriousness, his hands clenched tightly on his knees.
The revelation that the goddess of death herself had manifested in Kuoh, and that he had been her unwitting pawn, was a profound shock. He slowly bowed his head, his voice formal and heavy with newfound respect. "I will immediately go to alert Lord Nurarihyon of this... Lord Yuki."
Makoto visibly cringed at the honorific. "Just Makoto is fine," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. He had never sought titles or reverence; he was simply a person who did what needed to be done.
Kegawa, being the pragmatic master he was, placed a calming hand on his former student's shoulder.
"You're being too hasty, Tosen. You need to rest first. For real this time, am I clear?" His voice was firm, etched with a concern that spoke of their long history. "Your body and spirit have been through an ordeal. Charging off to the capital in this state helps no one."
The shisa's shoulders slumped in a gesture of pure defeat. The fight had truly been drained from him. "Okay, master," he nodded, the agreement a testament to his exhaustion.
Sona Sitri, the more diplomatic between the two devils, smoothly interjected. "You are welcome here in Kuoh, Mr. Raion," she offered, her voice cool and precise. "The Sitri clan has several secure properties within the town. You are welcome to use one for as long as you need to recuperate." She adjusted her glasses, the gesture as calculated as her words.
Rias Gremory, nodding in agreement beside her rival, added her own support. "The Gremory family would also be happy to extend its hospitality. After today, it's clear we all have a common interest in Kuoh's safety." The offer was genuine, a sign of the fragile alliance forming in the face of a greater threat.
"Thanks..." Tosen said hesitantly, clearly unused to accepting help, especially from devils. The world had indeed turned upside down.
Makoto finished the last of his tea, the warm, earthy flavor a small comfort. He placed the cup back on the table with a soft click. "Thanks for everything," he said to Kegawa, his gratitude simple and direct.
The older yokai waved a dismissive hand, though a small smile touched his lips. "It's the least I could do after you saved my fool of a student and stood against... that." He shuddered slightly, not needing to name Izanami. His expression then shifted to one of curiosity. "Wait, Yuki. Why hasn't Mochizuki come? I thought he was with you."
Rias perked up at the name. "Oh, yes. I wanted to speak with him before... well, before all that happened," she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the now-peaceful shrine.
"He said he had to speak with Elizabeth about something urgent."
April 14th, 2012, The Velvet Room, Evening.
The transition from the warm, wood-paneled shop to the cool, ethereal blue of the Velvet Room was always a disorienting shift.
Here, outside of reality and between mind and matter, the atmosphere was one of suspended anticipation. Ryoji Mochizuki sat at the elegant bar, a cup of tea steaming in front of him, though his usual airy demeanor was replaced by an exasperated and deeply concerned frown.
Perched on the countertop itself, ignoring all conventional use of furniture, was Elizabeth. Her long, platinum white hair seemed to glow in the room's strange light, and a playful smile was on her lips, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, which held a sharp, calculating glint.
"Shinigami, really?" Elizabeth mused, tilting her head. "Our Izanami hasn't the greatest imagination, does she? It's such a dreary, overused concept already." Her tone was light, almost singsong, but there was an undercurrent of disdain.
"Attendant, this is a serious matter," Ryoji complained, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He took a sip of tea, the gesture more for something to do than out of any desire for it.
"Oh, I know that all too well," Elizabeth replied, her smile tightening. The playful facade cracked for a microsecond, revealing a flash of something cold and furious beneath.
"Izanami has not only attacked my dearest guest but also threatened my other one and dear friend, Aigis." She said the name with particular emphasis, her fingers tracing the rim of a glass that had materialized in her hand. "It is... exceptionally poor form."
"Yeah..." Ryoji's voice was quiet, his worry finally breaking through. "What if Nyarlathotep can really do it? What if he can cross into our original world?"
The fear was not for himself, but for the friends he had left behind, for the girl made of metal and unwavering loyalty that was so dear to Makoto even though she hated the Death utterly and without room to misunderstanding.
Elizabeth hopped down from the counter, her heels clicking softly on the impossibly clean floor. She placed a hand on Ryoji's shoulder, her gaze now utterly serious.
"Then we will do precisely as Makoto said. We will not let him. His will is our will, and his promise is our mandate. So," she said, her tone shifting to one of businesslike efficiency, "change the subject before we spiral into unproductive dread. What have you discerned about that lesser Shadow?"
Ryoji nodded, grateful for the focus. He set his cup down. "It was a Shadow of the Chariot Arcana. Its desire was singular and potent: wealth, abundance, the raw essence of conquest and material gain." He closed his eyes, recalling the sensation.
"When Izanami appeared, the connection flared. I felt a great, overwhelming disdain emanating from her, specifically directed at a certain shinto god: Daikokuten."
Elizabeth's eyebrows rose. The God of Wealth, Agriculture, and the Household. "Mmmh," she hummed, piecing it together. "So, a Shadow born not from a human's suppressed desire, but from Izanami's own corrupted wish to claim the soul—the very domain—of the god Daikokuten. From your words she seemed utterly consumed by her anger toward the entire shinto pantheon." A more troubling question formed in her mind.
"Death, do you believe she can create more? An entire taxonomy of these new Shadows?"
The air in the Velvet Room grew colder. Ryoji's usual lightness was entirely absent, replaced by the grim gravitas of the Avatar of Death he once was.
"I fear so. Our initial assessment was wrong. Izanami is far stronger than I, or any of the others in Makoto's mind, had anticipated." He met Elizabeth's gaze, his own filled with a dark certainty. "It must mean Nyarlathotep is growing stronger, feeding on the discord. He is probably already more powerful than I was as Nyx's Avatar. The only sliver of fortune in this is that we destroyed Shadow Azazel before its evolution was complete."
Elizabeth paced a few steps, her blue gown swirling around her. "Then we must prepare for two scenarios. In the best case, her power is limited. She can only manifest one type of Shadow for each Major Arcana—a Chariot, a Emperor, a Priestess, and so on."
She stopped and turned, her expression grim.
"In the worst case, her hatred is so vast and specific that she can create a unique type of Shadow for every single god in the shinto pantheon. An entire army born from her personal vendetta."
The silence that followed was heavier than any sound. Outside the elegant confinement of the Velvet Room, the world continued, unaware of the terrifying possibilities taking shape in the space between dreams and reality.