April 28th, 2012, Gremory Main Residence, Afternoon.
The Gremory Castle was a masterpiece of architectural splendor, modeled after the grand human palaces of Caserta and Versailles.
But on this afternoon, its opulent halls and shining chambers were filled with a palpable, icy tension.
After the official proclamation of Riser's victory, Rias had been forced to return to the ancestral home with her parents. From the moment they had arrived, she had categorically refused to speak a single word to the Lord and Lady of the Gremory Pillar House, moving through the halls like a ghost, her gaze never meeting theirs.
"Rias, you should talk with Lord and Lady Gremory," Akeno suggested gently. The two girls were seated in Rias's bedroom, a sanctuary that now felt like a gilded cage. The red-haired heiress had refused to even walk the same halls as her parents.
"No," Rias answered, the single word final and absolute.
"Rias... this isn't going to resolve anything..." Akeno tried again, her voice soft with concern.
"I don't care about resolving it," Rias replied, her voice trembling with a raw emotional weakness she could no longer conceal. She looked around the room, a sudden fear gripping her. "Akeno... where are the others?"
Akeno looked away, unable to meet her king's gaze. "They have returned to Kuoh. They only let me stay with you... as your queen."
The news was a final, crushing blow. "What!? Why!? It's not fair!" Rias's voice rose, cracking with emotion. "First, they dictate my future, then they take away my family?" The hot tears threatened to return, born of a profound sense of injustice.
"I am sorry, Rias..." Akeno whispered, her own heart aching. There were no words that could mend this. All she could do was remain, a silent pillar of support in the storm of her friend's despair.
In one of the grand receiving halls below, a starkly different scene was unfolding. The lords of House Gremory and Phenex were engaged in a polite, if strained, celebration of their impending union.
"Marquis Phenex, I wonder. Where is young Riser?" Zeoticus asked, offering a glass of fine, blood-red wine to his guest.
"Riser was tired from the Rating Game," Blazalon replied, accepting the glass with a nod. "His sister said he wants to have some rest before the ceremony happening in two days." The subtext was clear: Riser's victory had been demanding, and he was recuperating for his triumph.
"I see. Then I can only wish him the best of rest," Zeoticus replied, the epitome of diplomatic politeness.
The two lords then began to discuss the intricate web of devil politics, their houses now bound together more tightly than ever.
Venelana sat quietly, her mind not on politics but on the day's earlier events. The presence of the Bael Ancestor at the arena troubled her.
'Was he concerned about the Phenex House potentially shifting from its neutrality? No, the Great King Faction is far too influential to be threatened by that.'
Her thoughts were a tangled web of political calculation and maternal worry. Her gaze drifted towards the door, as if she could see through the layers of stone and finery to her daughter's room upstairs.
'Rias...' The memory of the cold, hurt stare in her daughter's usually warm eyes grieved her soul deeply. Yet, she comforted herself with the old, cold logic of their society.
'She will learn to accept it,' came her final, resigned decision. 'Just like me and Zeoticus did. Rias will only need to acquaint herself with Riser. In time, she will see it is for the best.'
It was a mantra she repeated to herself, hoping that by hearing it enough, she might one day believe it.
April 30th, 2012, Phenex Castle, Afternoon.
The very air within Phenex Castle seemed to vibrate with a palpable, manufactured joy, thick with the cloying scent of rare blossoms and the low, polished hum of aristocratic conversation.
It was a day meticulously crafted for history, a golden entry in the annals of the Underworld's great families.
The grand dance hall, a cavernous space of marble and gold, was adorned with opulent and exotic decor that spoke of the Phenex family's immense wealth and influence.
Swathes of silk in crimson and gold, the house colors, hung between columns, and immense floral arrangements, bursting with flowers that glowed with their own inner fire, perfumed the air.
Soon, the union between the illustrious House Gremory and the noble House Phenex would be formally sealed, binding their fates and fortunes together in a ceremony that was less a celebration and more a political coronation.
In a lavishly appointed antechamber, Riser Phenex stood before a full-length mirror, his fingers fumbling with the silk tie at his throat.
The reflection that stared back was that of a perfect devil noble: impeccably dressed in a tailored suit of deepest black, his blonde hair styled to effortless perfection.
But the eyes that met his own in the glass held a quiet, frantic energy that belied the calm exterior.
The door opened without a knock, and his father, Blazalon Phenex, entered with the regal air of a man surveying his domain.
"Riser, how are the preparations going?" he said, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. He came to stand beside his son, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, their images reflected side-by-side in the mirror. "Look at you. A proud devil, ready to take charge of the future relationships between two Pillar Houses. I am proud of you, son."
The words, which should have been a balm to his soul, instead felt like a weight.
"Thanks... Father," Riser replied, his voice brief, almost taciturn. He couldn't meet his father's gaze in the reflection, his own eyes dropping to the intricate pattern of his cufflinks.
A flicker of concern, sharp and calculating, passed over Blazalon's features. "Are you still feeling unwell? Do you want me to call a doctor?" he asked, his tone losing some of its warmth.
He had noted his son's shaken demeanor ever since the Rating Game, a uncharacteristic quiet that had settled over him like a shroud. The vibrant, boastful son he knew had been replaced by this subdued, almost haunted figure.
"Don't worry, Father. I will manage," Riser answered, the haste in his voice a clear dismissal. "You should get back to greeting our guests. I will be out momentarily."
Hearing the finality in his son's tone, Blazalon's expression tightened imperceptibly. He gave a short, sharp nod, turned on his heels, and strode out of the room without another word, the door clicking shut with an air of finality.
Now, truly alone, Riser's composure cracked. He exhaled a heavy, shuddering breath that seemed to come from the very depths of his being, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, ruining its meticulous arrangement.
His gaze was drawn back to the mirror, to the stranger wearing his face.
"Everything's fine," he murmured to his reflection, the words a desperate incantation. His voice was steady, but it was the steadiness of a man clinging to a precipice.
"That thing is gone. Truly gone. Just breathe, Riser. Just breathe."
He took a long, deep breath, as if trying to expel the last remnants of the corrosive unease that had been festering within him. He straightened his posture, squaring his shoulders, forcing the familiar mask of arrogant confidence back into place.
He was Riser Phenex. He was immortal. He had won.
But the foundation of that confidence was rotten. A Persona is meant to be the truest reflection of one's inner self, the manifestation of thoughts, ideals, and willpower given form.
But when this sacred process is forced, when it is not a natural awakening but a violent implantation, it takes a catastrophic toll on the mind. The strain is immense, creating the same degenerative effects the artificial Persona users of the Strega group had suffered.
However, what Riser hosted was far worse than a mere artificial Persona. It was a Reverse Persona, and its after-effects were not merely degenerative; they were actively parasitic, a poison for the soul through and through.
The experience was akin to a body receiving a blood transfusion of a violently incompatible type.
Every cell, every instinct, rebels against the foreign, alien fluid, recognizing it as a threat to its very existence.
A similar, yet far more profound struggle had been raging within Riser Phenex.
But this war was not waged in the veins and arteries; it was a desperate, silent battle within the sanctum of his mind and the core of his soul, a constant, exhausting defiance against the invasive force that sought to consume his identity and rewrite his very being.
The truth, a cold and terrifying secret, was that Riser Phenex would have died within a matter of hours if the Reverse Phoenix had not been sealed by Nyarlathotep.
The psychic and spiritual corrosion was so severe, the rejection so absolute, that his devilish constitution, famed for its resilience, was being systematically dismantled from the inside out.
Such was the inherent, existential danger a Reverse Persona posed to any living being.
A sharp, polite knock echoed through the room, jolting him from his grim thoughts. "Who's there?" Riser asked, quickly recomposing himself, his voice regaining its practiced, noble cadence.
"Lord Riser, it is a pleasure to speak with you once more. Your Lord Father informed me you might be in need of some assistance," came the smooth, cultured voice of Mr. Jun.
A genuine, if weary, smile touched Riser's lips. The eccentric tailor was a welcome distraction. "Mr. Jun," he said, opening the door to reveal the elegant, black-haired man.
"To what do I owe this visit? I must admit, you have outdone yourself with the suit you tailored. It is exquisite." He gestured to his own attire, trying to anchor himself in the mundane reality of fine fabric and craftsmanship.
"I like to consider myself a master of my art," Mr. Jun replied with a modest bow of his head. "However, the pathway to artistic greatness is by no means finished for me. There are still many facets of the mortal—and immortal—heart I have yet to uncover. There are still so many beautiful, terrible, and fascinating things I have yet to create before I can be truly satisfied."
Riser smirked, the philosophical bent of the tailor intriguing him. "A fascinating perspective on life," he commented, feeling a sliver of normalcy return.
"You are too kind. But let us cut the cackle," Jun said, his tone shifting to one of pleasant business. "I am here to offer my personal congratulations on your wedding and to deliver a special gift your Father commissioned from me."
From within his coat, Mr. Jun produced a small velvet box. He opened it to reveal a bracelet of gleaming, pristine gold, its surface intricately worked into a pattern of overlapping feathers, each one meticulously detailed to resemble the majestic plumes of a phoenix. It was a piece of breathtaking artistry.
"I had intended to give this to your Father so he could present it to you personally," Mr. Jun explained, "but I saw him quite occupied with the pleasantries of the arriving guests. Therefore, I took the liberty of delivering it in his stead."
"A gift... from my Father?" A genuine, unguarded smile, born of a deep-seated longing, appeared on Riser's lips.
All his life, he had struggled in the shadow of his elder brothers, particularly Ruval, desperate to prove himself a worthy son, a true scion of the Phenex name.
This bracelet, a symbol of recognition, and the proud words his father had spoken earlier, felt like a balm on a wound he had carried for years. It warmed a part of his heart that had long felt cold and overlooked.
"Thank you for this, Mr. Jun," Riser said, taking the box and fastening the bracelet around his wrist. It felt cool and heavy, a tangible promise of belonging. "I wish you an enjoyable time during the ceremony."
"Oh, I have no doubt I will find it most entertaining, Lord Riser," Mr. Jun replied, a subtle, knowing glint in his eyes that Riser was too preoccupied to notice.
As Mr. Jun descended the grand staircase towards the main hall, his mind was a whirlwind of pleasant anticipation.
'Everything is set. The stage is dressed, the players are in position. Only the guest of honor was missing...'
The Crawling Chaos's trail of thought halted abruptly as a wide, genuine smile spread across his lips. There, entering the hall amidst the peerage of Rias Gremory, was Makoto Yuki. The Universe. The Messiah.
"We meet at last, Makoto," Nyarlathotep murmured under his breath, the words lost in the crowd's murmur. "I am sure you will find what I have prepared for you to be... profoundly enlightening."