I catch the flying teen with one hand, my claws instinctively extending to secure my grip. His eyes widen in terror as he dangles from my grasp, feet kicking uselessly in the air. Something feels off about my body—lighter, faster, but somehow less substantial. The hellfire in my veins still burns, but it's muted, like a furnace banked for the night rather than the inferno that consumed the Nexus.
"What the fuck?" the kid gasps, staring at my face. "Your eyes—they're glowing!"
I set him down more gently than I probably should, given that he nearly crashed into us. "What kind of magic was that?" I demand, my voice carrying less of that hellish resonance than I'm used to.
The teen backs away, confusion written across his features. "Magic? That was just standard Battle Aura technique. Are you foreigners or something?"
Battle Aura? The term tickles something in my memory—fragments of knowledge from before my imprisonment, from a time when I still indulged in human entertainment. Before I can pursue the thought, the kid's opponent approaches, hands still glowing with what I now recognize as ki energy, not demonic power.
"Hey, who are these cosplayers?" the second teen asks, eyeing Caleif and me with open curiosity. "Your costumes are sick! The contacts especially—how'd you get them to glow like that?"
Cosplayers? Costumes? I look down at my hands and realize with a jolt that while my claws are still present, they're smaller, less lethal-looking. The armor beneath my skin hasn't disappeared, but it's changed—sleeker, more stylized, almost like something from...
"Holy shit," I mutter, the pieces finally clicking together. "We're in an anime."
Caleif smacks my arm rather hard. "This isn't a fucking anime. This is different." She says as she laughs and then coughs and stops. "We should ask them more about this world, maybe we can ask where they learned how to do this and join them. It might be like the demon school. Only for…Well magic powered humans." A sigh escapes my lips as I breathe in and pull my energy back in to resemble a human. Very frustrating.
"We're new here and want to enroll in the school, where ever it may be." I say as I feel my energy dim. One of the teenagers looks me up and down and shakes his head. "I guess I can show it to you, but in this area there are some powerful students, but since you're transfer students it shouldn't be so bad."
The teenager's casual dismissal grates against something primal in me, but I force the hellfire in my chest to bank lower. Whatever this realm is, it operates on different rules than the ones I've grown accustomed to. The armor beneath my skin shifts restlessly, recognizing the suppression but not fighting it.
"Transfer students," I repeat, tasting the words. They feel strange on my tongue—too innocent, too normal for what I've become. "Right. That's exactly what we are."
Caleif shoots me a warning look, her crimson eyes flickering with amusement despite her attempt at seriousness. Even in this transformed state, she can read me better than anyone. She knows I'm fighting the urge to grab this kid by the throat and demand proper answers about what kind of realm casually teaches teenagers to throw around energy attacks.
"I'm Hiroshi," the first teen says, apparently recovered from nearly being launched into us. "This is Kenji. We're second-years at Tokyo Metropolitan Academy for Enhanced Individuals."
Enhanced Individuals. The term sends a ripple of recognition through me, though I can't place exactly why. Something about it feels familiar, like a half-remembered dream from before my imprisonment.
"Enhanced how?" I ask, trying to keep my voice level despite the questions burning in my throat.
Kenji grins, holding up his hand. Energy crackles between his fingers—not demonic power, not angelic grace, but something else entirely. Something that feels almost... human, but amplified beyond normal limitations.
"Battle Aura, like I said. Everyone who gets into the Academy has some kind of enhanced ability. Super strength, energy manipulation, enhanced reflexes—that kind of thing." He tilts his head, studying my face with uncomfortable intensity. "What's your enhancement? Those eyes are definitely not normal."
I exchange a glance with Caleif, seeing my own uncertainty reflected in her expression. How do we explain that my "enhancement" involves five thousand years of torture in Hell and the ability to tear through dimensional barriers with my bare hands?
"It's... complicated," I settle on, which is probably the understatement of several millennia.
"Complicated enhancements usually mean really powerful ones," Hiroshi observes, his earlier fear replaced by curiosity. "The Academy loves students with unique abilities. You'll probably get fast-tracked into the advanced classes."
Advanced classes. The phrase makes me want to laugh—or possibly scream. I've gone from teaching cosmic barrier mechanics to interdimensional graduate students to being a "transfer student" in what appears to be some kind of superhuman high school.
"Where is this Academy?" Caleif asks, her voice carefully neutral. "We're... not familiar with the area."
Kenji points down the street, where I can now make out a massive complex of buildings rising against the Tokyo skyline. It's impossibly large, defying the normal architectural constraints of the city, as if someone took a university campus and compressed it into a space that shouldn't be able to contain it.
"About ten minutes that way," he says. "Though if you're really transfer students, you should probably head to the administrative building first. They'll want to test your abilities before placing you in classes."
Test my abilities. The thought sends a dark thrill through me that I immediately suppress. These kids have no idea what they're suggesting—what kind of "testing" someone like me might be capable of.
"Thanks," I manage, fighting to keep the hellish growl out of my voice. "We appreciate the help."
As Hiroshi and Kenji walk away, still chattering about their training session, I turn to Caleif with questions burning in my throat.
"What the hell is this place?" I whisper, low enough that my enhanced hearing confirms the teens can't overhear.
"I don't know," she admits, her own confusion evident. "But look around—really look. The energy signatures, the way reality feels here."
I extend my senses, probing the dimensional fabric around us. She's right—everything feels different. Not wrong, exactly, but shifted. Like someone took the normal rules of physics and twisted them just enough to allow for things that should be impossible.
"It's like a pocket dimension," I realize, the pieces clicking together. "But not artificial. Natural. A realm where the barriers between possible and impossible are thinner."
"Which would explain why humans here can manipulate energy like demons," Caleif concludes. "The rules are simply different."
I nod, feeling the armor beneath my skin pulse with something like excitement. A realm with different rules. A place where what I've become might not be an aberration, but simply another form of "enhancement."
"So," I say, a grin spreading across my transformed features, "shall we go see what this Academy has to offer?"
Caleif grins, her eyes alight with mischief I haven't seen since before my imprisonment. "I've always wanted to go back to school," she says with mock innocence. "Though I doubt their curriculum covers 'How to Dismember Immortal Beings 101.'"
I snort, the sound almost normal without the hellish resonance. "Let's try not to dismember anyone on the first day. We should blend in until we understand the rules here."
We make our way toward the towering Academy complex, my senses still adjusting to this realm's unique energy signatures. Everything feels simultaneously familiar and alien—like a dream constructed from fragments of memories I didn't know I still possessed.
The streets around us pulse with life. Teenagers with glowing eyes, metallic skin, or fingers trailing wisps of elemental energy move among ordinary humans with casual indifference. No one screams. No one runs. No one tries to establish artificial barriers between the enhanced and unenhanced.
It's... peaceful. The kind of coexistence I spent centuries advocating for before my imprisonment.
"They're not hiding," I murmur, watching a girl casually lift a vending machine to retrieve a fallen coin beneath it. "Their abilities are just... accepted."
"A world without Purifiers," Caleif observes, her voice soft with wonder. "Without artificial divisions between those with power and those without."
The thought sends an unexpected pang through me. What would Elara think of this place? Would she see it as validation of everything she believed in—that different types of beings could coexist without fear or artificial separation?
I push the thought away before grief can take hold again. Focus on the present. On understanding this new realm and what it might offer someone like me—someone who exists beyond normal classification.
As we approach the Academy gates, I notice security stations manned by adults with the same enhanced energy signatures as the students. Their eyes track us with professional assessment rather than fear or suspicion.
"State your business," one of them says as we reach the checkpoint.
"We're... transfer students," I reply, adopting the cover story provided by Hiroshi and Kenji. "Here to register."
The guard raises an eyebrow, studying my glowing eyes and Caleif's otherworldly beauty with practiced neutrality. "International transfers?"
"You could say that," Caleif answers smoothly. "Very international."
He nods, tapping something into a tablet. "Head to the administrative building—central complex, north wing. Ask for Director Yamamoto. She handles all special admissions cases."
Special admissions. That sounds promising—or potentially troublesome, depending on what "special" entails in this realm.
As we pass through the gates, the full scale of the Academy reveals itself. The campus stretches impossibly far, buildings of glass and steel rising in architectural configurations that seem to defy normal physics. Students of all ages move between structures, many openly displaying abilities that would mark them as demons or angels in our realm.
"This place is remarkable," Caleif whispers, her eyes tracking a group of students practicing what appears to be elemental manipulation in an open courtyard. "A school dedicated to teaching control rather than suppression."
"Exactly what I tried to establish before my imprisonment," I observe, the irony not lost on me. "Before the Purifiers decided cross-realm education was too dangerous to allow."
We find the administrative building easily enough—a towering structure of glass and polished stone at the heart of the campus. Inside, the lobby bustles with activity. Students submit forms at various counters while staff members with tablets direct traffic with practiced efficiency.
At the reception desk, a woman with faintly glowing silver eyes looks up at our approach. "Can I help you?"
"We were told to ask for Director Yamamoto," I explain. "We're... transfer students."
Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in our appearance, lingering on my glowing eyes and the subtle shift of armor beneath my skin. "I see. One moment."
She taps something into her computer, then speaks softly into a headset. After a brief exchange, she looks back up at us.
"Director Yamamoto will see you now. Fifteenth floor, end of the hall."
As we ride the elevator upward, I feel the armor beneath my skin shifting restlessly. Something about this place puts me on edge despite its apparent acceptance of enhanced beings. Perhaps it's simply that I don't understand the rules yet—what's permitted, what's forbidden, what might mark me as something other than just another "enhanced individual."
"Relax," Caleif murmurs, sensing my tension. "Your armor is starting to show."
I take a deep breath, forcing the hellfire in my veins to bank lower. The last thing we need is to reveal our true nature before understanding what we're dealing with.
The elevator doors open onto a hallway of polished stone and wood—more traditional than the ultra-modern lobby below. At the end, a set of double doors bears a simple nameplate: "Director Yamamoto."
I knock, and a voice calls for us to enter.
The office beyond is spacious and elegant, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the Academy grounds. Behind a massive desk of dark wood sits a woman who radiates power—not flashy or ostentatious, but a quiet, controlled energy that reminds me of the most dangerous beings I encountered in the Pit.
"Please, sit," she says, gesturing to chairs before her desk.
As we settle into our seats, I study her more carefully. She appears to be in her fifties by human standards, with silver-streaked black hair pulled into a severe bun. Her eyes are the most striking feature—deep violet with flecks of gold that seem to shift and change as she speaks.
"So," she begins, folding her hands on the desk, "transfer students. From where, exactly?"
I exchange a quick glance with Caleif. This is where our cover story gets tricky.
"It's complicated," I reply, opting for honesty if not complete disclosure. "We're from... very far away. A place with different rules than this one."
Director Yamamoto's lips curve in a small smile. "I see. And your enhancements?"
Again, I choose partial truth. "Energy manipulation, primarily. Enhanced strength, durability. Accelerated healing."
"Impressive," she says, though her tone suggests she's not entirely convinced by my vague description. "And you?" She turns to Caleif.
"Similar abilities," Caleif replies smoothly. "Though my energy signature is different from his."
The Director leans back in her chair, studying us with those unsettling violet eyes. "You understand that all new students must undergo ability assessment before placement? It helps us determine appropriate class levels and safety protocols."
Safety protocols. The phrase makes something dark stir in my chest. What would their protocols make of someone who slaughtered hundreds of beings in a pocket dimension just days ago?
"Of course," I agree, pushing down the hellfire threatening to rise. "Though I should warn you—our abilities can be... intense."
"This is the Academy for Enhanced Individuals," she replies with a slight shrug. "Intense is what we specialize in."
She taps something into a tablet on her desk, then looks back up at us. "I've scheduled you for assessment tomorrow morning. Until then, you'll be given temporary quarters and visitor access to campus facilities."
Director Yamamoto stands, signaling the end of our meeting. "One more thing," she adds as we rise. "While on campus, all abilities must be kept under strict control unless in designated training areas. We have students of varying power levels here, and safety is our primary concern."
"Understood," I reply, though the thought of keeping the hellfire completely contained makes the armor beneath my skin itch with discomfort.
As we turn to leave, she calls after us. "Oh, and welcome to the Academy. I think you'll find it... educational."
Something in her tone makes me pause, a prickle of unease running down my spine. She knows more than she's letting on—or at least suspects we're not typical "transfer students."
Outside her office, a young staff member waits to escort us to our temporary quarters. As we follow him through the campus, I lean close to Caleif.
"She knows something," I whisper, low enough that only her enhanced hearing can catch it.
"Of course she does," Caleif replies, her smile never faltering. "The question is whether that's a problem or an opportunity."
I consider this as we're led to a modest apartment in one of the residence buildings. Two bedrooms, a small living area, basic amenities—comfortable but not luxurious.
"Orientation materials are on the table," our guide explains. "Campus map, rules and regulations, schedule for tomorrow's assessment. Dining hall is open until nine if you're hungry."
After he leaves, I move immediately to the windows, checking exits and vantage points out of five-thousand-year-old habit. The armor beneath my skin pulses with restless energy, responding to my unease.
"We need to learn more about this place," I say, turning back to Caleif. "About what 'enhanced individuals' really means here. About the limits of what's considered acceptable."
She picks up the orientation packet, flipping through it with casual interest. "According to this, the Academy was founded fifty years ago to provide specialized education for those born with or who develop extraordinary abilities. Prior to that, enhanced individuals were either recruited by government agencies or left to figure things out on their own."
"No mention of demons or angels? No cross-realm contamination fears?"
"None," she confirms. "It's all framed in terms of genetic mutation, evolutionary advancement, or unexplained phenomena. Very scientific, very rational."
I move to the couch, sinking down as I try to process what we've stumbled into. "A world where power is treated as just another natural variation. Where education focuses on control and application rather than suppression or artificial separation."
"Exactly what you fought for," Caleif observes, setting down the packet to join me. "What you were imprisoned for teaching."
The irony isn't lost on me. Five thousand years in Hell for advocating what this realm seems to have achieved naturally—coexistence between different types of beings without fear or artificial barriers.
"And now we're here as students rather than teachers," I mutter, running a hand through my hair—which feels strangely soft without the hellfire constantly coursing through it. "Starting over from scratch."
Caleif's hand finds mine, her touch still grounding despite our transformed state. "Maybe that's exactly what we need. A chance to learn instead of always teaching. To understand a system that works before trying to build one ourselves."
I consider her words, feeling the armor beneath my skin settle into a more comfortable configuration. She's right—there's opportunity here beyond just exploration or escape. A chance to see a functioning model of what I spent centuries advocating for.
"Tomorrow's assessment will be interesting," I say, studying the schedule in the orientation packet. "They want to measure the full extent of our abilities."
"How much should we show them?" Caleif asks, the practical question bringing me back to our immediate situation.
I think about Director Yamamoto's penetrating gaze, about the casual display of powers by students across campus, about the delicate balance between revealing enough to be placed appropriately and revealing so much we're marked as threats.
"Enough to be taken seriously," I decide. "But not enough to terrify them. We need to understand the upper limits of what's considered normal here before we show our full hand."
Caleif nods, her crimson eyes reflecting the calculation I feel. "And the hellfire? The armor?"
I flex my fingers thinking to myself. "Alright, just make it look like you're weak. Maybe it won't be so bad, just can't kill anyone."
I flex my fingers, watching the claws retract slightly as I focus on dampening the hellfire coursing through my veins. The armor beneath my skin shifts restlessly, protesting the suppression, but I force it to settle into a more mundane configuration.
"Just make it look like I'm weak," I mutter, more to myself than to Caleif. "Maybe it won't be so bad. Just can't kill anyone."
The words taste strange on my tongue—when was the last time I had to worry about *not* killing someone? Five thousand years in Hell doesn't exactly teach restraint, and the massacre at the Nexus proved I'm more than capable of losing control when properly motivated.
Caleif raises an eyebrow at my muttered comment. "Weak? You do realize you just slaughtered an entire cosmic council less than forty-eight hours ago?"
"That was different," I reply, standing to pace the small living area. "That was justice. This is... school."
The absurdity of the statement hits me as soon as I say it. From interdimensional professor to high school transfer student in the span of a day. If the situation weren't so surreal, I might actually find it amusing.
I move to the window, looking out at the Academy grounds where students continue their evening activities. A group practices combat techniques in a courtyard below, their movements enhanced by what appears to be supernatural speed and strength. Another cluster sits in a circle, manipulating small flames that dance between their fingers like living creatures.
"They make it look so... normal," I observe, watching a girl casually levitate herself several feet off the ground while reading a textbook. "Like having extraordinary abilities is just another fact of life."
"Isn't that what you always advocated for?" Caleif joins me at the window, her reflection ghostlike in the glass. "Normalization of power rather than fear of it?"
She's right, of course. But seeing it in practice—watching teenagers treat supernatural abilities with the same casual acceptance most kids show toward smartphones—creates a strange disconnect in my mind. This is what I fought for, what I was imprisoned for teaching. Yet now that I'm experiencing it firsthand, it feels almost anticlimactic.
"I think I preferred it when people were appropriately terrified of me," I admit, the honesty surprising even myself. "At least then I knew where I stood."
Caleif's laugh is soft but knowing. "You miss being the monster in the shadows?"
"I miss being understood," I correct, though the distinction feels thinner than I'd like. "The council knew exactly what I was—what I represented. They feared me for good reason. Here..." I gesture toward the students below. "Here I'm just another enhanced individual. Another anomaly to be categorized and controlled."
The armor beneath my skin pulses with irritation at the thought. Controlled. After five thousand years of refusing to bow to cosmic authority, the idea of submitting to some teenage academy's rules makes the hellfire in my chest burn hotter.
"Maybe that's not such a bad thing," Caleif suggests, her voice carrying that gentle reasonableness that first drew me to her centuries ago. "Maybe being ordinary—even temporarily—is exactly what you need right now."
I turn from the window to study her face, looking for any sign that she's mocking me. But her expression is sincere, her crimson eyes reflecting genuine concern for my wellbeing rather than judgment of my transformed state.
"Ordinary," I repeat, tasting the word like something foreign. "I'm not sure I remember how to be ordinary."
"Then maybe it's time to learn," she replies, moving to pick up the orientation materials again. "Look at this curriculum—'Ethics of Enhanced Abilities,' 'Power Control and Responsibility,' 'Integration with Non-Enhanced Society.' It's everything you tried to teach at the sanctuary, just from a different angle."
I lean over her shoulder to read the course descriptions, my enhanced vision picking out details even in the dim apartment lighting. The classes do sound familiar—theoretical frameworks I developed for cross-realm education, practical applications I refined through centuries of teaching experience.
But there's something else here too. Something I never had the luxury of exploring during my time as a professor. The perspective of being a student rather than the teacher. Of learning from others rather than always being the authority figure dispensing wisdom.
"Assessment tomorrow," I say, reading over the schedule again. "They want to measure our abilities, determine appropriate placement."
"And what exactly are we going to show them?" Caleif asks, settling onto the couch as she continues reading through the materials.
I consider the question seriously. Too little, and we might be placed in remedial classes designed for students with minor enhancements. Too much, and we risk exposing ourselves as something far beyond their normal classification system.
"Enough to be interesting," I decide, joining her on the couch. "Enhanced strength, accelerated healing, basic energy manipulation. Nothing that screams 'interdimensional entity forged in the fires of Hell.'"
"And if they push for more? If their tests are designed to reveal the full extent of our capabilities?"
The thought makes the armor beneath my skin shift restlessly. What would happen if they tried to force me to reveal my true nature? If their assessment pushed me beyond the carefully maintained facade I'm constructing?
"Then we improvise," I reply, though the words carry less confidence than I'd like. "We've both survived worse than a few school administrators with clipboards."
Caleif's smile is wry but affectionate. "Somehow I don't think Director Yamamoto is going to be satisfied with basic energy manipulation from someone whose eyes glow like dying stars."
She's probably right. There was something in the Director's expression—a knowing look that suggested she sees more than she reveals. The kind of perception that comes from dealing with beings who exist beyond normal classification.
"We'll figure it out tomorrow," I say, leaning back against the couch cushions. For the first time since my return from Hell, I feel something approaching relaxation. Not peace—I don't think I'll ever know peace again—but a temporary absence of immediate threat.
"For now," I continue, closing my eyes as I feel the hellfire in my veins banking to a more manageable level, "let's just try to be students. See what this place has to teach us about coexistence between different types of beings."
Outside our window, the Academy settles into evening quiet. Students return to their dormitories, practice sessions wind down, and the campus takes on the peaceful rhythm of an institution dedicated to learning rather than warfare.
It's been a long time since I've experienced anything like this. The simple comfort of having nowhere to be, no cosmic threats to address, no students to protect from zealots who fear what they don't understand.
Tomorrow will bring new challenges—assessment tests that might reveal more than we intend, placement decisions that could determine our entire experience here, the delicate balance of integration without complete assimilation.
But for tonight, I'm content to sit in this ordinary apartment, reading orientation materials like any other transfer student preparing for their first day at a new school.
Even if that school happens to cater to beings with supernatural abilities, and even if I happen to be a professor-turned-student who spent five millennia learning to kill immortal entities in the deepest pits of Hell.
Some things, I suppose, never change. Even when everything else does.