POV: Ravel
Are devils evil by nature?
A foolish question. Especially from someone like me, a devil born of House Phenex, raised in estates soaked in privilege and luxury. In a less forgiving age, to ask such a thing might have warranted exile. Or execution. A thousand years ago, one did not question one's role in the great hierarchy. One obeyed. One performed.
And yet, I have always wondered.
I was six when I first heard it, though not in so many words. Mother had taken me to the grand theater in the capital. I remember the velvet seats, the scent of perfume and wine, and the brittle laughter of noblewomen who smiled with their mouths but never their eyes. The play, some ancient English tragedy dredged up from the Human World, barely registered in my young mind. I don't remember the plot. Only fragments. A girl's wailing. A betrayal. A duel, probably.
But I do remember Act II, Scene VII. A devil actor stepped onto center stage, dressed in rags, face painted in melancholia, and spoke: "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players…"
The line pierced something in me. Not because of what it meant, I was too young for that. But because of how he said it. Calmly. As if resigning himself to it. He didn't look at the heroine. He didn't look at us. He looked up. At the chandeliers. Or at nothing. As if the only truth was above, unreachable and silent.
That night, I lay in bed, sheets drawn up to my chin, and I asked myself: if the world is a stage, then what is a devil but the villain? The antagonist. The one fated to fall. Was that what I was born to be?
It would be centuries out of place to call such thoughts heresy. But the sentiment remains. Devils are not meant to ask questions. We are meant to conquer.
After all, we are the children of the Morning Star, the original rebel. He who defied his creator and fell, not in shame, but in fire. He, who swore to unmake the world that cast him out. And so, the devil race was born: crafted not merely in opposition to angels, but in vengeance. We worship sin, not in denial of virtue, but as a mirror to it. Where angels honor humility, we exalt pride. Where they cherish chastity, we savor lust. Where they prize mercy, we enact wrath.
They believe goodness is divine. We believe power is.
There is no morality in hell. Only strength. And weakness. The latter is the only sin we punish.
So to question whether devils are evil by nature is, at best, philosophical masturbation. And yet I wonder still. Because what is the point of power, if not to choose how it is used?
I asked that once, years later, to the only person who would not dismiss my thoughts as childish fantasy: my brother, Riser.
"My silly little sister," he said, ever amused. "If the world is a stage and we are all performers, then it falls to us to choose our role."
"How do I choose?"
"By finding what you value. And pursuing it."
His answer was elegant in its cruelty. Because what he values is beauty. In everything. In power, in tragedy, in cruelty. He seeks the sublime, even if it destroys him. Especially if it destroys others. That is his aesthetic.
He once told me, quite plainly, that the world divides into two: the beautiful, and the unworthy. That is my brother's doctrine. And he lives by that. He collects people the way some collect rare wine: unique, fragrant, sometimes difficult to stomach. He calls them his harem, but it's more than that. They are his gallery of living art. Tragic stories. Twisted goals. Interesting flaws.
His engagement to Rias Gremory is proof. He plays the villain she wants him to be. He cultivates her hatred like a gardener tending roses. He believes her rebellion is beautiful. The more she despises him, the more poetic the eventual submission. When he gave her ten days to prepare for the rating game, I protested, privately, of course. But he dismissed me with a smile.
"There is no beauty in easy victories," he said.
He is irrational. And still… he is dear to me.
But I am not him. His stage is not mine.
Something in me refuses to accept that we are bound to these roles. That the devil must always be the villain. That cruelty is the only performance we're allowed.
I believe in the redemptive arc. In the turning point. That even we might be allowed to play the hero. That even devils may choose kindness, not out of weakness, but conviction.
But I am young. And no one listens to the idealism of a girl. Least of all in the Underworld.
Why do I think of this now?
Because today is the day my brother marries Rias Gremory.
A farce, if ever there was one.
She walks like the condemned. Her eyes are hollow, her movements mechanical. She wears the mask well. As we all must. But I see the cracks in the porcelain.
The hall is magnificent – cold, ostentatious, gilded to the point of nausea. A typical noble affair. The air stinks of ego and perfume. Everyone smiles too broadly. Every compliment hides a knife.
I hate it.
And yet we endure. Because this is the performance expected of us.
To the side, her servants gather, silent and rigid. Akeno with bitterness in her eyes. Kiba with controlled fury. Koneko stares blankly at the floor. And the pawn, Issei… the fool looks distracted, watching the noblewomen with unsubtle interest. How tedious.
Clapping.
Slow. Deliberate. From the entrance. Heads turn. The doors open.
A figure enters.
A young man in a black tuxedo. He's pale, with sharp features and dark circles under his eyes, like sleep is a luxury he hasn't afforded in some time. His eyes are dull brown, unreadable. Detached. There is something in the way he walks, neither hurried nor hesitant. He knows he does not belong, and does not care.
"Apologies for the disruption," he says, voice clear but subdued. "I am Haruki Yamashiro, and I stand in objection to this marriage."
The room stills. Devils love spectacle. And this… this is delicious.
Rias looks stunned. Her servants, Akeno especially, react in stages of disbelief. Kiba and Koneko smile faintly. Issei looks positively ecstatic.
My brother does not look angry. He looks… entertained.
Haruki continues forward, undeterred.
"And who are you to oppose the union of House Phenex and Gremory?" Riser asks with theatrical interest. "And on what grounds?"
"I am the bishop of Rias Gremory," says Haruki, calm and clear. "I couldn't participate in the rating game due to unfortunate circumstances. And I oppose this marriage on the grounds that it was won unfairly."
A bold claim.
Riser tilts his head. "Oh? I'm afraid I don't understand. Rias and I agreed to the match. I won. What is the accusation?"
"You won against an untested opponent with an incomplete peerage," Haruki replies. Calm. Unimpressed. "It was neither fair nor honorable."
"Honor? Fairness?" Riser chuckles. "We are devils. We care for power, not poetry. Rias lost because she was weak. The weak have no right to complain.."
"I see," Haruki replies. "So might makes right?"
"Exactly."
"Then I challenge you to a duel," Haruki says. "For the annulment of the marriage."
The room collectively gasps.
The bait is set.
Guards move. But Haruki does not flinch.
"Why, dear Riser? Are you afraid to lose?" he mocks. "Afraid of losing to a reincarnated devil? Well then again, the only reason you won the rating game was because I wasn't there."
And that, more than anything, seals it.
To refuse would be cowardice. To accept, a gamble.
"You speak boldly for a lowborn," Riser says, his voice colder. "Can you back it up?"
"Try me."
A new voice cuts in. "Well, isn't this amusing?"
Sirzechs Lucifer.
Everyone quiets. When the strongest devil speaks, you listen.
"A duel for the hand of my sister. Amusing. It does have a nostalgic appeal," he says lightly. "What say you, Riser Phenex?"
Riser laughs. "I accept. On one condition."
Sirzechs raises an eyebrow. "Which is?"
"A duel to the death. No interruptions. The survivor is the victor."
Shocked murmurs ripple through the crowd.
"There hasn't been a duel to the death in 150 years," Riser adds, eyes gleaming. "But it's fitting, don't you think? Tragedy is beautiful. Whether I die protecting my honor or he dies chasing love, it's art."
Oh, brother. Of course. My brother romanticizes death. He sees it as a fitting end to any narrative. If he dies, it is beautiful. If he wins, it is poetic.
Does he not understand that I will mourn him? That I will not find his corpse beautiful?
Sirzechs smiles. "Do you accept these terms, Haruki Yamashiro?"
"I accept," Haruki replies.
"Then let there be a price," Sirzechs declares. "A duel demands reward. You both risk your lives, so it is only fair. Each of you may name one thing. If you win, I shall grant it."
Riser speaks first. "A letter of passage to the Land of Fairies."
Of course. Typical. He always wanted to see it.
"Difficult," Sirzechs muses. "But granted. And you, Haruki?"
He barely hesitates. "I ask only that Rias be free from this marriage. And from any future arranged marriage."
A noble answer. Foolish, but noble.
"Too humble," Sirzechs replies. "That is not a reward for you. That will be the result of the duel anyway if you win," Sirzechs notes. "Surely you have a request for yourself?"
"I do not."
"I insist."
Haruki hesitates.
"Go on," Sirzechs presses.
Haruki sighs. "Very well. I ask for a private audience with you, under Guest Covenant."
Silence. Then interest. Even I raise a brow.
To invoke the Guest Covenant on Lucifer himself... how arrogant.
Sirzechs only smiles. "Granted."
The duel will proceed.
The stage is set.
Riser leaves to prepare.
Haruki walks toward Rias.
They will speak in private now. How romantic.
If this were a play, I'd call it overwrought.
But… I am watching. I am waiting.
Because part of me wants to see how this scene ends.
And part of me wants him to win.
Even if it breaks my brother's heart.
Especially if it saves hers.
-----------------------------------
POV: Rias
I stepped into the private room, still reeling from Haruki's arrival. Shock hadn't quite left me nor had the relief. I closed the door behind me, and for a moment, I just looked at him.
He stood quietly, as though still grounding himself in this world.
Dressed immaculately as always, his suit pressed, his tie precise, he cut the figure of a man in command. But it took only a glance at his face to know otherwise. His hair was unkempt, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, the skin beneath them bruised with sleeplessness. He looked... worn, like something hollowed out from within.
And yet, beneath that fatigue was something unchanged – no, something sharpened. The intelligence in his eyes, the control in his posture, the precision of his stillness. A mind so accustomed to control, to scrutiny, to calculation, that even in this state, it refused to slip. Haruki had always hidden his strength behind a sardonic mask, an air of cool detachment that both mocked and dared. But that mask was gone now. There was no pretense left. Only the raw presence of the man beneath it.
His gaze swept the room in swift, clinical glances, catching details and discarding them in rapid turns of thought.
"Rias, I am–" he began.
I didn't let him finish. I crossed the space between us and wrapped my arms around him, wedding dress and all. I held him tightly.
For a second, he froze. Then, slowly, he returned the embrace. His arms wrapped around me gently, but firmly. Like he needed the contact as much as I did.
"I'm so glad you're alright," I whispered. "I was terrified. I thought– I thought something horrible had happened to you."
"I'm alright now," he said, in a voice that was far too even. Too empty.
I pulled back just enough to hold his face in my hands. His skin was cold.
"Oh, Haruki... what happened to you?" I asked. My voice cracked. He looked like someone who hadn't spoken in days. Like someone who had no one left to speak to.
He stared at me, silent, weighing something within himself. Then he sighed, turned, and sat down on the nearest sofa. He gestured for me to sit beside him. I did, folding my hands into my lap, giving him all the silence he needed.
That was new. Haruki, hesitating.
He had always been so certain, so articulate, as if he held a thousand arguments preloaded behind every glance. But now, he was quiet. And I waited.
Then, at last, he spoke. His voice came low and even, stripped of all its usual certainty. "My sister used to have terrible nightmares. Since she was a child."
I listened.
"She'd see monsters – horrors with too many eyes, too many limbs. Especially if she'd watched anything scary before bed. She'd crawl into my room at night and beg to sleep beside me. Eventually it got so bad, our parents sent her to therapy. And it helped. For a while."
He paused, staring at the floor.
"As she got older, the nightmares returned now and then. But she learned to dismiss them. That's what we thought they were, just nightmares." He clenched his hands slowly. "A few weeks ago, my parents called. Said the dreams were back. Worse. More vivid. She was frightened again. Said she saw herself killing people she loved. Me. Our parents."
"Oh, Haruki…" I reached out, gently running my fingers through his hair. It felt like he needed the comfort but didn't know how to ask.
His fists clenched. "I talked to her. Calmed her down. Made her laugh, even. I thought I had helped."
He paused. His hands were trembling now. "That was when I had already discovered the supernatural. So I considered that maybe… just maybe… something was influencing her. I wanted to check. But I waited. Told myself it could wait until the school break next week. I'd visit then. Look into it. Maybe ask you to help."
He let out a bitter laugh. "I thought I had time."
He looked straight ahead. The light caught in his eyes, but there was nothing bright in them. "I was wrong."
My chest tightened.
"That night I left you, she called me again." His tone darkened. "She said a monster had come out of her shadow. Said it had killed our parents. I flew home as fast as I could."
I covered my mouth.
" I saw their bodies. Or what was left of them." His voice had grown flat again. Hollow. "Their bodies were torn apart like animals. I searched for my sister. Tracked her down to an abandoned warehouse. I thought I'd rescue her."
He shook his head. "But I wasn't the only one who found her. Others were there. A group calling themselves the Hero Faction. They were after her Sacred Gear. She'd awakened it… and they wanted her for their agenda."
He closed his eyes. "I tried to fight them. I didn't even make them draw their weapons. I was nothing to them. I was so weak. Powerless. Their leader had the True Longinus. He exposed me to its holy energy. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, she was gone. And I had missed the Rating Game."
I couldn't stop the tears. I hugged him again, desperately, trying to find the words to ease his pain, but there weren't any. What could I possibly say to someone who had lost so much?
"I'm so sorry, Haruki," I whispered, pulling him into another embrace. "I didn't know. I didn't know..."
He didn't respond right away.
"It's been three days since they died," he said numbly. "Too late to use Evil Pieces now. The bodies must be fresh. Less than an hour old."
He let out a breath.
"I should've brought you with me that night," he muttered. Then stopped himself. "No. No, that would've been foolish. You would've been killed too."
I held him tighter.
"I would've gone with you," I said softly. "I would've used my Evil Pieces on them, if I could. Anything. Anything for you."
He said nothing.
"You're here now... without even burying them," I whispered.
"I made you a promise," he said simply.
Oh, Haruki…
"Haruki… I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't come," I said quietly. "You're allowed to grieve."
"I failed them," he said, and his voice trembled now. "I knew something was wrong. I delayed anyway. I ignored my instincts. And now they're gone. And my sister is–"
He stopped himself.
"You couldn't have known," I insisted. "You said she had nightmares for years. How could you have known this time would be different?"
He laughed, cold and bitter.
"I knew. I just didn't act." He looked away. "Thank you for trying to comfort me, Rias. But I've already accepted the blame. I don't need to be forgiven. I need to act. I can't change the past. Only what happens next. "
He looked at me. His eyes, for the first time since he arrived, were alight with something that wasn't despair. "I will save her. No matter what."
I reached out and took his hand. Squeezed it. "You're not alone in this."
A few minutes passed in silence before a knock at the door came and the voice of a servant announced the battlefield was ready.
Haruki stood.
He turned to me and smiled—not with joy, but with purpose.
"I'll win this."
I stood too, trying to steady my breathing.
"No, Haruki, please." My words rushed out before I could hold them back. "… I would rather you not fight at all. I don't want you to die for me. If anything were to happen to you, I couldn't bear it. You don't have to keep your promise. I free you of it. I want you to live."
He looked at me for a long moment. "I cannot stand by and watch you be forced into an unhappy marriage," he said quietly. "I won't let that happen. Not while I'm alive."
"Can't you see?" I asked, desperate now. "I would rather be unhappy for the rest of my life than see you die!"
He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine.
"I won't die, Rias," he whispered. "Trust me."
Then he pulled away and walked to the door.
I raised a hand as if to stop him. But he was already gone.
And I could do nothing but watch him walk into a battle he might not return from.
-----------------------------------------
Haruki vs. Riser
Haruki entered the rating game dimension, as did Riser. The place looked like a slice of Tokyo that had been lifted out of the real world and dropped into the middle of nowhere. Skyscrapers everywhere, laid out like a grid, making the whole place feel like a steel forest. The air had that strange crispness to it that only artificial spaces did. Huge, but eerily silent.
He landed on top of one of the taller buildings. From this height, he could see far – nothing but glass and concrete in every direction. Riser wasn't in sight. Haruki figured he must be somewhere on the other side of the battlefield.
And then, too late, he sensed it – something huge and fast closing in.
A flaming phoenix, at least fifty meters wide, loomed in front of him, practically on top of him already.
No time to dodge.
His body moved on instinct. Demonic energy surged from within, coating him in a flickering aura. He threw up both palms, bracing.
The impact was like getting hit by a star. His feet sank into the rooftop. The building collapsed under the force. The blast stripped the sleeves off his suit. The flames licked at his skin but didn't pierce the aura.
"You managed to block that?" Riser said as he floated down, wings of fire casting sharp shadows. "Perhaps this won't be boring after all."
Haruki landed on a twisted steel beam, dust swirling around him. "You used some kind of concealment spell to hide your attack so that I wouldn't notice it in time," he said with a smirk. "Why, dear Riser, I am honored that you tried to take me out with a sneak attack."
He bowed mockingly.
Riser laughed. "I sensed your demonic energy. You are at a high-class level. It would be foolish not to take you seriously.
"So this was Rias's plan, to use you to quickly take me out. It would have been difficult to take on two high-class devils, even for me."
"Something like that. Though it is no use now to cry over spilled milk," Haruki said with a shrug.
"That might have actually worked," Riser admitted. "However, now you are alone. You have no chance of winning against me."
"Is that so? You seem to think your little sneak attack did any damage at all."
"Oh, I assure you, it was nowhere near my best. It was merely a warning. Because if you continue this fight, you will surely die. Give up, and I will let you live."
"Thank you for your offer. But I refuse."
"You offer your life in exchange for her freedom?"
"Of course not. I offer yours."
They both took their stances.
"Well then, may the best devil live," Riser said.
Haruki moved first, launching a right kick. Riser halted it with a gust of wind and went for a counterpunch. Haruki parried, both of them moving fast enough to blur. They exchanged body shots, left fists clashing with mirrored counters.
Haruki aimed a right uppercut. Riser dipped low, just above the ground, floating horizontally out of reach. Haruki leaned in to follow—and caught a blast of wind that sent him crashing into the side of a building.
Riser was on him instantly. Each of his stomps shattered concrete. Haruki rolled away, bouncing back to his feet, leading Riser toward a bridge.
The moment Haruki stepped onto it, Riser smashed a section of the bridge with a single step. The floor buckled. Haruki fell with the debris.
Before he hit the ground, Riser sent another wind attack. The entire bridge slab slammed into a building. Haruki jumped away just in time, landing on a rooftop, then dashed back toward Riser.
He flew up, hurled a lighter forward. It hit a building behind Riser and exploded. The top half of the structure tipped toward Riser.
Haruki punched.
Riser blocked with wind. The force of the clash held them in place just as the skyscraper came crashing down on top of them.
Riser grabbed Haruki's fist and pulled them both into the structure. Haruki yanked a door off its frame and tossed it between them.
They both charged their fists. The collision blew the building apart on impact with the ground.
They walked out of the wreckage. Both alive. Both scorched.
"Your little trick with the lighter is not half bad," Riser said. "But you will need a unique devil trait to do any damage to me."
"You talk too much for a chicken on a chopping board," said Haruki.
Riser grinned. "Hahahah, well then behold the power of a Phenex."
He raised his hand.
Wind gathered first, massive and swirling. Fire followed, latching on until the entire typhoon roared to life. It surged toward Haruki, engulfing him.
Everything burned. Buildings, streets, the sky. Haruki emerged from it, burned to hell but alive. His coat was gone. His shirt in tatters. Skin blackened and cracked. But still standing.
"You're faster than I expected," Riser said, floating calmly, wings flaring.
Haruki didn't answer. He tossed a demonic shard. It exploded. Nothing.
"Probing shot? Hoping I'll overreact?"
Haruki used the shockwave to launch forward. He flipped, aimed an ax kick. Riser vanished. Haruki hit a rooftop and shattered it.
"You're too direct!"
A truck-sized fireball dropped from the sky and exploded. Haruki shot out of the smoke, bleeding, punching. Riser parried with a wind scythe. It sliced across Haruki's side.
Pain. Blood. He caught Riser's punch, got launched back, crashed through walls, landed on a scaffold.
"You bleed well, Yamashiro!" Riser taunted. "But is pain all you brought?"
No answer. Haruki moved again, faster. They clashed midair. Fire, fists, pressure. A brutal rhythm.
Then a silent Phoenix—huge, burning white—raked its claws across his back. Haruki screamed. His demonic energy flared. He turned midair and blasted it in half.
Too late. Riser summoned a fire tsunami, merged it with wind. Haruki dodged, but even the edge slammed him into a girder.
His limbs shook. Breathing shallow.
"You're running out of tricks, Haruki," Riser said, appearing with a fire spear. "So let me show you another of mine."
He summoned fire lances. Dozens. They hovered, then launched.
Haruki dodged between them. One pierced his shoulder. He spun, bleeding, but still moving. Threw a demonic blast at the ground. Smoke everywhere.
When it cleared, Haruki dropped from above, both hands glowing. He fired a point-blank blast. Riser was caught off-guard, sent flying.
Haruki landed hard. Shaking. Almost done.
The building Riser hit exploded. Riser walked out, amused, shirtless, glowing.
"Not bad," he said. "But you're slowing down."
And then he summoned the Firefield.
It swallowed the city. Fire and wind became a storm of annihilation. Buildings vanished. The sky bled red. Haruki fought to fly. The pressure crushed him.
He broke through the edge. Barely.
Then Riser appeared. Fire spear ready.
"You've earned this."
He thrust.
Haruki couldn't block in time. The spear drove through his side.
Time slowed. His body hung in the air, impaled. Light dimming.
Riser let go. Haruki fell. Crashed into the broken ground.
Silence.
---------------------------------------
POV: Haruki
The pain assaulted my brain.
Fuck, it hurts so much.
Am I… losing?
How pathetic.
Failing my parents. Failing my sister. And now I can't even keep my promise.
Is that all I am?
A narcissistic bastard who couldn't accomplish anything?
This is my second life, and yet what have I achieved?
I chased everything I found interesting. Danced between hobbies like a child with too many toys: music, art, sport. I studied what I loved, mastered what fascinated me.
And what did it amount to?
Prodigy this, genius that. Titles and praise that meant nothing now. What had it brought me? Nothing.
Nothing.
Again, I've wasted my life.
I used to believe that life was meant to be enjoyed. That if I followed what interested me, studied what I liked, then that was enough. That a life lived with joy was a life well lived.
But here I am.
Dying. Pathetically. With no one on my side.
Losing.
Losing. God, what a disgusting feeling.
To fail. At anything. It makes me sick.
God, it's such a pathetic feeling.
I've always been talented. Even in my first life, nothing really challenged me. And in my second, everything became even easier.
And now –
"How art thou fallen from grace, O Haruki,
how art thou cut down to the ground,
thou that didst think thyself divine."
You really believed you could do anything, didn't you?
Cut down to the ground.
Failing.
Losing.
Helpless.
…No.
No.
I refuse.
I refuse to die.
I refuse to fail.
Not again.
But what can I do now?
I looked deep into the pit of myself, into my demonic energy.
It writhed like a storm, chaotic and corruptive. The opposite of holy. Born from imagination, shaped by will, that was the principle.
And then, a thought.
Insane. Desperate. Suicidal.
Demonic energy is corruptive by nature. It wasn't built for healing. Or salvation. Or protection. It was destruction incarnate. Madness incarnate.
The antithesis of everything holy.
But…
Demonic energy is based on imagination. That's its principle. That's how we shape it.
What if I made it… into its opposite?
Not an illusion. Not a trick.
Actual holy light.
The kind that burns devils to ash. That kills people like me.
That's impossible. That's madness.
But God is dead.
There are no more rules. No divine restrictions. No cosmic checks.
If he could fall, if even the God of the Bible could die, then the impossible is just another lie waiting to be broken.
I'm already dying. Already fading.
So, why not try?
I closed my eyes.
My body howled in protest. My body wasn't made for this. My soul wasn't built for this.
But I held on.
I imagined it. I remembered how it felt, the holy light from Cao Cao's spear. The light that pierced me. The corpse of God I saw beyond the veil.
Not just purity. Not just light.
I imagined selflessness.
Suffering. Sacrifice.
Not for power. But for her.
For the girl in the wedding hall.
For the promise I broke.
For my sister.
For the life I wanted to live, not just enjoy.
My demonic energy screamed. It twisted and fought back. It wasn't meant for this. It couldn't change. It shouldn't.
But I forced it.
I imposed meaning. I bent chaos into symmetry. Twisted imagination into contradiction. Made the unthinkable real.
That's what I do.
And then,
It burned.
I found it deep inside me – light. Real light. The light I felt from Cao Cao. That divine radiance. That corpse-born brilliance. I felt it. The spear's memory. The echo of a dead god. Light surged through me, not around but within.
Every nerve in my body ignited. My chest cracked open. My soul tore apart.
And for one horrible, beautiful, impossible moment–
I saw it.
Light.
Holy light.
It hurts to look at. It shouldn't be possible.
And yet, I drew it in. Let it circulate. Let it fill me.
It hurt. Gods, it hurts. Like a thousand blades piercing me all at once.
But it healed me.
I opened my eyes.
And I vanished from where I lay.
In the next instant, I stood, floating, a few meters in front of Riser Phenex.
His expression broke.
"You… what the— Are you fucking kidding me? You shouldn't be able to stand," Riser said, his voice raw with disbelief.
"Oh yeah, I'm fine and dandy," I said, laughing.
Why was I laughing?
I couldn't stop. Maybe it was the pain. Or the madness. Or both.
I laughed like a man unhinged. "It worked… it fucking worked…..HAHAHAHA!"
I couldn't stop. Laughter, tears, disbelief. It poured out of me. My gamble had worked. Against all odds, it worked.
Riser's eyes were wide. He looked at me like I had risen from a grave.
"What worked? What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, stepping back. "Your wounds… they're gone. That's— That's impossible. A Sacred Gear? What the hell are you?!"
"My gamble," I whispered. Then I laughed again, breathless. "Hahaha… To think gambling was the answer all along…"
I didn't know what I was saying anymore.
Everything was… clear. Too clear.
I could see sound. Hear color. Everything bled into everything else. The world screamed with information.
I was going mad. I had gone mad.
But I was standing.
"You should've made sure I was dead," I muttered. Then shouted, "Now it's your loss!"
Riser narrowed his eyes. "My loss? That's the funniest thing I've heard today."
He stepped forward, power radiating. "The fight's just begun."
He dashed in a straight line, then vanished, reappearing behind me in a blur. A wide left swing came crashing toward my ribs.
I spread my wings and levitated, just barely avoiding it.
He scorched the ground with a massive wave of flame, sending debris into the air, forcing me higher, disoriented.
I twisted in the air, upside down, and fired.
A concentrated beam of pure light erupted from my hand.
It hit before he could dodge.
Riser's entire left torso was obliterated.
He hit the ground, writhing.
"L-Light… attack… from a devil… that's… impossible…" he croaked, coughing blood, the wound refusing to heal.
Even a phoenix couldn't regenerate from holy light.
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POV: Sirzechs Lucifer
Impossible.
The word cut through the silence like a bell, a quiet exclamation from somewhere deep within the crowd. I did not turn to find its speaker; I did not need to. The expression, disbelief mingled with awe and fear, was worn by every face surrounding me.
They were right to be afraid.
My gaze returned to the boy responsible.
Haruki Yamashiro.
My little sister's Bishop, though not by contract, not in the usual sense. He had refused servitude, and Rias, ever willful, had brokered a deal instead. She never told me the terms, but she never needed to. I had made my inquiries. The moment the matter with the Fallen was resolved, I took the time to investigate. Curiosity, perhaps. Caution, certainly.
And what I found intrigued me.
No pedigree. No house. No ancient line of heroes or nobles in his blood. Nothing but sheer, unrelenting brilliance. A mind and will that could master whatever he touched: arts, music, magic. A prodigy in the truest sense. I had seen many such talents across the ages. But something about this boy…
A boy who, now, stood above Riser Phenex, glowing with holy light.
This battle had not been my original plan. I had intended other means to free Rias from this farce. But Haruki's sudden, theatrical entrance made matters simpler, and I adjusted accordingly.
Truthfully, I had not held much hope for him against Riser. His odds were never in his favor. At first, my concerns seemed justified. But now…
Riser screamed, pierced by that impossible radiance. A devil burning in agony beneath a weapon no devil should wield. A weapon of angels.
How utterly absurd.
A devil with holy light. Not a counterfeit. Not a mimicry. Real, searing, purifying light. I looked again at the spectators—gasps, whispered prayers, silent dread. Some of the older ones had gone pale.
"A devil who uses holy light… only he was able to do it," someone muttered.
They were all thinking of him.
Lucifer. The Apostate. The Father of Devils. The blasphemer.
The first and last to ever bear the paradox of sacred light within a demonic frame. An angel turned sovereign of hell, who retained a piece of that divine fire even after his Fall. His light – poisonous to both angels and devils – was unmatched. And none, not one of his descendants, inherited that trait.
Only he had wielded it.
And now, this boy.
How curious.
"Could it be that he is his descendant?" someone murmured, reaching desperately for a rational foothold.
I did not answer. I merely turned my eyes back to the battlefield.
Riser lay broken. His body was cracked open along his side, blackened flesh, the healing flames of his clan helpless against the purity that had wounded him.
Haruki floated above, still hovering mid-air, his form trembling slightly, his gaze unfocused, as if the world beneath him had receded. The way he had laughed earlier… it was not joy. It was not even triumph. It was the madness of someone who had seen the impossible and become it. He was drunk on power, temporary, unsustainable.
"How is it possible that you can use holy light?" Riser asked, coughing through the words.
"I imagined it," Haruki replied.
As if that explained anything.
Imagination alone would never suffice, I thought. If it were so simple, our kind would have already evolved past our ancient weaknesses. Even I, even we, remain vulnerable to that sacred glow. No, there is something else at play. Or someone, perhaps.
"Haha… well it seems it is my loss," Riser said softly, almost peacefully. "Though it is beautiful that I would die to you… Finish me, then."
I turned my gaze briefly to the House of Phenex. Their faces were carved from stone. They would not interfere. They couldn't. Their son had demanded death as the price for defeat. He'd sealed their hands along with his own.
They would now be forced to watch him die.
Haruki's hand moved, conjuring a spear of light. Not mimicked, not borrowed, true holy light, burning against our very nature.
Gasps rang out again. Their disbelief had not subsided.
Just as he raised the spear to deliver the final blow—
"Wait! Wait!" a voice cried out.
Ravel Phenex.
Her voice was ragged, desperate.
The girl threw herself toward the barrier, uncaring for dignity or protocol, slamming her body against the field that separated this dimension from the world outside. Her desperation was genuine.
I allowed the barrier to falter, just slightly.
I wanted to see what she would do. And more than that, I wanted to see what he would do.
Ravel slipped through the crack in the veil. A heartbeat's difference. That was all it took.
"Wait, wait, please, I beg you," she sobbed as she fell to her knees before Haruki, voice shaking. Tears fell freely. Her hands trembled as they reached out, not in threat, but in surrender.
Haruki turned toward her, his eyes narrowed in calm curiosity. "You managed to enter through the barrier," he said, more intrigued than alarmed.
"I beg you," she said again, her voice breaking. "Please. Spare my brother. Have mercy."
Haruki tilted his head slightly. "It was he who set the condition of death. I merely intend to honor the agreement."
"I know," she said, fast, nearly stumbling over the words. "I know you don't have to. But I still beg you. Not for justice. Not for reason. Only for mercy."
Still, he said nothing.
She bowed low, forehead to the floor, arms stretched forward like a supplicant before an altar. "If it is a price you seek, I offer everything. All I have. All I am. I am not the head of my House, so I cannot promise gold or land. But what is mine, I give freely. My name. My magic. My body. My soul. My eternity."
She bowed. Not as a noble. Not as a devil. But as a sister.
A girl who begged not for power, but for the life of her kin.
"I will be your servant. Your shadow. Your slave. I swear it on my life. If it means he lives, just spare him. Please. I kneel before you not as a Phenex, but as a sister."
Her voice cracked. Her shoulders quaked. "Have mercy."
Her body shook as the words left her. Unbearable silence filled the room.
And then Haruki blinked.
The haze lifted from his eyes. The ecstasy faded. The madness receded from his eyes. He blinked, as if waking from a long, strange dream. He looked at her, truly looked, and something within him shifted.
"Arise, my lady," he said softly. "It is not fit for one such as you to bow, least of all before me. Yours is not the sin that called for blood, and yet you offer yourself as if it were. Such devotion… such sorrow… it moves even the heart of a devil."
His voice had changed. Quieter. Gentler. "I would spare your brother, if he accepts his loss."
Good. There is wisdom in mercy. Power in restraint.
Haruki turned back to the fallen Riser. "What do you say, Riser? Your death would bring nothing but sorrow to your sister. Will you not relent?"
There was a long pause. I saw Riser's expression waver. His breath caught.
"I suppose… there is a certain beauty in that too," he whispered. "I give up."
"Winner: Haruki Yamashiro," I announced.
There were murmurs. Some disappointment, yes. But the shock remained dominant. They would speak of this day for decades. The day a devil wielded light.
Haruki descended slowly. His clothes were torn, his body worn. He had the look of one who had danced with death and only just stepped away from the rhythm.
Before his feet could touch the floor, Rias reached him.She clung to him as though he were her breath, her fire, her hope. She embraced him fiercely, weeping and laughing in equal measure. A strange sound, joy and grief and wonder, all at once. So very devil-like. So very alive.
It was… touching.
Yes, even devils weep like this, when joy finally eclipses fear.
I smiled.
AN: Another chapter. After seeing the harsh criticism the last two chapters received, I decided it was time to go to a party and gain some perspective. The party lasted two days. By the end of it, I even got into a car accident, not exactly fun.
In any case, I felt compelled to respond to some of the critiques, though keep in mind I'm recalling what I read last Friday, so this won't cover everything. I didn't have time to respond to all of it.
One critique I remember was that Haruki didn't really try to explain to Cao Cao that he didn't become a devil willingly. My answer is this: based on Haruki's character, he would view such an explanation as pointless begging. Cao Cao wouldn't care, if he did, he wouldn't have opened with hostility.
Another point raised was why Haruki didn't explain anything to Rias. The reason is that if he told her, she would've insisted on coming with him. Haruki felt it would've been selfish to ask that of her. The poor guy genuinely doesn't think he can rely on others, that they'd want to help him. It's his cynicism at play. Also, with my interpretation of the Hero Faction, Rias wouldn't have survived the encounter anyway.
As for the criticism that the plot hasn't changed much, well, that's fair. So far, Haruki hasn't had a strong motivation beyond exploring magic and chasing his freedom. That's why the focus has been on training. But now, the introductory arc is over. From here on out, new plotlines will begin to unfold:
Haruki's search for his sister, which will involve the Hero Faction, their agenda, Le Fay's plan, and more.Haruki's sudden ability to use holy light. It's not something simple, despite Sirzechs's conclusion. Someone was responsible—someone with motives and a plan.Haruki has now become an anomaly. That will attract attention, from devil politics, the Fallen Angels, the Old Satan Faction, and others.There are more plans in motion, and they'll start to unfold in the coming chapters.