Jin stood in the center of the spacious living room, clutching the magical communicator in his fingers. The short, tense conversation with Rias echoed in his head. She had explained in detail how to activate the hidden passage through the bookcase in the old club building, her tone wary but without unnecessary questions.
"Be careful, Jin," she said at the end, sincere concern in her words. "Some sections there store artifacts and knowledge that might... respond to your power in unexpected ways."
"I won't touch anything unnecessary," he cut her off dryly and severed the connection.
Soon he was already walking through the empty corridors of the Occult Research Club. Kuroka in cat form and Kuro followed him at a distance, their soft steps barely disturbing the silence. Following Rias's instructions, Jin found the right volume on the shelf and turned it. A muffled click of a mechanism was heard, and the bookcase smoothly slid aside, revealing a shimmering portal in the wall. From it wafted the scent of ancient paper mixed with dust and a thick aura of magic that seemed almost tangible, like an electric discharge in the air.
Without hesitation, he stepped inside.
He found himself in a grandiose circular hall where walls from floor to vaulted ceiling were lined with endless shelves of volumes. Thousands of books, manuscripts, and scrolls—a treasury of knowledge accumulated by the Gremory clan over centuries. Kuroka looked around with interest, her cat eyes shining in the semi-darkness, while Kuro, sensing the overwhelming power of this place, pressed against his master's leg, his ears twitching slightly from tension.
Days merged into one continuous search. Jin immersed himself in work with the methodic precision of a machine, ignoring fatigue. He didn't scour histories of wars or biographies of demons—he was drawn to anomalies, tears in the fabric of reality. He went through sections: "Theory of Magic and Its Limits," "Metaphysics of the Soul and Rebirth," "Interdimensional Phenomena and Rifts." Dozens of volumes passed through his hands, but none gave a lead. Demons, angels, fallen, dragons, reincarnation—all this was laid out on shelves, with examples and diagrams, but nothing explained his case. His power didn't fit into the framework of Sacred Gears. His "birth" in this world didn't resemble standard rituals of demons or fallen.
With each page, the feeling of alienation grew. This world with its strict rules and factions rejected him like a foreign body. Irritation grew into dull despair that burned from within like acid.
In desperation, having exhausted the esoteric sections, he turned to what seemed the closest analog to his problem. Sacred Gears—the only system built directly into the bodies of this world's inhabitants. He headed to the corresponding section, where the air seemed heavier from the concentration of knowledge.
There he stumbled upon a massive tome: "System of Sacred Gears: Analysis, Classification, and Anomalies." It wasn't a decrepit relic, but a modern book printed on a press, with a sturdy binding and the stamp of the Gremory library.
He immersed himself in reading. Pages revealed types of Gears, their ranks, examples of activations. Descriptions of the thirteen Longinus—weapons capable of slaying gods—mesmerized with their detail. Issei's "Boosted Gear," Vali's "Divine Dividing"—all fit into the logic of the Heavenly System. But him? He didn't obey these laws. The book that was supposed to be the key only emphasized his isolation. It was a complete dead end.
In a fit of anger, he was about to slam the folio shut, but his gaze caught the title page.
Author: Azazel.
The name stood clearly, accompanied by the Grigori emblem. Azazel—leader of the Fallen Angels, genius scientist, leading expert on Sacred Gears. The one who wrote this work.
In that moment, despair receded, replaced by a spark of hope. A barely perceptible smirk flickered on Jin's lips. His mood lifted, as if after a breath of fresh air. The search found a purpose. He had a lead—a name.
But joy quickly faded, giving way to disgust. Azazel. Of course, this cunning schemer, one of the pillars of the factions, might know the answers. The thought of turning to him for help, asking such a type, caused nausea.
...
Jin carefully returned the book to the shelf.
He turned and left the hall. Kuroka jumped off the nearest stack of manuscripts and followed him, and Kuro, dozing at the entrance, immediately jumped up and trotted after.
Returning to the club through the portal, Jin locked the passage. In the human world, the air was lighter, without that magical heaviness, but with a note of life—the noise of the distant city. He went outside. Night had descended on Kuoh, wrapping it in velvet darkness where house windows flickered with warm lights. The search ended, but answers still slipped away.
He walked through the evening streets, digesting the find. The path lay through abandoned industrial quarters on the outskirts—he avoided crowds instinctively. The wind rustled dry leaves on the asphalt, and rare streetlights cast long, broken shadows.
In this oppressive silence, he caught sounds. Not a scream—a stifled moan and a hoarse, squelching growl full of primal rage.
Jin froze. His heightened senses instantly fixed the smell of fresh blood and the putrid aura of a demon. He moved towards the source, turning into a narrow alley between shabby warehouses.
The scene was disgusting. On the cracked asphalt, in a pool of crimson liquid, a woman writhed. Over her leaned an ugly stray demon—a cross between a hyena and a human, with yellow fangs sinking into her shoulder. A couple of meters away, pressed against the wall, sat a boy about five years old, his face contorted in a silent sob, eyes wide with horror.
In that moment, something in Jin snapped. Disappointment from the search, rage at his own incomprehensibility, hatred for the cruelty of this world—all intertwined into one unstoppable impulse. The control he had maintained with such difficulty collapsed like a house of cards.
"Hey," his voice sounded quiet, but with such icy force that the demon flinched and turned around.
In Jin's violet eyes, not a trace of apathy remained. Only pure, animal rage. The demon sensed death, threw the victim aside, and jumped, baring claws in a desperate attack.
Jin didn't move. He simply reached out and grabbed the creature by the throat in mid-flight. The grip was iron, like a vice. The demon wheezed, his claws helplessly scratching the air. Jin slowly lifted him above the ground, boring his gaze into eyes widened with panic. Then he squeezed his fist.
The crunch of bones echoed through the alley. The demon's head jerked at an unnatural angle, the body went limp. But the rage didn't subside. Jin threw the corpse into the wall with such force that the concrete cracked. Again and again, until only a bloody stain remained of the demon, flowing down the wall into a puddle.
When it was all over, Jin stood in the center of the chaos, breathing heavily. The rage receded, leaving emptiness and the echo of a child's sobs.
Nearby in the bushes, Kuroka hid in cat form. She saw everything—from beginning to end.
Jin, as if in a trance, approached the boy. He shrank, trembling. He quickly examined him, making sure the child was intact, then dialed emergency services on his phone, briefly described the situation, and left without waiting for an answer.
Returning to the mansion, he felt devastated. He went into the bathroom and stood under a scalding cold shower, trying to wash off not only the blood but also the sticky nausea from his own cruelty.
Coming out wrapped in a towel, he froze. In the bedroom, on his bed, sat Kuroka Toujou in human form. She was completely naked, only a thin silk sheet carelessly covered her curves. Golden eyes studied him with predatory interest, and cat ears twitched slightly.
"Rough night?" she purred, her voice low, seductive, without a shadow of embarrassment.
Jin froze, too exhausted for anger or surprise.
"What do you want?"
"I saw everything in the alley," she slowly stood up, the sheet slipped off, revealing her perfect body: full breasts, thin waist, smooth hips. "This world is total chaos, full of pain and dirt. Sometimes you just need to... let go. Drown out the noise in your head."
She approached, her skin radiating heat, and the scent—a mix of musk and wild freedom. Kuroka's fingers slid across his chest, feeling muscles tense under wet skin.
"Let me help, Izayoi Jin. I can make you forget everything."
In her eyes, he saw not pity, but calculation—she sensed weakness and wanted to use it to get deeper into his soul. But he didn't care. He was broken, needing oblivion. Without words, he pulled her to him, their lips merged in a rough, hungry kiss. His hands wrapped around her waist, pressing closer until Kuroka moaned quietly, digging her nails into his back.
They collapsed onto the bed. Jin ripped off the towel, his body covered hers, hard and demanding. Kuroka arched under him, her legs wrapped around his hips, guiding. He entered her sharply, without foreplay, causing her loud sigh of pleasure. Movements were furious, almost cruel—he fucked her to drown his pain, and she met every thrust with a predatory smile, scratching his shoulders, biting lips in response. Her body was hot, pliable, but with an inner strength that responded to his rage. She whispered dirty words in his ear, spurring him on until orgasm covered her first—she arched, screaming his name, clenching around him. Jin followed her, pouring out with a growl, losing himself in this act of despair.
It wasn't love or passion. For him—a way to drown out the inner noise, for her—a tool of control through flesh. Afterward, they lay in sweat and tangled sheets, breathing gradually evening out.
In deep sleep came the last tale.
The Doll had grown, now resembling a young man, but his porcelain body was covered with black cracks, and pieces had chipped off in places. He wandered through a city filled with deafening chaos—screams, grinding, groans. The noise drove him mad.
The Doll found a secluded corner and from the debris of the old world built a simple, solid box. Climbing inside, he closed the lid. Silence reigned inside. Chaos disappeared. He remained in darkness, in peace, until night came.
Outside appeared the "Ghost of Izayoi." He didn't try to open the box. Just watched, and for the first time, disappointment sounded in his voice.
'And so is your choice. Not strength. Not knowledge. Escape. You built a new prison to hide from a world you don't understand, and from yourself whom you fear. Stupid. And so predictably boring.'