Mephisto descended from the sky, his umbrella twirling, landing gracefully amidst the smoldering ruin of the forest I had just erased.
"Bravo! Encore!" Mephisto clapped, though his eyes were calculating. "A bit excessive on the landscaping, but effective."
He sent the battered Amaimon away with a flick of his wrist.
"You set this up," I stated.
"Guilty as charged," Mephisto grinned. "I needed to see how you would handle a King-class threat while handicapped. And I must say, the results were explosive."
"If you want to test me, just say so," I spat, sheathing the Kurikara. "I don't need these elaborate games."
"Oh, the games are just beginning," Mephisto crooned. "We have company."
The air pressure dropped. A beam of light tore through the clouds, slamming into the ground.
A man stepped out of the light. Long blond hair, white uniform, massive sword. The aura coming off him was sharp, self-righteous, and annoying.
Arthur Auguste Angel, The Paladin.
"Mephisto," Arthur barked, ignoring me. "The Vatican Council has been convened. And I am here to execute the spawn of Satan."
"Right on cue," I muttered. "Vatican lapdogs always popping out of nowhere like they got a notification bell on my life."
Arthur drew his sword, Caliburn. "Prepare yourself, demon!"
He lunged. He was fast, maybe even faster than Amaimon. But his attack was linear. Predictable.
Clang.
I didn't draw my sword. I caught Caliburn's blade between my palms. The force cracked the ground beneath me, but I didn't buckle.
Arthur's eyes widened, then his expression quickly turned to rage. "You filthy abomination! How dare you touch a holy blade with your cursed hands!"
"How dare I?" I repeated, hand still holding his blade. "Who the hell do you think you are, weakling?"
"Unhand it, you filth!" Arthur screamed, veins popping. "Do not soil Caliburn with your touch!"
"Is this it?" I said, looking him in the eye. "You call yourself a Paladin with that swing? Pathetic"
I flared my energy. Sovereign Repulsion.
I released a shockwave of pure kinetic force.
BOOM.
Arthur was blasted backward. He recovered quickly, his face twisted in rage. "I will cleanse you!"
"Try it, goldilocks," I growled, grabbing the hilt of my sword. "Let's see if you melt."
Arthur raised his sword for a fatal strike, while I prepped a flame enhanced quick draw.
Beep. Beep.
An electronic chirping sound killed the tension. Arthur froze, reaching for his earpiece.
"Yes?" Arthur spoke into it, glaring at me. "...Understood."
He lowered his sword.
"You got lucky, spawn," Arthur sneered. " The Grigori have summoned Mephisto Pheles for an immediate inquiry. You are to be brought in as evidence and Shura Kirigakure will be a witness."
Evidence? I thought. This god damn bastard probably planned for this too.
When I turned to Mephisto, he just smiled. "Showtime!"
He opened a portal.
The portal opened up to the main courtyard of the Academy. The Exwires—battered, bruised, and confused—were watching us.
Yukio was being held back by Shura. Bon was staring at me, his face a mask of betrayal.
I don't know why though.
"Hey!" Bon shouted, stepping forward. "What's the Child of Satan doing at a school for Exorcists?!"
His question was met with no answer as he began to cough violently. I looked at all of them with a neutral expression. They had ranging looks of fear, confusion, and anger.
"Rin!" Shiemi cried out, tears streaming down her face. "Why are you so calm?! There's nothing calm about this situation!"
I didn't respond. Explaining myself to them felt beneath me. I mean why should I? What would they do with the information?
I turned my back on them.
Yukio ushered them away, telling them that he'd explain everything to them the best he could.
"Let's get this over with, Clown," I said to Mephisto.
The portal spit us out into the High Court of the Grigori. It was a massive, vault-like circular chamber that smelled of incense and judgment.
Three Grigori members sat on high pedestals, looking down like gods judging an ant.
Arthur stood in the center, looking smug. Shura stood to the side, awaiting whatever verdict they deemed. And Mephisto stood to the other side, leaning on his umbrella like a lawyer who already knew the verdict.
I stood in the middle. My hands were cuffed with suppression metal—heavy, cold, and etched with binding scripts.
"Rin Okumura," a Grigori intoned. "The Son of Satan. You exist in violation of our laws."
"Kneel," Arthur commanded from behind me.
He kicked the back of my knee, putting his full Paladin weight into it. He expected me to buckle. He expected me to hit the floor.
I didn't move.
I locked my joints using Sovereign Density, making my legs rigid as steel beams. Arthur's boot hit my leg and stopped dead.
"I said kneel!" Arthur growled, pushing down on my shoulder.
"I heard you," I said calmly, looking straight ahead at the Grigori. "I just don't want to."
"Insolence!" the Grigori shouted.
I flared my aura. I didn't let the flames erupt; I kept them contained within the metal of the cuffs.
Heat Transfer.
The black metal turned cherry red. Then blinding white. The binding scripts burned away. The metal lost its structural integrity and melted into slag, dripping onto the pristine floor with a hiss.
I shook the molten drops off my hands and turned to face Arthur. I got into his guard in an instant.
"Touch me again, and I'll incinerate you right here," I whispered, so only he could hear.
The aura my flames produced was so intense, it caused Arthur to flinch away from pain.
The courtroom erupted in gasps. The guards on the perimeter raised their weapons.
"Silence!" the Head Grigori shouted. "You dare threaten the Paladin?!"
"I'm making a promise," I said, addressing the old men. "You put me on trial for being born? That's bullshit."
"You are a danger! You possess the flames of Satan! You are a ticking time bomb!"
"Yeah," I admitted. "But I'm the only one here who can actually control them."
I looked around the room, making eye contact with every terrified official.
"Here's the reality. Satan is coming back. And when he does, who's going to stop him? Him?" I pointed at Arthur. "I just dismissed him with a palm strike not too long ago. He's not enough."
"Them?" I pointed at the guards. "Hah, don't make me laugh."
Then, I pointed at myself.
"Me. I'm the only weapon you have that actually works. I have the flames. I have the body. And unlike Satan, I have the discipline."
"You are arrogant!" a Grigori shouted, slamming his gavel. "We should execute you now and be done with it!"
"Try it," I challenged. "Kill me now, then hope and pray that you figure out a way to kill Satan."
I spread my arms wide.
"Or, you can put your money on me, and I'll end your years of suffering. Those are your only two options."
I let that hang in the air.
"I'm offering you a service. I handle your problem. You keep out of my affairs. Simple."
The room went deadly silent. They looked at Mephisto.
"He makes a compelling point," Mephisto chimed in, smiling that fox-like smile. "A weapon that doesn't need to be built, only aimed. Why destroy such a valuable asset? Especially one that has already dispatched a Demon King?"
The Grigori whispered among themselves. They were scared, but they were gutless politicians. And they needed all the power they could muster.
"As strong of an argument as that is," the Head Grigori finally spoke. "The boy must still prove his loyalty. He must pass the Exorcist Certification Exam in six months. But If he fails... he will be executed."
When I unlock my full powers I'm turning all of you into furniture.
"Deal, but I have conditions."
We walked out ten minutes later. Arthur looked like he wanted to murder me, but he couldn't touch me now. I gave him the nastiest smirk possible.
Mephisto was practically skipping. "Magnificent! A stunning performance! The business deal angle was inspired."
"Yea, yea," I said. "I need a proper training room. Heat resistant, reinforced walls, the works."
"Consider it done," Mephisto agreed.
Shura was waiting for us in the hallway. The playful vibe was gone, replaced by a sharp, assessing gaze.
"You handled Arthur," she said quietly. "And you melted the cuffs without yer flames flaring."
"I told you," I said. "I'm a chef; I know my heat."
"You were holding back," Shura realized, narrowing her eyes. "During the interrogation. During the camp. You were holding back the whole time."
"There was no reason to do more than necessary," I shrugged. "But the cat's out of the bag now. It's time to step up the training. I need to master the sword."
Shura stared at me for a moment, then a slow grin spread across her face.
"Alright, Chef. If you want to get serious, we'll get serious. But don't come crying when you break."
"Please," I smirked, walking toward the exit. "I don't break. I just get hotter."