May 4th, 2012, Grigori Headquarters, Morning.
The tour of the Grigori's sprawling, technologically advanced headquarters had been comprehensive, if belated.
Makoto followed Penemue through sterile, luminous corridors that hummed with a quiet energy, past laboratories sealed behind transparent walls, and through archives where knowledge was stored in both crystalline data-shards and ancient, leather-bound tomes.
"And this," Penemue announced with a graceful sweep of her hand, "is the main cafeteria for the Ministry of Defense."
The vast room was sleek and efficient, filled with Fallen Angels in uniform taking their meals amidst the soft murmur of conversation.
"Though, in hindsight, we probably should have given you this tour much sooner, Messiah," she admitted, her tone touched with mild embarrassment.
"I see... thank you for the tour, Penemue," Makoto replied, his eyes taking in the scale of the operation.
'I hoped thiiis place to be more interestiiing,' Fafnir screeched internally, his disappointment palpable.
'It's all so... orderly.'
'And what, precisely, is your definition of "interesting," lizard? A vault of glittering baubles?' Odin snorted.
'Whaaat? Do you want to fiiight, old man?' the metallic dragon creaked back, rising to the bait.
A soft, melodic chime sounded from the tablet in Penemue's hands. She glanced down, and her professional composure flickered. "Oh, I apologize, Messiah. It seems Governor General Azazel requires my assistance... again," she said, the last word carrying a world of long-suffering patience.
Makoto's gaze fell on the sleek device. "What is that?" he asked.
"Ah, I forget how unfamiliar you are with our systems," Penemue said, holding up the tablet. "It is analogous to a human cellular phone, but significantly more advanced, with functionalities integrated into Grigori's central network for research, communication, and tactical deployment."
As she spoke, her eyes scanned a new message that flashed across the screen. They widened slightly.
"Ah! Azazel says—and I quote—'Contact the Messiah immediately. The matter is urgent.' Oh, dear. Messiah, we must hurry!" Her previously calm demeanor vanished, replaced by a sharp, urgent efficiency.
"Alright," Makoto said, falling into step beside her as she pivoted and began moving with purposeful speed. "From the little I know of Azazel, he doesn't seem the type to treat official matters with undue solemnity."
A small, strained laugh escaped Penemue. "I would say you've already grasped the essence of his personality rather well. That is, indeed, Azazel in a nutshell. Though it does make moments like these all the more concerning. Luckily I summoned you this morning!" she added, mostly to herself.
"Did he give any details?" Makoto asked as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors.
'If this were the Azazel of our memory,' Lucifer's voice drawled with dark amusement, 'I would wager the "urgent problem" is a decline in the cases of heinous murders he has either committed or commissioned.'
'How many times must it be said?' Leviathan's voice rumbled, stirred from its aquatic depths within Makoto's soul. 'This is not that Azazel. The context is different. The being is similar, but the path diverges.'
Penemue and Makoto finally arrived at the entrance to the Governor General's office—a space that, according to Penemue's earlier exasperated comments, typically sat as empty and unused as a museum exhibit, given Azazel's preference for his laboratory.
Today, however, it buzzed with an unusual, tense energy.
Inside, familiar and unfamiliar faces were gathered. Azazel was there, uncharacteristically out of his lab coat and looking unkempt, as if he'd been pulled away mid-experiment.
Shemhazai stood beside him, his expression unreadable but his posture alert. The new faces were two humans.
One was a young man, probably in his early twenties, standing a few centimeters taller than Makoto. He had jet-black hair and sharp, assessing grey eyes that held a quiet, lethal intensity. He was clad in a form-fitting black stealth suit, and strapped to his back was an imposing scythe, its blade marked with faint, glowing red runes.
This was Tobio Ikuse, leader of the special operations team Slash/Dog.
Beside him stood a young woman of similar age, Lavinia Reni, his second-in-command. Her presence was striking: a cascade of golden blonde hair fell to the small of her back, framing a face of elegant, almost severe beauty. Her eyes were a piercing, glacial sapphire, their cool gaze sweeping over the room.
Penemue's knock interrupted a low, tense discussion.
"Finally, you're here, Penemue... Yuki," Azazel said, catching himself just before uttering 'Messiah.' The forced casualness in his voice was jarring, drawing a puzzled glance from Lavinia, who subtly raised a perfect eyebrow.
"You must be the new agent Vali has spoken so highly of," Lavinia said, her voice as charming and melodious as a carefully tuned instrument. "My name is Lavinia Reni. And this brooding individual," she gestured with a slight tilt of her head, "is Tobio."
"Nice to meet you. Yuki, right?" Tobio said, his greeting brief but his grey eyes sharp and assessing. He offered a polite, minimal nod.
"Makoto Yuki," Makoto confirmed.
"Mes—ehm, Yuki," Azazel began again, uncharacteristic hesitation making his words stumble. "Sorry for the abrupt summons, and thank you for coming on such short notice."
The awkwardness was so palpable it seemed to thicken the air in the room. Lavinia and Tobio exchanged another quick, silent look. Shemhazai cleared his throat discreetly and nudged Azazel with an elbow.
"What Azazel is trying to say," Shemhazai interjected smoothly, "is that he wishes to update you on that... special project you were collaborating on."
He delivered the line with a perfectly straight face, adding a blink so fast it was nearly imperceptible—a signal meant solely for Makoto.
Lavinia sighed, a sound of profound exasperation. "Mr. Azazel, are you once again prioritizing your personal experiments over operational matters?" Her glacial blue eyes fixed on him with a look of deep disappointment.
"Azazel," Tobio's voice was flat, cutting through the awkwardness. "The Outcasts of Yomi are escalating. They've formed alliances with extremist elements within the Five Principal Clans, particularly the Himejima faction. Their activities are becoming coordinated, bold. They are a true threat now, not just a nuisance."
The name 'Himejima' echoed in Makoto's mind. 'Himejima? Like Akeno's family name?'
'Correct,' Izanagi's stern voice confirmed internally. 'In this world, five major human families bear the blessings of the Shinto gods and their Four Sacred Beasts. The Himejima are one, aligned with the Genbu, the Black Tortoise. There is also a successor to the Huanglong, the Yellow Dragon.' 'Now that you mention it,'Kohryu mused, 'I recall the Welsh dragon referring to me as the "third dead dragon god." The connections run deeper than we knew.' 'The crucial point,'Izanagi pressed, 'is that intelligence suggests the Outcasts of Yomi are being backed by Shadow Izanami. She is their patron and likely their source of power.'
"Yes, yes, I understand the severity!" Azazel said, waving a hand and fully embracing Shemhazai's fabricated excuse. "I give you my word, the matter will receive my full attention immediately after I conclude my business with Yuki here. Top priority!"
With that, and ignoring the skeptical looks from Tobio and Lavinia, Azazel gestured for Makoto to follow him. He all but dragged the boy out of the office and down a short corridor to a heavily secured door marked with hazardous material symbols. His personal laboratory.
Once inside, the door hissed shut behind them, sealing them in a cluttered space dominated by humming machines, scattered components, and half-finished projects that defied easy categorization. Azazel leaned against a workbench, letting out a long breath.
"Sorry for the theater out there, Messiah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Shemhazai's quick thinking saved us from some very difficult explanations. I owe him for that one."
"What is Nyarlathotep doing?" Makoto demanded, bypassing any further preamble. His blue eyes were intent, focused solely on the Fallen Angel before him.
Azazel's usual levity vanished completely. His expression turned grim. "So my suspicions are confirmed. The Outcasts are being backed by him. I had a feeling. No faction, no matter how determined, amasses that kind of power and influence in mere months without... external, malevolent support." He spat the last words as if they were poison.
'Izanagi, what more do you know of them?' Makoto asked internally. 'Little of concrete value,'the god of creation replied. 'Susano'o-no-Mikoto razed one of their suspected hideouts in a fit of rage. By the time the dust settled, they were gone—every trace, every clue, evacuated with preternatural speed. They are ghosts, guided by a cunning intelligence.'
'Now that the Universe is done playing nursemaid to the Priestess,' Odin's voice cut in, pragmatic and harsh, 'we can address this threat directly. We must crush this infestation before the Crawling Chaos spawns another abomination.' 'That is rather callous, All-Father,'Cendrillon chided, though her tone lacked its usual playfulness. 'But... you are not wrong. The time for reaction has passed.'
"I understand," Makoto said aloud, absorbing the information. "And these Five Principal Clans? The Himejima extremists?"
Azazel's frown deepened. "Slash/Dog's reports indicate heightened, coordinated activities from radical splinter groups within those clans. Their focus seems to be around Japan's volcanic regions—places of great geothermal and spiritual power. I sent a few of our operatives to investigate. They were neutralized with terrifying efficiency. Sending more would be seen as a provocation by the Shinto Pantheon, and with the current tensions..." He trailed off, then added another layer of worry. "And that's without even considering the Kokabiel situation. I have to keep resources in reserve to monitor him as well."
"Kokabiel?" Makoto asked, the name unfamiliar.
"Yes," Azazel confirmed, his voice dropping. "Another of the Grigori's Cadres, like Shemhazai, Baraqiel, or myself. But unlike the rest of us, he is a pure, unadulterated warmonger. His only desire is to reignite the Great War, to see the world burn in conflict once more. For that reason, he is the only Cadre who has not been informed of your true identity. The risk is too great."
"Alright. Thank you for the information, Azazel," Makoto said, filing the details away.
"Ah, don't mention it, Messiah," Azazel replied, a flicker of his usual self returning. "If anything, it's a relief to have someone I can speak openly with—someone who isn't Shemhazai, Baraqiel, or Penemue. It's... refreshing."
A question surfaced in Makoto's mind. "What about Vali? I assumed he would have been the first to find me the moment I set foot here."
Azazel's face grew solemn again. "That leads me to the final, and perhaps most pressing, reason I called you here. Vali... he may have located another Shadow Self."
A jolt of alarm shot through Makoto, mirrored by the sudden, agitated chorus of his Personas.
'Another? So soon?' Kohryu's mental voice was uncharacteristically shaken. 'Shadow Izanami, Shadow Azazel, the Reverse Phoenix... and now a fourth? How fast can that monster produce these aberrations?'
'If the Star has stumbled upon it, he is in grave danger, hee hoo!' Jack Frost cried out, his usual cheer replaced by fear.
'The Star's survival is paramount,' Yoshitsune stated, his warrior's calm tinged with urgency. 'The consequences of his loss would ripple through the fabric of this world's destiny. We must intervene. Immediately.'
"Who? Where?" Makoto's voice was tight, controlled, but the underlying urgency was unmistakable. He took a step closer to Azazel. "And what is Vali even doing, placing himself directly in the enemy's jaws?"
"It's... a long story," Azazel began, running a hand through his hair. "Vali has been operating as a deep-cover agent for us within the Khaos Brigade for nearly a year now. It's a faction of rebels, terrorists, and malcontents from every mythology, united only by their desire to sow chaos and overturn the current world order."
A pause hung in the air. The same terrible conclusion crystallized in both their minds simultaneously. Their eyes met, and they spoke the damning realization in unison:
"Nyarlathotep has infiltrated the Khaos Brigade."
'Universe,' Apollo's voice cut in, strained and serious. 'I recall now. When I was... observing... during the Hanged's training, I overheard the Attendant speaking with Death. They mentioned an entity named Ophis, and her affiliation with this "Khaos Brigade." But the memory is fragmented, cut short—as if the recollection itself was attacked.'
'Forgive the interruption, Sun God,' Cendrillon interjected, curiosity overriding protocol, 'but how could you possibly know this?'
'Let us simply say,' Apollo admitted, a touch of chagrin in his tone, 'that while my primary focus was the Hanged's archery training, I may have taken a brief... divergent path to satisfy my own curiosity.'
'The details are irrelevant now,' Makoto pressed, his mental voice sharp. 'Go on.'
'The Attendant,' Apollo continued, 'subsequently dispatched Horus to discreetly monitor this Ophis. She suspected a connection, but the attack on her memory by Nyarlathotep corrupted the specifics.'
Makoto sighed, a wave of weary frustration washing over him. He brought a hand to his temple. 'Liz... hiding things, acting on her own, underestimating the scale of the crisis, and then leaving the pieces for me to find and reassemble.'
The thought was more tired than angry.
'Such is the burden of the Universe, Makoto,' Messiah offered, his voice a blend of sympathy and wry acceptance. 'To be the anchor for those who dance with chaos.'
'I cannot truly blame her,' Makoto conceded, the frustration softening as he thought of Elizabeth's boundless, chaotic joy in this new existence. 'This life she's living now—free from the strictures of the Velvet Room, no longer alone with Igor... for her, it must feel like a paradise of endless discovery. A whole new world to explore.'
Aloud, his voice was calm but carried a new, deadly focus. "Azazel. Do you know of someone named Ophis?"
The reaction was immediate and profound. Azazel's body went still, all pretense of ease evaporating. His golden eyes narrowed, and when he spoke after a heavy moment, his voice was low and gravelly with concern.
"Ophis... is the acknowledged, if enigmatic, benefactor of the Khaos Brigade. She is an entity of immense, incomprehensible power. For reasons that remain opaque to all of us, she has lent her name and her strength to their cause." He studied Makoto's face. "Why do you ask?"
Makoto met his gaze squarely. "Because Nyarlathotep didn't just infiltrate the Khaos Brigade, Azazel. He attacked Ophis. He stripped her of her memories."
The color drained from Azazel's face. All the cleverness, all the scientific curiosity, was gone, replaced by the stark visage of a commander facing a catastrophic strategic blow.
"Shit."