The feast within the Great Hall of Gladsheim had finally succumbed to the laws of entropy. What had begun as a divine banquet had devolved into a low, rhythmic murmur of drunk gods and snoring legends.
The scene was a masterpiece of post-party destruction. Most of the Einherjar—warriors who had trained for Ragnarok for centuries—had either collapsed face-first into their trenchers or relocated to a sprawling "wrestling pile" near the far hearth, a tangle of limbs and groans.
Odin, the All-Father, was currently locked in an arm-wrestling match with Azazel on a table that was creaking ominously, sounding like a dying tree in a hurricane.
Issei was still going strong, center stage in a drinking game involving three Valkyries and a dwarf who was weeping openly about losing his favorite axe in a bet.
Ren Ming decided this was his exit cue. He slipped out a side door with a half-full horn of mead, moving with the casual stealth of a guy ducking out of a boring office mixer before the boss started singing karaoke.
The instant the heavy oak doors clicked shut, the roar of the party vanished, replaced by the crisp, biting silence of the Asgardian night.
Ren took a breath, letting the cold air cycle through his lungs. The view from the balcony was nothing short of mythic. The branches of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, stretched across the cosmos like a bioluminescent highway system, its leaves shedding mana that drifted down like glowing fireflies. In the distance, the Iron Forest stood as a jagged silhouette against the stars—a black wall of teeth waiting to chew up the unworthy.
But Ren's eyes didn't linger on the scenery. They landed on the figure standing at the stone railing.
Rias Gremory.
She was already there, bathed in the pale starlight. She had traded her battle-damaged armor for a formal dress conjured by Norse magic—a dark, fitted gown that hugged her curves with elegant precision, leaving her shoulders bare to the chill. Her crimson hair spilled down her back like a banner of war, vivid against the stone.
The aura around her was quieter now, no longer the raging torrent from the arena. But every so often, a tiny speck of Power of Destruction would flicker at her fingertips—a crimson spark of annihilation reacting to her subconscious thoughts.
Ren Ming walked over, leaning his elbows on the railing beside her, close enough that the warmth of their arms almost mingled.
"Enjoying the view, Princess?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence without breaking it.
She didn't jump. She didn't even flinch. She had felt his presence the moment he stepped onto the balcony—a gravitational pull she was learning to recognize anywhere.
"I'm making sure we didn't accidentally start an inter-pantheon war," Rias said, her eyes still fixed on the horizon where the aurora borealis danced. "Odin gave us his blessing, but… this is still the home of another Chief God. My brother would have a heart attack if he saw the way we handled things today. The diplomatic fallout alone..."
"Your brother would have a heart attack, alright," Ren corrected, swirling the mead in his horn. "But not because of politics. It would be in that proud, teary-eyed, 'my little sister is all grown up and nuking people' kind of way. You were terrifying out there, Rias. In the good way. The kind of way that makes enemies rethink their entire life."
Rias's lips quirked upward, a ghost of a smile, before flattening again. She gripped the railing, her knuckles turning white.
"It still feels surreal," she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper that the wind almost stole. "To have a Chief God acknowledge my strength. To see Asgardians—warriors who live and die by the sword—kneel. Part of me keeps waiting to wake up back in the Occult Research Club room, worrying about midterms, Rating Games, and... Riser."
She turned her head, her crimson-blue eyes searching his face, looking for an anchor.
"Is it wrong that I like this version of me more?"
Ren Ming took a slow sip of the mead, letting the silence hang for a beat. He set the horn down on the broad stone railing with a heavy thud.
"You mean Rias Gremory, who stares down gods, treats gravity like a suggestion, and casually erases legendary weapons with a single finger?" Ren shrugged, his expression relaxed. "I'd say that's an upgrade. I like her more, too. Less brooding, more blasting."
She huffed a tiny laugh, but there was a tremor in it. A vulnerability she only ever showed him.
"And… this version of us?" she asked, her gaze drifting to his hand resting near hers. "Back home, I was the King piece. I was supposed to be the one doing the saving. I was the pillar everyone leaned on. Here, it feels like… I'm leaning on you. On this power you gave me."
Her fingers twitched, hovering millimeters from his skin, afraid to bridge the gap.
Ren Ming watched her for a moment. He truly saw her. Not the Gremory Heiress, not the idol of Kuoh Academy, but the girl who had been buried under the weight of expectations her entire life. Spending these last seven days with her had been surreal in the best way possible. Deep in his heart, devoid of any schemes or cultivation benefits, he was genuinely happy for her evolution.
He didn't hesitate. He closed the distance.
His fingers laced through hers—warm, firm, and grounding. He didn't tug or pull. He just existed there, a solid reality against her uncertainty.
"You're not leaning, Rias," Ren Ming said, his tone shifting from casual to absolute. "You're delegating."
Rias blinked, startled by the business term. "Delegating?"
"Yeah. It's Management 101." He turned, putting his back against the railing so he could face her fully, their joined hands resting in the space between them. "You are a Queen. Real Queens don't do everything themselves. They don't scrub the floors, and they definitely don't tank hits with their face just to prove they're tough. You assemble a squad of monsters, you give the orders, and you let the psychos who enjoy getting punched—" He jerked his head back toward the hall, where Issei's drunken laughter was echoing like a banshee. "—do the heavy lifting."
Rias bit her lower lip, the tension in her shoulders unwinding inch by inch.
"But," Ren Ming added, his voice softening, dropping the bravado, "when the moment comes, when the chips are down and everyone is looking at you for the call? Tonight, you didn't flinch. You stepped forward, you owned that arena, and you made an Ultimate-class captain yield with a flick of your finger. That's not leaning on me. That's you being exactly who you were always meant to be."
Her eyes shimmered, reflecting the starlight and the faint red glow of her own aura.
"You always say things like that so easily," she murmured. "As if it's the most obvious thing in the world."
"That's because it is." He tilted his head, offering her a lopsided grin. "To me, at least. I call it like I see it. No filter."
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't empty. It was comfortable, heavy with unspoken understanding. The wind from the Iron Forest tugged at her crimson hair, whipping a few strands across his cheek.
Rias stepped closer, invading his personal space until he could feel the faint, static heat of her Power of Destruction humming against his chest.
"Ren," she said, her voice steady now, reverent. "Back at Kuoh, everything was… messy. I was scared, cornered, angry at the system. I clung to whoever offered me hope, even if they didn't really see me. But here…"
She swallowed, her throat working.
"Here, I don't feel like a damsel in distress. I feel like your equal. And I… I really like how that feels."
Ren's mouth curved into a smile—slower and softer than his usual arrogant smirk. It was the smile of a man looking at something precious.
"Good," he said. "Because I'm not interested in collecting damsels. Too high maintenance and too much trouble. I'm building an empire. Queens only."
He raised their joined hands, bringing her knuckles to his lips.
He pressed a kiss there—light, deliberate, and intimate. It wasn't lewd. It wasn't rushed. It was a seal of acknowledgment.
Rias's breath hitched in her throat. For a heartbeat, her Power of Destruction flared around them like a red aurora, a defensive reflex of pure emotion, before it settled, folding neatly back inside her dantian just as he had taught her.
"Then," she whispered, her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink that rivaled her hair, "I'll work hard… to be worthy of standing beside you."
"You already are," Ren Ming said simply. "But if you want to put in the extra effort, I won't complain."
She laughed—a real, bright sound that cut through the gloom of the Norse night—and stepped fully into his space, resting her forehead briefly against his chest.
Just for a moment, the Crimson-Haired Ruin Princess allowed herself to be just a girl.
Then, she pulled back. She smoothed her dress, straightened her spine, and the Queen returned.
"We should go back before Akeno steals you for herself," she said lightly, though Ren detected a distinct note of territorial possessiveness rather than the usual murderous glare.
Ren Ming noted this internally with immense satisfaction. This was progress. He had read too many stories where main characters hid their power, leading to misunderstandings, or where romances were stretched out over hundreds of chapters because people refused to communicate.
Ren Ming didn't give a single damn about those tropes. He possessed world-breaking power, and he intended to use it to secure his happiness. Without this power, he would be just another slow-growth protagonist for whom a harem was a pipe dream. With it, he could cut the Gordian knot.
"Ah, territorial instincts," he mused, checking an imaginary watch. "We'll deal with those later. For now? Walk me back in, Your Majesty."
She took his arm, her grip firm.
And for the first time in a long time, Rias Gremory walked back toward a hall of gods feeling not like a chess piece on someone else's board, but like a reigning queen at her consort's side.
...
The feast was officially over. The guest wing of Gladsheim was quieter, a labyrinth of stone corridors lit by blue witchlights that floated lazily along the ceiling like jellyfish.
Ren Ming was halfway to his assigned quarters when he felt it.
It wasn't a sound. It was a sensation—a prickle along his skin, a static charge that made the fine hairs on his arms stand up. The air tasted of ozone and burnt sugar.
Lightning.
He paused, pivoting on his heel. His Immortal Soul Bone analyzed the signature instantly. It was chaotic, turbulent, and familiar.
He followed the sensation out onto an open training terrace suspended high above the Asgardian clouds.
Akeno Himejima was there.
She stood at the far end of the stone platform, her kimono sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her raven hair loose and whipping around her shoulders in the gale. The night wind tugged at the fabric of her outfit, but she was oblivious to the cold.
Arcs of lightning—some jagged purple-black, others a blinding golden-white—danced between her fingers. She was weaving them together, or trying to. The energies hissed and popped, repelling each other like oil and water.
"And what are you up to at this hour?" Ren Ming asked, leaning his shoulder against a stone pillar, crossing his arms.
Akeno froze for a fraction of a second before glancing back. She plastered a sultry smile onto her face almost on reflex, a mask she had worn for years.
"Ren-sama," she purred, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. "Couldn't sleep? Or did you simply sense that your humble priestess was playing with dangerous toys unsupervised?"
Her usual sadistic veneer was there, but it was paper-thin. Up close, under the harsh light of the witchlights, Ren could see the tightness around her eyes, the strain in her posture.
"You swallowed a Chief Valkyrie's lightning in the arena and burped out a railgun," Ren Ming said dryly, walking onto the terrace. "Kind of hard to sleep after a high like that, huh? Adrenaline dump is a bitch."
She giggled, and this time, genuine amusement leaked through the cracks.
"It was… exhilarating," Akeno admitted, looking back at her hands. "Their lightning is so clean. Pure. Different from my own polluted power. Mixing it with mine was… delicious."
Her eyes flickered. For a second, the thrill vanished, replaced by that familiar, deep-seated crack of guilt.
Ren Ming's eyes narrowed slightly. He knew exactly what that look meant. Throughout these seven days, he had gotten closer to Akeno on a level deeper than just physical attraction. He understood the war being fought inside her head.
Combining her Fallen Angel power always dragged up the trauma associated with her father, Baraqiel, and the Himejima clan. And now, adding the Holy Norse element stacked yet another layer of "impurity" on top of the part of herself she had been brainwashed to hate. She felt like a contradiction. A mistake.
Ren Ming decided it was time to intervene. Not with a lecture, but with a correction. He believed that a small step now would build the bridge to solving her main problem later.
He pushed off the pillar and walked over until he was within arm's reach of her. The static in the air was intense, snapping against his skin, but his Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique ignored it like a gentle breeze.
"Say," he said softly, breaking her brooding trance. "Show me that lightning."
Akeno blinked, startled. "Now?"
"Unless you've suddenly become shy. Which would be a first."
She smirked, recovering her composure. "Ara ara… Ren-sama is ordering me around. How bold."
Still, she obeyed.
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and raised both hands.
CRACK-BOOM!
Lightning crawled over her skin. It was a visual representation of chaos. Thick, viscous black demonic power surged on the left; a flicker of holy purple Fallen light spiked in the center; and threads of colder, sharper Nordic blue wove between them.
The energies screamed. They didn't want to mix. The Holy repelled the Demonic, and the Fallen energy acted as a volatile catalyst. It sparked violently, hissing like a nest of vipers, threatening to fly apart along instinctive fault lines.
Ren didn't flinch. He reached out and laid a hand over each of hers, his palms warm and calloused against her trembling knuckles.
"Focus on the loop," he murmured, his voice resonating in her ear. "Not the labels."
Akeno's breath caught in her throat. "Loop… not labels?"
"The Myriad Origin Scripture doesn't care if it's Holy, Demonic, or flavors of ice cream," Ren continued, his tone turning instructional, authoritative. "Energy is just energy. It's all just math. Intent is what matters. Stop fighting the currents and become the ocean. What do you want this to be?"
Her lashes trembled. He held her hands firm, not letting her look away or break the connection.
"I… I want it to be mine," Akeno whispered, the confession torn from her throat. "Not anyone else's. I want lightning that belongs only to me."
"Good answer."
Ren's eyes flashed with a grey light. "Then take it."
He nudged the loop within her.
He didn't force his own power into her; he simply acted as a stabilizer, a Governor valve on an engine. His aura wrapped around her chaotic storm, providing a framework of absolute order.
Hummmm.
The Myriad Origin Scripture kicked into high gear. It grabbed the conflicting energies—the Holy that wanted to purify, the Demonic that wanted to corrupt—and forced them into a centrifuge. It stripped away the history, the trauma, and the "tags." It broke the energy down to its rawest form and recycled it.
The screeching hiss of the lightning died down.
In its place, a new sound emerged: a low, resonant thrum, like a lightsaber activating or a heavy bass drop.
The terrace filled with a soft, steady glow. The lightning moving between their joined hands was no longer jagged or multicolored. It was a uniform, radiant violet-gold—a perfect fusion. It was silent, deadly, and absolutely stable.
Akeno opened her eyes, her pupils dilating as she stared at the miracle in her hands.
"It's… quiet," she breathed, mesmerized. "It's still strong—stronger than before—but… it doesn't hurt. It doesn't fight me."
"Congratulations," Ren said, releasing her hands but staying close. "You just invented Akeno-brand lightning. Patent pending. You should probably trademark it before Odin tries to steal the specs."
She laughed, a wet, choked sound. Tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes, the emotional backlash of conquering that internal conflict catching up all at once.
Before they could fall, Ren tugged her gently forward.
She didn't resist. She ended up with her forehead resting on his shoulder, her hands—still crackling softly with her new power—clutching his shirt.
"You're allowed to love this part of you," he said quietly, his voice vibrating through her chest. "The thrill, the sadism, the spark. None of that makes you a monster, Akeno. It just makes you, you."
She stiffened against him.
"Even if I enjoy… hurting people?" she asked, her voice small beneath the teasing tone she tried to maintain. "Even if I crave the violence?"
"As long as they consent and deserve it?" Ren shrugged, resting his chin on top of her head. "Look at me. I enjoy absolutely humiliating arrogant young masters and crusty old elders in front of their peers. It's my hobby. Everyone's got their thing."
She snorted into his shirt, the tension draining out of her spine.
"That's not how a gentleman should speak, Ren-sama."
"Good thing I never claimed to be a gentleman. Gentlemen finish last. I prefer to win."
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. The violet irises were shimmering, stripped of their usual guarded mockery.
"You're dangerous," Ren stated. "You're beautiful. You're kind. All of that fits in the same box. I'm not afraid of any of it. I'm not Rias, and I'm not Issei. I see all the dirty parts, and I don't care. Got it?"
The words hit harder than any praise or compliment she had ever received. They bypassed her defenses entirely.
Akeno's lips trembled.
"Ren-sama," she whispered, her fingers curling tighter into the fabric of his shirt. "If you keep saying such things… if you keep looking at me like that… I might really fall for you."
"You say that like it's a threat," he said, amused, a challenge dancing in his eyes. "Newsflash, Sparky: you already did."
Her cheeks flushed a deep, lovely crimson. But instead of hiding or deflecting, she leaned up.
She pressed a quick, soft kiss to his jawline. It was chaste by DxD standards, fleeting as a spark, but for Akeno, it burned with more intent than a thousand lightning bolts.
She stepped back, sliding her mask back into place. But this time, the smile was genuine, and the eyes were bright.
"Then, as your resident sadist," Akeno said, her voice dropping back to its signature sultry purr, "I will devote myself to making your lightning lessons… unforgettable. Prepare yourself, Ren-sama."
"Looking forward to it," Ren grinned. "Now, let's get out of here before Asia comes looking for you and has a moral crisis about us being alone together in the dark. I don't have the energy to explain that we were just doing 'science'."
Akeno giggled, the sound light and free. She floated off the terrace, her heart lighter than it had been in years, leaving the scent of rain and ozone in her wake.