Above the ruined expanse of the Iron Forest, the projection of the Ancient Saint solidified for one final, defiance-filled second.
The heavens of the Norse Dimension did not take this lightly. The remaining Fate Calamity and Physical Tribulation lightning coalesced, stripping the sky of its color. It was no longer just lightning; it was a verdict from the Grand Dao itself, a screeching, luminous judgment designed to erase anything that dared to cultivate against the will of the world.
It slammed into the Nine-Palace Saint Kingdom like the hammer of an angry god.
The impact should have shattered the dimension. It should have vaporized the iron beneath and turned the air into plasma.
It didn't even ripple.
Deep within Ren Ming, the Ninth Fate Palace—the Pinnacle Saint Palace that defies the very logic of the heavens—rotated once.
Thrum.
The sound wasn't loud. It was heavy. It was the sound of a closing door that shut out the rest of the universe.
The tribulation lightning, that screaming maelstrom capable of erasing Dragon Kings, didn't strike him. It was inhaled.
The Saint Kingdom expanded, acting not as a shield, but as a predator. The arcs of blue-white destruction were sucked into the vortex of his inner world, shredded into raw spiritual qi, and scattered like harmless, glittering confetti across his foundation. The Physical Tribulation tried to tear his cells apart, to unravel his genetic code, but it slammed into the fully awakened Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique.
It was like throwing a pebble at a mountain. His flesh had become a fortress, a closed-loop reactor where energy was not wasted, but dominated.
Ren Ming opened his eyes.
The storm vanished.
There was no gradual dissipation, no retreating clouds. One instant, Asgard's sky was a screaming kaleidoscope of impossible violence and cracked space. The next, it was back to its usual aurora-lit twilight. It was as if someone had simply reached up and flipped the light switch.
Silence crashed down on the world.
Ren stood alone on a perfectly smooth, glassy disk of compressed iron at the heart of a crater that measured miles across.
He wore no shirt. His coat had disintegrated minutes ago in the heat of the ascension. His skin was unmarked—no burns, no scars—yet it carried a faint, muted sheen, like high-grade steel that had been heated in a forge and then perfectly quenched.
His aura was… quiet.
Terrifyingly quiet.
After the titanic pressure of the tempest, the silence of his presence was heavier than the storm itself. It was the silence of a deep ocean trench.
He rolled his shoulders and spawned a shirt made up of energy. His joints popped—a satisfying, heavy crack-crack that echoed unnaturally loud in the stillness.
"Ancient Saint. Nine Palaces. Nine Stars," he murmured, his voice vibrating in his own chest. He tested the fit of his new realm, feeling the Ancient Ming Bloodline churning sluggishly, content and full after devouring the tribulation energy. "Physique at Minor Completion. Soul Bone is happy. Bloodline… full."
He flexed his fingers.
The air around his hand distorted. He hadn't used magic. He hadn't used Touki. He had just moved his hand, and the weight of his physical existence warped the space around him like fabric under a heavy stone.
"Nice."
He tilted his head back, looking up at the aurora.
Far above, and lining the edges of the crater, Gods, Devils, and Dragons held their collective breath. Their divine senses screamed that a monster had just been born.
Ren didn't smirk. He didn't posture. He didn't release a burst of killing intent to assert dominance.
He just lifted one hand and gave a lazy, casual wave to the empty sky.
Then, ignoring the pantheon of supreme beings watching him, he looked down toward the safe zone.
His gray-gold eyes cut through distance and stone as if neither existed. The crater, the ruined Iron Forest, the watching gods… all of it slid out of focus.
He looked toward them.
He didn't walk. He didn't teleport using a magic circle.
One moment, Rias and the others were braced inside Rossweisse's screaming barrier, eyes locked on the fading afterimage of the Saint Kingdom in the sky.
The next moment, the air inside the dome displaced.
No sound. No flash. Just… presence.
Ren Ming stood a few meters away, his bare feet resting on the scorched ground. His hair was tousled by a breeze that didn't exist inside the sealed barrier.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Every instinct the devils possessed—survival instincts honed by their heritage—was still convinced they were standing next to a natural disaster. The pressure that had filled all of Asgard just seconds ago was gone, compacted entirely inside this man's skin, but the echo of it clung to him like the smell of ozone after a lightning strike.
Ren blinked at their stunned faces. He raised a hand and rubbed his cheek with his thumb.
"…What?"
The tone was dry, light, and utterly mundane.
"Do I have something on my face?"
The spell snapped.
"REN-SAN!"
Asia moved first.
She practically teleported—one instant kneeling, the next flinging herself across the gap. Her Twilight Healing flared unconsciously along her hands, green light spilling out to knit wounds that didn't exist. She hit his chest with enough force to knock a lesser man over.
Ren didn't budge. He was an immovable object.
He caught her automatically, one arm looping around her back, the other cupping the back of her head so she didn't slam her face into his collarbone.
"I-It's really you…!" Asia sobbed into his bare chest, her small shoulders shaking violently. "R-Ren-san, I thought… I was so scared! The sky cracked, and everything was screaming, and—"
"Hey, hey," he rumbled, his voice dropping to a soothing register. His large hand rubbed comforting circles between her shoulder blades. "Easy, nun-chan. Breathing is good. Oxygen is very fashionable, you know?"
"Ren!"
Rias's voice cracked.
She had slammed a hand over her mouth the second she saw him, trying to physically hold back the rush of emotion. Now the dam broke. Her crimson hair whipped around her face as she ran the last few steps, her Power of Destruction stirring wildly before she clamped it down with iron discipline.
She didn't know whether to punch him or hug him.
So she did both.
Her fist hit his bare shoulder with a dull thud that would have dislocated a high-class devil's arm. Ren took it without even a flinch. Then she grabbed that same shoulder and pulled herself in, pressing her forehead against his collarbone, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back.
"You… absolute idiot," she choked out, her voice muffled against his skin. "What were you thinking? The sky cracked. The realms were trembling. The barrier almost collapsed under the sheer pressure of your existence!"
Ren tilted his head slightly, resting his chin on top of her crimson hair, with Asia still clinging to his front like a koala.
"Mm." He nodded solemnly. "Yep. Sounds about right for a good workout. No pain, no gain, right?"
"Ren-sama…"
Akeno's voice was soft, dangerously so.
She had been half-folded over, hands braced on her knees, eyes glued to the spot where the lightning dome had been. Now she straightened slowly. Her violet eyes were bright with unshed tears, her black wings trembling behind her. She walked toward him in small, deliberate steps, as if any sudden movement would shatter the illusion.
Up close, she studied him carefully—skin, breath, aura.
"You're not… a hallucination?" she murmured, reaching out a trembling hand. "If I touch you, you won't disappear like mist?"
"Pretty sure I'm still here," Ren deadpanned. "Unless this is all an elaborate coma dream and I'm actually on life support somewhere in Ohio after a bad car wreck."
Akeno let out a wet little laugh that died halfway out of her throat. Then she stepped in and wrapped her arms around his waist from the side, pressing her cheek against his ribs.
Her shoulders started to shake.
"Ara… you really are the worst, Ren-sama," she whispered, her nails scraping lightly against his skin. "Doing something so outrageous alone… making us watch… making us think you were gone…"
Koneko hovered at the edge, her small fists clenched at her sides. Her tail, usually hidden, was puffed up to twice its normal size under her torn skirt. Her Touki loop hummed frantically, trying to ground out the lingering terror she felt from his aura.
She glared up at him with wet eyes.
"…Ren-sensei," she muttered. "Stupid… reckless… muscle-brained… sky-breaking… idiot."
Ren looked over Asia's hair at her, his lips quirking into a crooked grin.
"All accurate, yeah," he agreed easily. "You wanna join the dogpile, or are you just gonna roast me from over there, kitten?"
Koneko's ears flattened.
She stomped once, marched forward, and latched onto his side, her small hands grabbing his waistband as if to make sure he wouldn't float away.
"I'm only here to make sure you don't wander off," she mumbled into his skin, burying her face. "You cause too much trouble unsupervised."
Issei and Kiba stood a step back, the only two not physically clinging to him. But Issei's hands were trembling, the Boosted Gear half-manifested on his left arm, the green jewel pulsing with residual adrenaline.
He swallowed hard.
"Sensei… that was… I mean… just now…" Issei stammered. "The sky… it just… vanished."
Kiba's throat worked. The Sword Birth user, who had faced down demons and ultimate-class threats, looked like someone who had just watched a god die and realized the executioner was his homeroom teacher.
Ren met their eyes over the tangle of crying, hugging girls.
The smile he gave them wasn't the cold, impassive mask of the Ancient Saint. It wasn't the wild, storm-drunk grin of the tribulation.
It was the same lazy, teasing curve they'd seen a hundred times in the last eight days. The same smirk he'd worn when he'd whacked Issei with a stick for telegraphing his punches. The same expression he'd had when he'd told Kiba to stop trying to be a scalpel and learn how to be a hammer.
"Relax, guys," he said. "I told you I'd handle my own homework. You guys did great. Passed your midterms with flying colors."
The familiar tone—their Ren, not the alien storm god—finally reached their nervous systems.
"…Haaah," Issei exhaled, his shoulders slumping as the tension left him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, his laugh weak and hysterical. "Seriously, sensei… if you're gonna do stuff like that, at least give us a warning… I thought the universe was uninstalling itself…"
Kiba let out a shaky breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His sword-hand, so used to tension, finally loosened.
"…Welcome back, Ren-sensei," he said quietly, bowing his head with deep respect. "Even if it feels wrong to say that when you were technically… here the whole time."
"Semantics," Ren waved it off. "I'll give extra credit to whoever didn't pee a little."
"Ren-san!" Asia squeaked, scandalized, lifting her head from his chest with a blush.
"Joking, joking." He squeezed her gently, then let his aura settle even further.
To their senses, it was like watching a collapsing star flicker and quietly become a warm, steady sun. The Myriad Origin Scripture turned the cycle of his power inward, sealing the terrifying majesty of the Nine Fate Palaces away from the world.
Only Rossweisse hadn't moved.
She still stood near the edge of the barrier, her staff in hand, eyes wide behind her glasses. Her magic circles—triple-layer barrier, auxiliary wards, structural reinforcements—were all still active, but they floated around her unfocused, like they'd forgotten their settings.
Ren glanced over.
"Hey, Valkyrie-chan," he called lightly. "Nice work on the safe room. Held up better than most of Heaven's infrastructure usually does. Solid craftsmanship."
Rossweisse jolted, as if waking from a trance.
"Ah… y-yes!" she yelped, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "I—I mean… of course! It is only natural that a first-class Valkyrie of Valhalla would… would…!"
Her voice trailed off.
Her gaze swept over him—completely uninjured, but fundamentally different. Her runecraft sight, usually able to deconstruct any magical phenomenon, saw nothing but clean lines where his aura used to be chaos. It was a conceptual abyss compressed into a human frame.
"…Th-that was not a storm," she whispered, half to herself, her hands tightening on her staff. "It was… it was like watching the world's source code get rewritten."
Ren waggled his free hand dismissively.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "The nitty-gritty details are boring and involve a lot of math. Main takeaway: I'm still compatible with hugs, naps, and breakfast."
A fraction of the tension in her shoulders melted at his flippancy. The blush on her cheeks, however, did not.
Rossweisse looked away quickly, ears reddening all the way to the tips. For someone used to being treated as a walking magic turret and discount rune service, having whatever that was smile at her like she was just a colleague again tugged something unfamiliar in her chest.
"Honestly," she muttered, adjusting her glasses to hide her expression. "You are… completely unreasonable, Ren-sensei."
"Thank you," he said cheerfully.
The barrier finally relaxed with her, the runes dimming. The dome of overlapping Norse and Devil magic folded back into her staff with a chiming sigh.
Ren gave the girls one last squeeze, then gently pried Asia, Rias, Akeno, and Koneko off him one by one. He lingered for a second with each, making sure they were steady on their feet.
"Alright," he said, clapping his hands once. "Group hug time is over. As much as I'd love to stay here and bask in your emotional dependency, we've got company. Let's go say hi to the neighbors."
Rias blinked, disoriented. "Eh?"
Akeno's brows lifted, her demeanor shifting back to guard mode. "Ara… now?"
Asia sniffled, wiping her eyes. "R-Ren-san, you mean…"
"The ones watching," Koneko finished flatly, her ears twitching as she looked toward the crater's rim.
Ren jerked his chin toward the distance.
Beyond them, at the former edge of the tribulation domain, the gathered powers of the world were waiting.
Odin, Thor, Sirzechs, Serafall, Ajuka, Falbium, Michael, Gabriel, representatives from other pantheons, powerful dragons like Tiamat… and shadows that likely hid Khaos Brigade operatives. They were all standing at the point where their instincts had screamed no further.
They hadn't approached.
But they hadn't left, either.
Rias's shoulders tensed again, her posture shifting from 'girlfriend' to 'Heiress of Gremory'.
"Ren," she said carefully. "We just shook the entire cosmology. The right move here is to let them send a polite delegation later. If we walk out there now, it could—"
"—make them even more nervous?" Ren finished, grinning. "Rias, they already watched me hijack a tribulation and eat parts of the Dimensional Gap. That ship sailed, hit an iceberg, and sank. We're way past subtle."
He flashed a smile that was all white teeth and confidence.
"Better to go out there on our feet than wait around like criminals. Come on. I'll handle the talking. You guys just radiate 'we're very well-adjusted students who definitely don't have PTSD.'"
"That's… not very reassuring," Kiba murmured, checking his sword hilt.
Issei drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders.
"Still," he said, his voice firmer. "If you're walking, I'm walking."
Rias looked at each of them, then at Ren. Her fingers curled, then relaxed.
"…Alright," she said. "We'll follow your lead. Just—" She jabbed a finger at his chest. "No picking fights with Chief Gods. We're already on thin ice."
Ren remembered the Iron Calamity Wyrm, then the storm that had nearly erased him.
He grinned.
"I'll be good," he lied.
They stepped forward together.
...
When they stepped out of what had been the safe zone, the world felt… bigger.
Not because the landscape had changed—though it had; the Iron Forest was half gone, replaced by a vast, smooth disc of iron and glass—but because of who was standing around it.
Gods. Devils. Angels. Dragons.
The air at the crater's edge was a mosaic of conflicting auras. Seraphic light hummed against demonic malice. Divine authority from half a dozen pantheons radiated in clashing frequencies, straining to remain polite but ready for war.
At the center of all those titans, one figure drew every eye.
Ren Ming.
Walking at the head of his small group of devils like he was escorting them across a parking lot to get tacos.
The moment he came fully into view, the pressure in the area shifted. The sheer density of his existence made the air feel thin to everyone else.
The gathered powers watched them approach.
Odin, the All-Father, stood at the front of the Norse contingent. He leaned on Gungnir, his single eye burning with a mixture of extreme wariness and wild, warrior-like amusement. Beside him, Thor loomed like a mountain, Mjölnir resting on his shoulder. Lightning crawled over the Thunder God's skin in a reflexive, defensive reaction to the residual tribulation charge Ren carried.
Sirzechs Lucifer, in his human guise, looked deceptively gentle—a soft smile, polite posture—but the air around him shivered. His aura of Destruction was leaking, just a fraction, vibrating in resonance with Ren's power.
Beside him, Serafall Leviathan sparkled in her magical-girl outfit. Her usual boundless energy was dimmed by tension, but her eyes were darting over Ren with intense curiosity.
Ajuka Beelzebub was there too, pushing his glasses up with a trembling hand as data circles flickered uselessly around him, trying and failing to calculate Ren's power level.
On the Heaven side, Michael stood with wings folded, his expression grave and beautiful. Gabriel hovered near his shoulder, golden hair glowing even in the dim light, her eyes wide with confused awe.
From the corners, Amaterasu-Ōmikami, the reclusive chief goddess of the Shinto pantheon, watched. She wore regal, sun-patterned robes, her black hair pinned up with exquisite ornaments, her eyes like molten gold.
Tiamat, the Chaos Karma Dragon, hovered in her dragon form further back, blue scales dark against the storm-washed sky, eyes narrowed in fierce curiosity.
Ren walked up to this assembly of world-destroyers as if he were strolling into a convenience store.
He stopped ten paces away. He put his hands in his pockets.
"Yo," he said, raising a hand in an easy wave. "Hope nobody's mad about the weather. Had to borrow your sky for a bit. My bad."
Silence.
The wind whistled over the iron glass.
Then Sirzechs laughed softly. It was a charming sound, but it carried the weight of the Underworld.
"Mad?" Sirzechs said, his voice smooth, his eyes sharp as razors. "I think 'overwhelmed' might be the more accurate word, Ren-kun."
He stepped forward, studying Ren openly.
"The last time we crossed blows in the training field, you were already more than a match for me in my controlled state," he said. "Now…"
His pupils contracted slightly.
"…you feel as if you could crush stars by accident."
Serafall leaned in, her pigtails bouncing.
"Uwaa~ Sirzechs-chan, even you are saying scary things," she sing-songed, trying to break the heavy atmosphere. She turned, hands clasped behind her back, and her gaze locked on Ren.
She froze.
Their last direct impression of each other had been secondhand—her catching reports of his antics from Sizechs. But Ren Ming had memories of her from his previous life—the anime, the lore.
Now she was looking at the man who had just made the Underworld's sky twitch.
Her mouth formed a perfect little "o".
Ren smiled. It was nice seeing this bundle of chaotic energy up close.
"Serafall, right?" he said, his tone shifting to something warmer, more appreciative. "Nice to finally meet you in person. Gotta say, the Magical Girl look is strong. Ten out of ten branding. Most people can't pull off that much pink, but you make it work."
"Eh—eh? Ah, y-yes!" she stammered, cheeks pinking.
Usually, people looked at her outfit with confusion or second-hand embarrassment. Ren looked at it like he genuinely respected the hustle.
She puffed out her chest, doing a little spin so the frills of her costume flared dramatically.
"Fufufu~ That's right! I am the Super☆Magical Girl Maou, Serafall Leviathan☆!"
She struck a pose, wand pointed at him, sparkles manifesting from her demonic power.
"Ren-chan, you really surprised everyone, you know!" she scolded, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed nothing but curiosity and excitement. "Making a new kind of scary aura is fine, but next time you should inform the Foreign Affairs Satan first, okay? Serafall-chan almost spilled her ice cream☆!"
Ren put a hand over his heart, his expression deadly serious.
"Spilling ice cream is a tragedy. A crime against humanity, really. I apologize," he said gravely. "I'll send a memo to your office next time I decide to poke reality. Subject line: 'Apocalypse Rescheduled due to Dairy Concerns.'"
Serafall's lips twitched. A genuine giggle escaped her.
"Oooh, you're cheeky," she said, grinning. "I like that. Ne, ne, Ren-chan, if you're free later, we should totally do a collab! Magical Girl show in the human world, and a reality-patching lecture for the Research Department☆"
Behind her, Sona—who had teleported in with the other Sitri retainers—pinched the bridge of her nose, looking like she wanted to sink into the ground.
Ren chuckled, a low, relaxed sound.
"Sure," he said easily. "We'll talk details after I make sure my students here haven't traumatized the Einherjar too much. I'm sure my schedule has room for magical girls."
"Students," Serafall repeated, her eyes flicking to Rias and the others.
Her expression softened for a moment, the 'Magical Girl' mask slipping just enough to reveal the Satan beneath. She looked at Rias, at Akeno, at the way their souls hummed with a density that shouldn't be possible for High-Class devils.
"You did good work with them, Ren-chan," she said softly. "Even from here, I can tell their foundations are much more stable than before. It's… impressive☆"
Rias flushed slightly under the praise, standing a little straighter.
Ren shrugged, putting his arm back around Rias's waist possessively, ignoring the narrowed eyes of the traditionalists in the crowd.
"They did the hard part," he said. "I just yelled at them until they believed in themselves. Classic teaching strategy."
The tension eased a notch around them.
"Bwahahaha! You brat!"
Odin, the All-Father of the Norse Pantheon, slapped his knee, his single eye dancing with mirth. He looked less like a supreme deity and more like a rowdy grandfather at a dive bar.
"You take the world by the throat, shake it like a ragdoll, and then crack jokes? Truly, Azazel was right," Odin roared, wiping a tear from his eye. "You are a singularity!"
Azazel, the Governor General of the Fallen Angels, stood nearby with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes practically carrying their own luggage. He let out a long, suffering sigh.
"I said 'singularity' as a warning, you senile old bat, not a compliment," Azazel muttered. He shifted his gaze to Ren Ming, his eyes gleaming with intellectual hunger behind a lazy smirk. "But he's not wrong. You realize the Kankara Formula—the very mathematical backbone of our physics—flatlined trying to model that last stunt you pulled? Ajuka is effectively in mourning right now."
Ajuka Beelzebub, the Satan of calculation and arguably the smartest devil in existence, pushed up his glasses. His gaze was glued to the empty air where Ren's power had lingered, his eyes darting back and forth as if reading invisible data streams.
"…It is true," Ajuka murmured, sounding personally offended by reality. "My equations could not approximate his framework. It simply returned 'unknown external ontology.' I do not know whether to be terrified or excited."
Ren Ming shrugged, the motion loose and unbothered. He stood there in jeans and a shirt, looking like he'd just walked out of a convenience store rather than a battlefield of gods.
"Why not both?" Ren suggested casually. "Keeps life interesting, right?"
He shifted his attention, bypassing the brooding devil leaders and looking toward the Seraphs.
"Yo, Gabriel."
The strongest woman in Heaven, who had been half-hiding behind Michael's shoulder, jumped. Her pristine white wings flared instinctively, framing her in a halo of feathers.
"Eh? Ah, um—yes!" she squeaked, clutching her chest.
Ren smiled. It wasn't the sharp, predatory grin he wore when tearing enemies apart, nor was it the polite mask of a politician. It was just a genuine, soft smile of a guy who appreciated beauty.
He was always genuine towards the women he found attractive, never finding their quirks troublesome.
"Sorry for the noise earlier," Ren said, his voice dropping into a relaxed cadence. "Didn't mean to mess with Heaven's monitoring system too badly. I know loud neighbors can be a pain."
Michael's mouth tightened slightly at the description of a cosmic disturbance as a "loud neighbor," but Gabriel blinked, her fear melting into confusion.
"The… System," she began slowly, her voice melodic and pure. "It said the energy signature was not a Sacred Gear. It did not recognize you, Ren-san. But the readout… it changed from 'Calamity' to 'Birth.' I… I do not fully understand."
"Birth, calamity, whatever. Labels are just stickers people slap on things they don't get," Ren said, waving his hand dismissively. He spoke like a casual guy who just wanted free reign to do what he felt like. "I'm just doing my thing. But—"
His eyes flicked up, locking onto hers. The playfulness vanished for a split second, replaced by a grounded sincerity.
"You looked worried earlier. So, let me be clear: I'm not here to break your Heaven. You can relax, alright?"
Gabriel's cheeks colored faintly, a soft pink dusting her flawless skin.
"Ah… I see. Th-then…" She clasped her hands together, her expression brightening with a childlike earnestness that made the air around her sparkle. "I am relieved, Ren-san. Your power felt… very loud. But also, warm. Like… a new sun?"
Michael glanced at her, then at Ren, a flicker of conflicted calculation passing through his stoic gaze. Finally, the leader of the Angels inclined his head.
"We will… reserve judgment," Michael said diplomatically. "For now, it is enough that you chose to protect rather than destroy."
Ren dipped his chin in a respectful nod. "Fair enough. Trust is earned, not given."
His gaze slid past the angels, landing on a figure radiating an aura of ancient, refined nobility. A woman in sun-embroidered robes stood suspended in the air, her presence commanding the very sunlight to bend around her.
"And you must be Amaterasu-Ōmikami," Ren said. "Leader of the Shinto pantheon, light of the East. Sorry about the disturbance over Kyoto. The leylines got a little… excited."
Amaterasu's brows lifted a bare millimeter. It was a movement that conveyed volumes of royal skepticism.
"So it was you," she said. Her voice was low and melodic, possessing the heavy dignity of the Japanese Imperial Court wrapped around a core of steel. "Yasaka reported a… metallic taste in the spiritual flow beneath Kyoto. And then, nine foreign stars overwrote my sky."
Her golden eyes narrowed, assessing him with the detached curiosity of a goddess who had watched empires rise and fall for millennia.
"You are… not of our system."
"Guilty," Ren replied easily. "Just a tourist with a very aggressive self-improvement schedule."
He met her divine gaze without flinching. In fact, he looked like he was contemplating asking her for a tour guide recommendation.
"For what it's worth, I respect good infrastructure. Your leylines are beautiful—solid engineering. I tried not to break anything, but if I cracked a pipe somewhere, I'll fix it."
The corner of Amaterasu's mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly.
"…You speak of the spiritual arteries of this country as if they were plumbing," she murmured. "Such arrogance."
"Confidence," Ren corrected, grinning. "Arrogance is when you can't back it up. I'm just stating facts."
Thor, standing beside Odin with Mjölnir resting on his shoulder, snorted softly. He seemed to appreciate the lack of flowery speech.
Above them, a massive shadow shifted. Tiamat, the Karma Dragon King, lowered her enormous blue head. Her vertical slit pupils narrowed, focusing entirely on the tiny human.
"You certainly talk like a Dragon King," she said dryly, her voice vibrating in everyone's chests. "Loud. Annoying. Convinced everything is a resource for you to hoard."
Ren looked up at the Chaos Karma Dragon, his smirk widening.
"Didn't I tell you, Tia?" he called out. "Stick around me long enough and things won't be boring."
Her nostrils flared, exhaling a puff of blue mist that smelled of ozone and ancient seas.
"Hmph. Do not call me 'Tia' in front of the other gods, human. I will bite you."
"You'd have to catch me first."
The tension in the assembly had fully dissipated, replaced by the murmuring of gods and devils whispering among themselves. They were recalculating their alliances, assessing this new variable named Ren Ming.
Ren tilted his head, cracking his neck.
"Alright," he said cheerfully, dusting off his hands. "Formalities done. Everyone had a good look. Anyone got serious business, or can I take my students to go eat something that isn't lightning? I'm starving."
That was when he felt it.
It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a movement.
It was a thread of malice, thin and cold, trying very hard to be small.
Ren's Immortal Soul Bone turned.
Complexity into Simplicity.
The world shifted in Ren's perception. The spiritual noise of the crowd—the political fear of the devils, the holy resonance of the angels, the ancient weight of the Shinto gods—peeled away like layers of an onion. The chaotic data of reality was stripped down to its barest essential truth.
In that monochrome world of truth, one particular pattern stood out. It was a stain. A distortion trying to paint itself as part of the background.
Loki had not come close to the center.
The moment the tribulation had started, the Norse Evil God had withdrawn from the front lines, melting into the edges of the gathering. He was layered in Norse concealment runes, illusion magic, and misdirection artifacts. To the naked eye, even to the magical senses of the Satans, he was just a shimmer of heat, or perhaps a minor deity in the back row.
He had been watching the projection of Ren's Saint Kingdom with narrowed, covetous eyes and a cold, vicious smile.
"Interesting," Loki had murmured to himself, his voice masked by wind magic. "Such power… If I could twist that… if I could devour it…"
Now, as Ren's eyes swept across the crowd, the human's gaze stopped.
It didn't wander. It didn't search. It locked on.
Loki's stomach dropped.
'There should be no way,' the god thought frantically. 'My presence is occluded by the mists of Niflheim. I am hidden behind divine artifacts. He is a brute, a warrior—he cannot possibly see through the weaving of the Trickster God.'
But Ren Ming's gaze sliced straight through the camouflage. The human's eyes looked past the surface, past the skin, past the aura, and stared directly at the ugly, shivering intent within.
Loki's fingers twitched.
"…Hmph." The god straightened, masking his sudden terror under a sneer of arrogance. "What an insolent stare. A mere monkey dares—"
"Hey, dude."
Ren raised a hand and pointed a finger directly at the patch of empty air where Loki stood. The gesture was rude, direct, and completely lacking in divine grace.
"You," Ren said. "Come here."
Silence rippled out from that single, lazy command. It wasn't a request. It was the tone one used when calling a bad dog.
Odin's brow furrowed, his single eye sharpening.
"Loki," the All-Father said, his voice cooling several degrees. "You came after all."
Thor's grip on Mjölnir tightened, the hammer crackling with electricity. His blue eyes flashed with instinctive hostility. The Aesir warriors shifted, hands moving to hilts.
Realizing his cover was blown, the air shimmered and broke. Loki stepped out of the shadows, his green and gold robes fluttering. His smile was wide, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Of course I came, Father," Loki said smoothly. "How could I miss such a… spectacular tantrum of the world? Besides, I merely wished to see what kind of monster you invited into our backyard."
Ren's expression didn't change. He looked bored. In truth, he was internally pleased. He hated formalities, but he loved it when arrogant idiots volunteered to be made into examples. This Loki would serve as a perfect demonstration for his students—and a way to clear the board of annoyances.
As for the consequences of killing a God in front of his pantheon?
Ren Ming didn't give a single shit.
Unless it was Ophis or Great Red, every enemy here was akin to an egg throwing itself against a mountain.
"Cute," Ren said. "You can drop the 'concerned son' act. We all smell the bullshit from miles away. It smells like cheap cologne and desperation."
Loki's eyes narrowed into slits. The mockery stung more than a blade.
"I don't know what you think you saw, human, but—"
Ren snapped his fingers.
Snap.
Sound fell away.
Not literally—people could still speak—but conceptually, the space around Loki solidified.
Loki had been preparing a teleportation circle, a subtle rune drawn behind his back to slip away to a pocket dimension. But at the sound of the snap, the runes stuttered and died. The mana simply refused to flow.
The Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique didn't just crush physical force. At this level of mastery, it crushed existence. It increased the gravitational weight of reality to the point where "escape" became a physics impossibility.
"Too slow," Ren said.
Invisible chains of dull, iron-grey light snaked out from the void. They weren't Norse. They weren't Demonic. They were alien—composed of Dao script that this universe had never seen. They wrapped around Loki's limbs, chest, and throat, engraving themselves into the reality of his divine body.
Loki choked, eyes going wide.
"W-What is this?!" he snarled, struggling. His aura flared—a massive burst of divine energy meant to shatter mountains—but against the grey chains, it was like a candle trying to burn through a steel vault.
Ren's eyes went flat and ancient. The casual guy from the 2020s vanished, replaced by the timeless gaze of an Ancient Saint.
"Before any of you get any crazy ideas about 'misunderstandings,' let me show you exactly what's in this nutjob's head."
The Immortal Soul Bone turned again.
Complexity → Simplicity.
Ren reached out with his left hand. He didn't touch Loki physically. He touched the concept of Loki.
To the onlookers, it looked terrifying. A thin line of grey light extended from Ren's fingertip and sank into Loki's forehead.
Loki screamed—a raw, guttural sound of violation—as his back arched. It was as if he had been impaled on a spear, but the spear was made of pure truth.
Then, the sky changed.
Above the gathering, the air rippled like water. Images projected outward—not illusions, but raw memories ripped straight out of Loki's core and broadcast into the atmosphere for the world to see.
A dim, underground chamber lit by the glow of blood-red magic circles. Three figures sat across from Loki. Katerea Leviathan, Shalba Beelzebub, Creuserey Asmodeus. The descendants of the original Satans. Their faces were twisted with fanaticism.
"…so you will sabotage Odin's alliance," Katerea's voice echoed, dripping with disdain for the current peace. "And in exchange, our armies will strike Heaven and Grigori while your precious Ragnarök burns the world."
A modern meeting room. Human figures this time. Cao Cao, the leader of the Hero Faction, leaned on his True Longinus spear. Georg stood with his monocle, and Jeanne sat nearby.
"Pandemonium is useful to me," Loki's voice purred in the memory. "You cause incidents, undermine their trust in each other. I will ensure the Norse realm becomes the match that lights your kindling. In the chaos, gods and devils alike will fall. When the dust settles… there will be only those strong enough to crawl out of the ruins."
Cao Cao smirked, a look of calculating arrogance. "A fine arrangement, Norse god. Just don't get in our way when your part is done."
Schematics of Fenrir's magical bindings. Detailed maps of Asgardian wards being sabotaged from the inside. Enchanted artifacts seeded into human cities to amplify fear and generate negative energy for the Khaos Brigade.
The crowd watched, horrified.
Odin's face had gone ashen beneath his beard. His hand gripped Gungnir so hard the wood groaned.
"Loki…" the old god whispered, the betrayal cutting deep. "You… you were already conspiring with the Old Satan Faction? And those human fools…?"
Thor's eyes burned with lightning.
"You would throw Asgard into war with the whole world," the God of Thunder snarled, stepping forward, "just to satisfy your twisted ego? You would kill our kin for this?"
Loki tried to laugh, but the sound came out strangled under the crushing weight of Ren's chains.
"Twisted?" he gasped, saliva dripping from his lip. "I merely… move us toward the destiny set for us! Ragnarok is inevitable!"
His eyes, bloodshot and furious, locked on Odin.
"You were weak, old man! You and your talk of alliances, of peace with devils and fallen angels! You shame our ancestors! So I will drag this rotten world to the end it deserves, even if I must tear your house down around you to do it!"
Ren watched him talk, his expression unmoved.
He'd heard enough.
He let the memories fade from the sky. The last image—a long, slow shot of Loki shaking hands with a cloaked Khaos Brigade representative—hung a moment longer, burned into the retinas of every leader present, before dissolving.
Around them, reactions detonated.
The devils' side buzzed with angry murmurs. Serafall Leviathan's eyes were unusually cold now, all traces of the bubbly "Magical Girl Levi-tan" gone.
"Old Satan Faction again…" she muttered, her magical power flaring dangerously. "Those old cockroaches really get into everything. Using a Norse God as a pawn… unforgivable."
Ajuka's fingers danced in the air as he recorded everything, his face grim. Michael looked sorrowful; Gabriel looked on the verge of tears at the sheer malice on display.
Amaterasu's gaze sharpened into a golden blade.
"So that is the thread connecting Old Satan remnants and the human Hero Faction," she murmured. "A conspiracy spanning pantheons. This is grave."
Azazel whistled low.
"Ren," he said, shaking his head. "You just handed us enough intel to re-write half our threat assessment charts. Remind me never to let you touch my memories. I have secrets I'd like to keep, thanks."
Loki panted, sweat beading on his forehead as the mental intrusion ended.
"You—" he spat at Ren, hatred distorting his handsome features. "Violating a god's soul like this… who do you think you are? A lowly mortal?"
Ren considered the question for a microsecond.
Then he smiled.
"Annoyed," Ren said simply. "People like you are just… annoying. Like a mosquito buzzing when I'm trying to sleep."
He released the memory thread.
The chains around Loki loosened a fraction—not enough to let him teleport, but enough to let his limbs move. Enough to give him hope.
"Okay," Ren said. "Here's the deal."
His voice carried, clear and matter-of-fact, cutting through the murmurs of the gods.
"Run," he said. "Or try to hit me. Your choice."
The words were spoken in the same tone he used when telling Issei to pick a training drill. It was casual, unpretentious, and utterly lacking in dramatic flair.
And because of that, it was infinitely more lethal.
Loki stared up at him, teeth bared.
His pride screamed. I am a God! His fear howled. He is a monster!
He chose wrongly.
"…You lowborn maggot!" Loki hissed, his eyes burning with madness. "You think a little parlor trick gives you the right to look down on me? I am Loki of the Aesir! I command curses, illusions, the very threads of fate! I will erase you from history!"
He exploded into motion.
This time, his power surged past the lingering suppression. Godly force cracked the air like glass.
"Fenrir's Fang!" Loki screamed.
Green-black runes carved themselves into reality. A forest of magical spears, chains, and giant, spectral wolf jaws materialized above Ren's head. Space itself warped, trying to twist Ren's body into knots, to scatter his atoms across dimensions. It was a spell designed to kill dragons, a curse that rotted the soul and crushed the body simultaneously.
A lesser being would have been shredded in an instant.
Ren Ming faintly smiled. He far preferred dumbasses with supreme pride. They made the best sounds when they broke.
The Saint Kingdom flared.
Not fully. Not like before. Just a sliver.
A curved, translucent horizon unfolded behind Ren. It was too faint for mortal eyes, but blindingly obvious to every god and dragon present. Nine palaces rotated slowly in that inner firmament, nine stars glinting like absolute concepts.
The aura that rolled out was not explosive.
It was sovereign.
Every person present felt it differently.
To Sirzechs Lucifer, observing from a distance via magic, it was like standing before a deeper, colder version of his own Power of Destruction—one that didn't just erase matter, but erased the reason for it to exist. His demonic power recoiled, instinctively recognizing a superior predator.
To Michael, it felt like a hand closing around the concept of "Law" itself, twisting it, testing its resistance. His twelve wings shuddered, his halo flickering.
To Amaterasu, it was a pressure on the horizon of her authority as the Sun Goddess. It was as if a new, foreign star had appeared in her sky and casually declared, I will illuminate this part of the universe now.
To Tiamat, it was painfully intense: the raw, choking presence of an Ancient Saint—a walking calamity. Intense enough to make her indestructible dragon scales itch with fear.
Loki's curses hit the boundary of that domain and stopped.
They didn't bounce off. They didn't explode.
They simply ceased to apply.
Within that radius, Loki's magic no longer qualified as reality. The chains dissolved into harmless motes of light. The spears lost their sharpness and fell as sparks. The spectral wolf jaws turned to dust before they could bite.
Loki stared, his hands still raised in casting position, disbelief shattering his mind.
"Wh-what…? My divinity… my magic…"
Ren stepped forward once.
One step, and he was in front of Loki. Space folded to accommodate him.
Ren drew back his fist.
There was no technique name screamed out. No flashy stance. No "Dragon Shot."
He simply compacted the concept of Ending into that one motion.
"Bye," Ren said.
He punched Loki in the chest.
THUD.
There was no explosion. No grand beam of light.
Just a dull, heavy thud, like a vault door closing on a tomb.
Loki's body didn't fly backward. It imploded.
His divine flesh compressed around the impact point. Ribs, muscle, and organs were instantly crushed into a singularity. For a horrifying moment, the god became a grotesque statue of himself, folded into an impossible shape around Ren's fist.
Then the real damage landed.
Ren's punch didn't just hit his body—it hit his Authority.
The Ancient Ming Bloodline roared silently, not to devour, but to annihilate. The shockwave ripped through Loki's divinity, tearing into the roots of his name, into every myth and record that sustained him. In an instant, the threads tying him to Ragnarök, to Norse myths, to human beliefs, were severed and burned.
Somewhere, deep in the Realm of the Dead, Hades paused in his paperwork as a line on one of his ledgers simply vanished.
Loki's soul, screaming in terror, tried to flee the destruction of his body.
The Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique clamped down. No escape.
The soul met the same fate as the body: compressed, stripped, and fed into a tiny, grey marble of energy that flickered into existence near Ren's knuckles.
Ren closed his hand around it.
Crunch.
When he opened his fingers again, there was nothing. No dust. No residue.
Loki—god of mischief, would-be bringer of Ragnarök, Khaos Brigade conspirator—was gone.
Not sealed. Not banished.
Erased.
The silence that followed was worse than any thunder.
Even the wind stopped for a moment, afraid to move.
Every being present felt what had just happened. Not just that a god had died—gods died in wars. This was different. His existence as a system entity had been scrubbed. Their various "backends"—the Underworld's registry, Valhalla's hall of the fallen, Heaven's soul records—felt the gap where "Loki" used to be and sputtered in confusion.
Odin's single eye closed for a long, heavy heartbeat.
Thor's mouth opened, then shut again, the thunder dying on his tongue. He looked at Mjölnir, then at Ren's fist, realizing the gap between them was not of power, but of dimension.
Asia collapsed to her knees, hands pressed together, praying frantically—not for Loki, but that Ren's soul wouldn't be damaged by the act of erasing a god.
Issei's face had gone white.
"Th-that was…" Issei croaked, trembling. "That was a god, right? Like… the actual 'Norse god Loki' Loki…? And Sensei just… one-punched him…"
Ddraig rumbled uneasily in the back of his mind, for once without a snarky comment.
Kiba's hand had reflexively gone to his sword hilt. He forced his fingers to uncurl, realizing how pointless a sword would be against that.
Koneko swallowed, her tail wrapped around her leg so tightly it hurt.
"…Scary," she whispered, her eyes wide. "But… somehow it fits."
Rias and Akeno could only stare.
That… casual, almost bored movement. The way Loki's full-power attack had been treated like stray wind. The way Ren's aura had not flared wildly, but pressed inwards, like a black hole putting on a human-shaped suit.
Rias felt a shiver run up her spine. It was terror, yes, but beneath it… a thrill. This was the man who was teaching them. This was the horizon they were chasing.
Ren shook his hand out once, as if he'd just punched a heavy training bag and stung his knuckles.
Then he looked up at Odin and Thor.
"Don't worry," Ren said, his tone light again, as if he hadn't just deleted an ancient deity from the cosmos. "Bug problem handled. No need to pay me. Consider it a neighborly favor."
The words were flippant. The weight behind them was not.
For a long moment, Odin just stared. The enormity of the act hung between them.
Then, slowly, the old god let out a breath that seemed to carry a thousand years of fatigue.
"…Loki was my blood," Odin said quietly. "My son. But he chose this path long ago. He has been working with those cowards in the shadows, stirring up war, aiming for my head."
Odin's grip tightened on his spear, his knuckles white.
"I would have had to put him down myself eventually," he continued, his voice rough. "To have it done swiftly, without collateral, by someone who exposes his schemes before striking… that is, perhaps, the kindest ending he could have hoped for."
He straightened, his divine aura settling back into a regal calm.
"Ren Ming," Odin said formally, his voice ringing out over the cracked iron plain. "On behalf of the Norse Pantheon, I acknowledge this debt. You have cut away a rot in our roots. Whatever storm your existence brings us… in this matter, we owe you."
Ren shrugged, putting his hands back in his pockets.
"Just cleaning up trash that was aimed at my students anyway," he said. "Convenient overlap."
Azazel barked a short, incredulous laugh, dragging a hand down his face.
"Of course," the Fallen Angel muttered. "You erase a high-tier god and call it 'taking out the garbage.' Why am I not surprised? I need a drink. A strong one."
Michael's eyes were distant, listening to the reports from his angels.
"…Our records are correcting," he said softly. "There is… no trace of Loki's soul in the cycle. Fascinating. And terrifying."
Serafall finally shook herself out of her stupor. The reality of the paperwork hit her harder than the violence.
She marched up to Ren, eyes blazing, twin-tails bouncing furiously.
"Ren-chan!" she exclaimed, jabbing a finger at his chest. "You can't just delete gods in front of everyone like that! Do you know how many paperwork forms this is going to generate?! The Pantheon Liaison Office is going to have a meltdown! I have to file a 'Deicide by Unidentified Entity' form, and we don't even have those in stock!"
Ren looked down at her indignant face, at the way she was more worried about bureaucracy than the violence.
He grinned.
"I'll buy you ice cream while you fill them out," he offered. "Double scoop. Chocolate mint. Consider it hazard pay."
Serafall froze.
Her cheeks puffed out.
"…Mou," she huffed, looking away, her ears turning red. "You're not supposed to bribe a Maou with sweets… That's unfair… but I accept."
Gabriel, still pale, peeked out from behind her hands.
"Um… Ren-san," she ventured timidly. "If you are going to erase any more people… c-could you, um… at least make sure they are really, really bad first? It would make me feel a little less… anxious…"
Ren met her gaze, his expression softening.
"Don't worry," he said gently. "I don't swing this hard on anyone who doesn't have it coming. And your existence is the opposite of 'target,' Gabriel. You're more like… a walking 'Do Not Touch' buffer. If anything, I'd be punching the people trying to hurt you."
She flushed bright pink, her wings fluttering in agitation.
"O-Oh. I see…"
Amaterasu watched the chaos swirl back in around the tiny clearing where Loki had died. The shock was fading, replaced by a wary respect.
Her gaze returned to Ren.
"You have just destabilized a carefully maintained balance," she said quietly. "But… you also removed a poison from it. The Hero Faction and the Old Satans will not take this lightly."
She inclined her head the slightest bit—a gesture of immense respect from the supreme goddess of Japan.
"Sunlight does not choose where it falls. But I will watch you, foreign star. Closely."
From high above, Tiamat snorted, the sound like a thunderclap.
"If he gets too big for his britches," the dragon grumbled, "I'll help you bite him. He needs to learn his place."
Ren waved a hand at the massive dragon, a confident smile on his face.
"I'm looking forward to it, Tia. Just make sure you brush your teeth first."