That evening, he gathered his students.
First students, next students, and the newest arrivals who'd barely had time to stabilize their first Soul Palaces. The manor's main hall—once just an old Western building in Kuoh—had become something else under Ren's hand: a half-Dao temple, half-classroom, formation lines hidden in the grain of the wood, space stretched just enough that the hall could swallow far more people than its walls suggested.
Tonight, it hummed.
Rias' peerage stood together, a familiar cluster of crimson hair, holy glow, touki and swords. Sona's peerage formed a neat block nearby, posture straight, eyes sharp. Seekvaira lounged with the studied grace of a noble who watched everything. Sairaorg's presence was like a burning sun, muscles and will both coiled tight. Vali leaned against a pillar, arms folded, Albion quiet but attentive in his soul. The Slash Dog group—Tobio, Lavinia and the others—stood near Azazel, who had one hand shoved into his pocket and the other wrapped around a coffee can that definitely wasn't just coffee.
The air buzzed; half tension, half anticipation.
Ren Ming leaned against a load-bearing pillar near the front, hands in his pockets, one ankle casually hooked over the other. He looked like he could have been any laid-back guy. But the space around him dipped.
His eyes moved over them: one face after another. Students. Fighters. Chosen variables tossed into a storm they hadn't started.
"Interesting things are coming," he said, voice cutting cleanly through the murmur.
Conversation died at once.
He didn't raise his tone. He didn't need to. Saint Kingdom was folded small, kept tight around the manor, but a hint of its authority colored his words, pulling attention into focus.
"Kokabiel will move soon," Ren went on. "You'll be in the middle of it. Treat it as a lesson. Or a war. Or both."
Issei gulped audibly. "Sensei, when you say 'interesting'—"
"I mean dangerous," Ren said.
He let that sit for half a heartbeat, a faint curve at the corner of his mouth.
"When I say 'dangerous'…" His eyes glinted, the lazy warmth turning edged. "I mean useful."
A few people shivered, and not because they were cold.
Akeno's lips curved, amusement softening the lightning in her eyes. "Ara," she drawled, voice velvety. "You really do think like an old monster, Ren."
Rias folded her arms beneath her chest, posture regal, expression composed. But her blue-green eyes burned as they met his. "We won't embarrass you," she said clearly.
"You could never embarrass me," Ren replied, and there was no joking in that. "Just don't die. Death is very inefficient training."
Asia, standing behind Rias, swallowed and clenched her hands in front of her habit—but hearing that, she couldn't help a tiny smile.
Ren let his gaze travel: to Sona, erect and serious, glasses catching the light; to Seekvaira, eyes bright with curiosity at a system that didn't obey any magic theory she knew; to Sairaorg, fists itching; to Vali, whose battle hunger was a cold, clean thing; to Tobio and the rest of Slash Dog, faces a mix of wary and intrigued.
"You've tasted what Soul Palaces can do," Ren said. "Now you're going to see how they hold up when someone tries to kill you for real."
The hall tightened around those words. Every devils' instincts, every angel's memory of holy battlefields, every human's simple survival reflex—all of it reacted.
"Prepare yourselves," Ren continued. "Condense. Refine. Sleep when you can. We don't know the exact day, but it won't be long."
He wasn't speaking in prophecy. He spoke like a man who had already looked at the lines of the board and seen where the next hand would fall.
That prediction turned out to be accurate.
And before war arrived…
Breakthrough did.
...
Akeno was the first.
The training dimension Ren had woven around the manor was a pocket of stabilized chaos: patterned void and reinforced space, with floating stone platforms, rivers of light, and distant "stars" that were actually energy nodes. It was a place where explosions broke nothing he didn't want broken, and where the laws of this world could be bent without waking every dragon and god in the neighborhood.
On one of the stones, Akeno sat cross-legged, back straight, legs folded beneath her with unconscious elegance. Her hair spilled down her back like a river of night, ripples of static occasionally flickering along its length. Robes loosened at the throat, sleeves sliding back to reveal forearms traced with faint, glowing circuit-lines: Heavenbreaker Circuit, in its restrained form.
Ren watched from the edge of the platform, hands still in his pockets, Saint Kingdom thinned to a fine, invisible film to avoid interfering. He didn't hover. He didn't micromanage. He just… existed there, a steady point.
Inside Akeno's Soul Palace, lightning roared.
Her first Soul Palace hung in the inner dark like a storm fortress. Its walls were seamless, Myriad Origin loops spiraling through every stone, recycling every stray spark. Demonic power and fallen angel light cycled around each other, not in conflict but in a continuously balanced current, like two rivers braided into one. Heavenbreaker Circuit was engraved into its very foundation—an intricate network of lines that bound sky, earth, and self into a closed system.
She had driven it to the limit.
Ninety-eight percent. Ninety-nine. The structure had gone past "stable" into "inevitable," every crack identified and smoothed, every leak turned into fuel. Lightning tunnels arched between spires. Altars of stormglass floated near the ceiling, storing refined charges. The Palace no longer felt like something built on top of her—it felt like a piece of her mind.
The second palace waited.
Between the first and where the second should be, chaos seethed: a storm sea of alien, neutral energy that didn't belong to Heaven, Hell, or the Underworld. It wasn't holy, demonic, dragon, touki, or mana. It was the thin layer Ren had taught them to touch: the energy between worlds, the background of existence itself.
Akeno's awareness flowed outward, away from the comfort of defined lightning and defined sin, dipping into that storm. Fingers of will threaded through chaotic currents, letting them slide around her instead of trying to shape them too soon.
"Second Soul Palace," she breathed, a whisper that rippled through both inner and outer worlds. "Open."
The first Palace pulsed in response. The chaos answered.
Pressure crashed inward on her spirit.
It wasn't like being crushed by enemies' killing intent or by Maou-class aura. This was quieter. More intimate. Chaos compressed around the core of who she was, demanding definition.
For an instant that stretched and stretched, Akeno felt everything.
Her shame—sharp, poisonous, the old memory of village fire and accusing eyes. Her long years of self-hatred as a half-blood, caught between heaven and fallen. The way she'd weaponized her sadism, using playful cruelty as armor. The instinctive flinch in her heart whenever she pictured her father's face.
The pressure squeezed those things into the open.
Between palaces, something flickered: a spark of light, neither lightning nor demonic nor holy. A mirror, held up where she couldn't look away.
Anima.
True Self.
It showed her not as "fallen priestess," not as "ultimate sadist," not as "Rias' Queen." It showed a girl who had been hurt too early, who had stood between two worlds and convinced herself she belonged to neither. A woman who loved the crash of thunder because it was louder than her doubts. Someone who had built a persona of sultry smiles and teasing words because the alternative was letting people see how afraid she'd been.
Tears pricked hot at the corners of her inner sight.
"So that's me, huh," she murmured to herself, lips hardly moving in the outer world. "You're not very pretty up close…"
The easy path would've been to look away. To flinch. To let the loop stall and blame "bottleneck" or "wrong timing."
Instead, Akeno stared straight into that mirror.
Ren's voice echoed through that inner space, from a dozen lessons on moonlit rooftops, in quiet classrooms, half-joking and half utterly serious.
"Without True Self, all this power just makes you a stronger puppet."
Her lips curved faintly, a smile tugging through her tears.
"Then I'll stop being a puppet," she whispered.
The Anima spark steadied. It swelled from a flicker to a small, steady sun, settling into the space between palaces. Not a roaring, world-shattering star; just a warm, stubborn one. A core of "Akeno" that didn't bow to heaven or hell.
Chaos roared in approval.
It condensed around the new anchor, collapsing inward.
A second Soul Palace began to take shape.
It wasn't a copy of the first. Where the first had the feel of a fortress, a bastion built to withstand judgment, the second was different—bold, unapologetic.
Lightning tunnels branched like capillaries of a living storm. Storm altars rose in spirals, each one tuned to a different "flavor" of her power: playful shock, righteous smite, quiet warmth. At its heart stood a throne, but not one of cold marble. It was built of circuits and stormglass, Heavenbreaker lines woven into sleek arcs, a seat for someone who had decided to judge herself on her own terms.
Judgment not of sin and punishment… but of choice and consequence.
With a final, shuddering inhale in the physical world, Akeno pulled everything tight.
The second Soul Palace locked into place with a soundless boom.
Chaotic energy, refined into something close to primordial, poured through her channels: a heavier, purer power than she'd ever touched before. It threaded through demonic and fallen flows, adding weight, density, and flexibility.
On the platform, her fingers twitched. Lightning danced along her skin—first wild and crackling, then smoothing as the new circulation patterns clicked into place. Her aura thickened, its edges no longer leaking stray sparks like an ungrounded cable. It settled into a gravitational pull that others could feel.
Ren, watching, felt the spike.
"Second palace," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "One hundred percent. And her Anima…" His eyes softened. "Not bad at all."
Akeno opened her eyes.
The world looked… cleaner.
Lines of potential hung everywhere: vectors where she could connect Heavenbreaker Circuit, points where chaos could be guided, weaknesses in the air itself she could turn into thunder. The lingering fear that had gnawed at her every time she thought of her father hadn't vanished—but it no longer ruled the room.
She exhaled.
"Ren."
He stepped across the distance in a single, casual motion. Space folded; one moment he was a few meters away, the next he was standing beside her stone, as if he'd just decided to take a single step forward.
"Congratulations," he said, offering a hand to help her up. "How does it feel?"
Akeno let him pull her to her feet. Lightning crackled faintly in their joined hands, but Ren's skin drank it like rain.
She smiled slowly, a new steadiness behind the playful curve of her lips. "Like I finally stopped pretending I'm someone else," she said. Then, with a spark of mischief: "And like I could fry a Satan if I really wanted to."
Ren chuckled, deep in his chest. "You probably could," he said lightly. "If they stood still long enough and let you wind up."
Akeno tilted her head, violet eyes taking him in.
"You said," she reminded him, "whoever reached the second Soul Palace first could ask you for anything."
"I did say that," Ren agreed. He never used the excuse of "teacher" to dodge his own words.
Her smile turned wicked and strangely fragile at the same time. "Then," she said, voice dropping, "I want a whole day. Just you and me."
Ren's answer was simple, immediate.
"Done."
...
The details of that day belonged mostly to them.
Morning began in Rias' kitchen, which had seen more supernatural crises than most battlefields. Ren rolled up his sleeves and claimed the stove with relaxed confidence, moving like someone who'd learned to cook because no one else would do it right.
Akeno leaned against the counter, robe loosely tied, watching him with amused eyes. The mild domestic scene felt surreal considering that outside, gods and Maou were quietly watching Kuoh through talismans and divinations.
"You're full of surprises," she said, chin resting on her hand.
"You say that every other day," Ren replied, flipping an egg with a flick of his wrist. "Maybe I'm just consistent."
"Consistently surprising?" Akeno chuckled. "That sounds exhausting."
"For other people, maybe." He glanced at her. "For me, it's just Tuesday."
She laughed, soft and genuine, the sound crackling like a smaller thunderclap.
They ate at the table by the window. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, catching dust motes that weren't really dust but trace particles of demonic power and chaos that refused to behave like normal matter. Akeno talked; Ren listened. About her mother's smile. About her village. About the day everything burned. About the first time lightning had answered her anger instead of heaven's will.
Ren didn't rush to comfort or to scold. He pointed out paths, gently.
"You get to decide what pieces you keep," he said at one point, resting his chin on one hand. "The sadism, the teasing, the priestess… none of that is fake just because it started as armor. If you like it, keep it. If you don't, toss it. Either way, it should be your choice."
"Sounds selfish," she murmured.
"That's fine," he said. "The Dao of 'living for strangers' is overrated."
Later, they walked through Kuoh's quieter streets.
The town had grown used to anomalies. People's eyes slid past slight distortions in the air where talismans hung; cars took instinctive detours around areas where Saint Kingdom's edges brushed reality. Akeno and Ren walked side by side, sometimes close enough that their fingers brushed, sometimes separated by a half-step as they passed others.
When their hands finally intertwined properly, it was without drama—just a simple, firm choice.
In the afternoon, they returned to the training dimension. This time, Akeno did the guiding. She opened her Soul Palaces to him the way one opened cherished rooms to a trusted guest: careful, deliberate.
"Here," she said, voice echoing faintly through the inner world. "This is what changed."
Ren stepped through her inner storm, his presence careful, not imposing. He brushed his fingers along circuit-thrones and storm altars, feeling out inefficiencies, pointing where loops could be tightened, where chaos flows could be given smoother channels.
"Your second palace likes to overcompensate," he noted. "You're trying to prove something. Let it breathe. Power that's always flexing gets tired."
"Sounds like some people I know," she said dryly.
"Then it's convenient that you have experience with them," he answered, tone mild.
As evening fell, the conversation turned quieter. They spoke of futures that might never happen; of Baraqiel and the awkwardness yet to come; of Rias, of Asia, of Koneko, of all the people whose lives had been altered by one cultivator dropping into their world like a stone into a lake.
By the time night deepened, their words slowed and their silences lengthened.
Back in her room, Akeno pulled him down onto her futon, kiss slow and deliberate. The playful edge she used with everyone else softened; the sadist persona slipped aside, revealing something shy beneath.
Her touch was less about control and more about connection, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the pulse at his throat.
He responded in kind, steady and present, hands warm against her back, grounding her in the moment.
She broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against his lips, "Stay."
Ren's answer was to kiss her again, a silent promise.
Clothes came away not in a rush of lust, but in a series of quiet, deliberate movements. Each inch of skin revealed was like a territory being newly charted, observed with reverence.
Akeno watched him through half-lidded eyes, the usual teasing glint replaced with something softer. She took in the lines of muscle across his shoulders and chest. He was not just a teacher, not just a cultivator; he was a man, and she was seeing him, truly seeing him.
"You're beautiful," she whispered, the word feeling strange and right on her tongue.
He chuckled, a low rumble she felt more than heard. "I've been called many things, but that's a new one."
"I mean it," she insisted.
Her fingers trailed down his chest, nails grazing skin just enough to raise goosebumps—not to hurt, but to claim. "You carved yourself into this world like it was nothing," she murmured against his collarbone before biting lightly.
"That deserves poetry." She paused, pulling back to meet his gaze. "But tonight I'd rather write it with my hands than with words."
"I'm more than fine with that," Ren answered, hands moving to the tie of her robe, unfastening it with a practiced slowness.
Akeno shivered as the silk parted, cool air caressing her skin before it was replaced by the warmth of his palms. They roamed, mapping the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine. She arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "You're always so sure of yourself," she observed. "So calm."
"Years of practice," Ren murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder, then another, trailing a path toward the swell of her breast. "But with you, I'm also certain."
She didn't ask what he was certain of. She didn't need to. The answer was in the way he touched her—not like a conquest, not like a prize to be won, but like something precious.
Her own hands grew bolder, sliding over the flat planes of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch. She liked having this effect on him, this subtle loss of control. It was a different kind of power than the lightning she commanded, quieter but no less potent.
"I could get used to this," she confessed softly.
"Get used to it," Ren whispered against her skin, his breath hot and sending a jolt through her that had nothing to do with her element. "We have time."
He settled over her then, their bodies aligning perfectly, a seamless union. The futon rustled softly beneath them, the only sound in the room besides their breathing. He captured her lips again, the kiss deepening, transforming from tender to urgent. Akeno responded in kind, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer.
There was no awkward fumbling, no hesitation. Their movements were fluid, natural, as if they had done this a hundred times before. Her legs wrapped around his waist, an invitation he accepted without question.
When he entered her, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust that stole her breath. Akeno gasped, her head falling back against the pillows. It wasn't pain, but a fullness, a completeness she had never known. She felt stretched, claimed, in the most profound way.
"Ara..." she breathed, nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted. "You're certainly not holding back, sensei."
Ren chuckled, pressing deeper still, watching her lips part in silent surprise. "I told you," he murmured against her throat, "I don't half-ass things."
Akeno arched beneath him, laughing breathlessly as lightning flickered along her skin—not from power, but pure sensation. "And here I thought you'd be all disciplined restraint," she teased, though her voice wavered when he moved again, slow and deliberate.
Ren nipped her earlobe, his breath warm. "Discipline isn't about denying pleasure," he murmured, fingers tracing the Heavenbreaker circuits glowing faintly along her ribs. "It's about knowing exactly when to indulge."
He proved it by catching her wrists, pinning them above her head as he finally—finally—set a rhythm that shattered her smirk into gasps.
"Cheater," Akeno panted, arching against him as lightning flickered wildly between them. Her laugh caught when he bit her collarbone—not gentle, not cruel, just perfectly hers. "You're enjoying this too much."
Ren's smile was dark as he tightened his grip on her wrists, thrusting deeper until her breath hitched. "You're one to talk." His free hand slid between her legs, thumb pressing where she was slick and sensitive. "Every spark you're giving off is begging for more."
She trembled, laughter melting into a sharp cry when he circled that spot, slow and deliberate.
"Maybe I am," she gasped, bucking into his touch as her legs tightened around him. "But don't pretend you're not savoring every—" Her words broke as he drove deeper, hitting that perfect angle that made her vision flare. "Ah! Every second."
"Of course I am," he murmured against her neck, teeth scraping her pulse. "Watching you fall apart like this? I'd be a fool not to."
Akeno gasped when his fingers tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who held the reins. Lightning arced between them, not wild but controlled, channeled through their joined hands like a circuit closing. "You—ah!—you planned this," she accused, breathless.
"Maybe," Ren admitted, voice rough against her throat. "But you're the one who asked for this day." His thumb circled that sweet spot again, slow and maddening, as he kept his thrusts deep and measured. "No complaints now, Queen."
Akeno's breath hitched—half from sensation, half from the title. Lightning crackled along her skin, less static and more pure current. "No complaints," she agreed, arching into him. "Just—faster."
Ren chuckled, finally releasing her wrists as she shuddered around him. He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. "Patience," he murmured, though his own restraint was wearing thin.
Akeno gasped as he shifted—slowly, torturously—pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard. "Since when," she panted, "do you believe in patience?"
"Since you asked nicely," he murmured, nuzzling the damp curve of her throat. But finally, blessedly, he moved faster, his hips snapping against hers in a rhythm that sent shocks of pleasure up her spine.
Akeno laughed breathlessly, wrapping her legs tighter around him—only for the sound to catch when Ren suddenly rolled them, reversing their positions in one smooth motion. She braced her hands on his chest, blinking down at him through disheveled hair.
"Cheating again," she accused, though her hips rocked instinctively against him.
Ren grinned up at her, fingers tracing the glowing circuits along her thighs. "All's fair in love and war," he said lightly, though his voice was strained with pleasure. "And this definitely feels like both."
He watched her ride him—slowly at first, then faster as she found her rhythm. Lightning danced between them, not as chaotic sparks but as a current connecting them, flowing back and forth with each movement.
Akeno's control crumbled, her usual teasing persona dissolving under wave after wave of raw sensation. "Ren," she gasped, hands pressing flat against his chest as her body tightened. "I—ah!"
"Let go," he urged, fingers gripping her hips as he met her thrusts. "Let me see you."
And when she finally shattered, it was with a cry of his name, lightning flaring bright enough to light the room—a storm contained in the space between them.
Ren followed her over the edge moments later, burying himself deep as his own release tore through him. For a moment, the only sound was their breathing, ragged and loud in the sudden quiet.
Akeno collapsed against him, boneless, head pillowed on his chest as aftershocks trembled through her. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his heartbeat steady against her ear. "I didn't know," she whispered after a long silence, "that it could feel like this."
Ren stroked her hair, fingers tangling in the damp strands. He smiled as he said, "Don't worry, it's about to feel even more amazing. We got the whole night to ourselves."
"You're planning to keep me awake all night?" Akeno teased, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her nail. "What happened to moderation?"
Ren caught her wandering hand, pressing a kiss to her fingertips. "Moderation's for training," he murmured against her skin. "This is celebration." His fingers slid down her spine, slow and possessive. "And I intend to celebrate thoroughly."
Akeno shivered, arching into his touch. "Ara~ So shameless, sensei," she purred, though her breath hitched when his mouth found the sensitive spot beneath her ear. "Are you always like this after a breakthrough?"
Ren chuckled, nipping her earlobe. "Only for my girls." He shifted, rolling her beneath him again as desire stirred anew. "And I believe," he added, lowering his head to her breast, "we still have hours of this 'celebration' ahead of us."
His tongue circled her nipple, slow and deliberate, before taking it into his mouth and sucking gently. Akeno gasped, back arching as lightning flickered between them. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she whispered, "Then make them count."
Ren lifted his head, meeting her gaze with a smirk. "Every second." His hands slid down her thighs, lifting them to wrap around his waist as he entered her again—slowly, deliberately, drawing out her soft cry of pleasure.
"And I intend to," he promised, setting a rhythm that was neither rushed nor restrained, but perfectly attuned to her responses. Lightning arced between them, not wild but controlled, channeled through their joined hands like a circuit closing.
Akeno's breath hitched, her hips rising to meet his thrusts as she whispered, "Then show me."
Ren's answer was a slow grin, hands gripping her hips as he drove deeper—harder—watching her lips part in a silent gasp. "As you wish," he murmured against her throat, teeth scraping her pulse.
Akeno shivered, lightning flickering wildly between them as she arched beneath him. "Ren," she gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Don't stop."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he promised, catching her lips in a searing kiss as he set a rhythm that shattered her composure, her teasing words dissolving into breathless pleas for more.