Katerea tried to spit the words out, to wrap her pride around the moment like armor.
"You—"
Ren shifted his stance.
He didn't draw back a fist. He didn't flare his aura or shout the name of a technique.
He simply stomped.
The world jumped.
Saint Kingdom boomed like a struck bell. Circles of unseen law rippled outward from Ren's heel, passing through stone, air, people, dimensions. For an instant Kuoh vanished behind layers of shimmering distortion—like someone had shattered a mirror and all the reflections were trying to fall back into place.
The three old Satans and Kokabiel convulsed.
Ren's Immortal Soul Bone flared. White-gold light threaded through their bodies like dissecting lines, turning snarls of memory and cursed energy into clean diagrams he could read at a glance. Complexity collapsed into simplicity. Four lifetimes' worth of plots, grudges, relationships, and secret contacts unfolded in front of him like neat schematics.
"Good," he murmured. "Let's open you up."
Pale radiance burst from their eyes and mouths.
Not blood.
Memories.
They shot upward in four spears of light, twisted once in the grip of Saint Kingdom, then exploded into projections—floating screens, illusions, living tableaux—layered over the sky above Kuoh and then beyond it, carried along the same paths their schemes had followed.
Across all realms, the air itself turned into glass.
And the world started watching.
...
In the Underworld, above a long obsidian table where wine and snacks still sat half-touched, a new "window" snapped open in midair.
No magic circle. No known sigil. Not devil sorcery, not senjutsu, not holy interference.
Just… a view.
Katerea Leviathan appeared, head bowed over a war table, sneering at a map of the Three Factions.
"—once this foolish peace collapses," her voice echoed, perfectly clear, "we move in three prongs. Hero Faction will create a spectacle on the human side. Khaos Brigade's other branches will keep the gods busy. And we will strike the Maous where it hurts. Their symbols. Their families."
Sirzechs' relaxed smile vanished.
Serafall froze, half a gummy snack still sticking out of her mouth, eyes wide, pigtails falling still.
Ajuka's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, pupils sharpening as data poured in. "This… isn't a scrying spell."
"It's a broadcast," Sirzechs said quietly. "Forced from their side."
Ajuka's gaze slid sideways, calculations already running. "So. That boy really can do this much."
Around them, nobles muttered, hands tightening on goblets, faces going pale as more images blossomed in the air—meetings, secret briefings, masked figures bowing to the shadows behind the old Satans.
Everything they thought they'd hidden from the new Maous was suddenly laid bare.
...
In Heaven, the light of the great hall bent.
Scenes layered over the pearly walls and golden pillars as if Heaven itself had become a theater screen.
Valper Galilei calmly dissecting a restrained Sacred Gear possessor, bloody tools laid out like holy instruments.
"God's original system was elegant," he babbled, eyes glowing with fanatic delight. "But inefficient. With evolution, with the right hands, we can improve on His design…"
Another illusion slammed over it.
Valerie Tepes in chains, eyes vacant, Sephiroth Graal floating above her lap as Rizevim Livan Lucifer's lazy voice purred from the side.
"Using the principle of life to revive Evil Dragons again and again… Don't you think it's beautiful, Valerie? A world where death and fear can be recycled forever?"
The scene twisted again.
A vast, rotting beast chained in a distant space—Trihexa's silhouette, sleeping and terrible. Seals ground against its existence like millstones, every breath of the beast making them scream. Rizevim explained, almost bored, how he had moved it to Agreas, how he would break the seals with stolen fruits and souls.
Michael's fingers tightened on his staff.
"…This amount of information," he murmured, voice low, "should not be possible to reveal in one miracle."
Gabriel's eyes went wide, hand flying to her lips. "Brother…"
Her gaze flicked instinctively toward the direction of Kuoh, past cloud and star.
...
Somewhere between realms, in a Khaos Brigade hideout carved into the shadows, a conference room full of monsters fell silent.
Not metaphorical monsters.
Literal ones.
A dozen faces turned toward the illusion that had been forced into their space.
Cao Cao frowned up at the image of himself whipping True Longinus toward a projection of Great Red, speaking with cool certainty.
"Testing human potential against dragon gods. Proving that with will and ingenuity, a human can surpass any so-called 'mythic being'…"
Georg, arms folded in the corner, went pale as his own discussions about using Dimensional Lost to isolate entire cities played out in midair.
Jeanne winced as a younger version of herself promised to cut down anyone who stood in the way of their "ideal humanity." Some of the Hero Faction members shifted uncomfortably—faces tight, throats working—old motives and justifications suddenly feeling thin and childish when dragged into the light like this.
It was one thing to plot in secret.
It was another to have your worst speeches replayed to the entire world.
...
Deeper still, in a hall carved from shadow and cold rock, lit by sickly flames.
Hades stared up at a vision of himself—robed in black, eyes like dead stars—outlining the Alliance of Hell's goals. He spoke calmly, hate coiled under every word. Hating the cooperation of the gods. Hating the Three Factions' so-called peace. Recruiting Nyx, Erebus, Tartarus, Angra Mainyu. Bargaining for Evil Dragons as shock troops.
Beside him, Nyx's permanent, amused smile faded.
Erebus' shadow wavered, deep and uneasy.
Angra Mainyu's lips curled as the feed shifted to show his doings—whispering to cultists, seeding malice into human hearts, calling Azhi Dahaka "a son of ruin" he would gladly unleash if it meant drowning the world in curses.
The Underworld god's bony fingers dug into his throne.
"So," Hades said softly. "We have been… exposed."
Angra Mainyu's killing intent spiked, choking and thick, oily darkness rising from his form.
"That mortal," he hissed. "That thing dares show this to everyone?"
...
And in a floating fortress surrounded by Qlippoth sigils and mad science arrays, a silver-haired devil laughed.
Rizevim Livan Lucifer sprawled lazily in his chair, one leg thrown over an armrest, sipping something dark and expensive-looking. Around him hovered multiple illusions—Qlippoth war plans, Sephiroth Graal schematics, Trihexa's cage, ranks of revived Evil Dragons.
Now, a new image forced its way into his space: his own face, smirking, explaining Qlippoth's intent to use Trihexa as an ultimate chaos engine.
Rizevim blinked.
Then he threw his head back and laughed again, higher, genuinely entertained.
"Ahahaha… unbelievable. He actually dug that deep?" His golden eyes glittered. "You're really something, brat."
He tilted his head, watching as the view swung back to Kuoh—back to Ren Ming, fingers around Kokabiel's throat, three old Satans kneeling, the world hanging off every move.
"Show me more," Rizevim murmured, grin widening. "Let's see how far you take this."
...
Back over Kuoh, the last of the forced memories burned themselves out and faded.
Silence fell.
Devils in the Underworld sat frozen, goblets halfway to their mouths. Some hadn't even swallowed yet.
Angels and exorcists in Heaven whispered prayers that were equal parts reverence and fear.
Fallen in Grigori cursed or laughed or both, Azazel's entire research division already taking frantic notes, analyzing the structure of the broadcast, the feel of Saint Kingdom, the strange "inner world" that had just overwritten every spy network on earth.
Gods in their respective realms—Shiva, Odin, Amaterasu, Susanoo, dragon kings and small pantheon heads—reacted in ways that ranged from amused interest to cold alarm. More than a few quietly adjusted their "world threat list."
Even normal humans felt it.
They didn't see the war rooms or the beasts or the gods. Their televisions showed static for a heartbeat, their phones glitched, the sky looked off—and for one bare instant, everyone within a wide radius of Kuoh felt like someone had leaned down and whispered into their ear:
You are being lied to by the sky itself.
Then the feeling was gone.
The only thing left was Ren.
He stood in the air, calm as always, one hand still gently pinning Kokabiel's sealed body to the floor of Saint Kingdom.
He smiled.
"All of you," he said lightly. "You've been busy."
His voice carried.
Not as sound.
As intent.
Cultivation voice, threaded with Anima and Dao, riding the same paths his broadcast had just carved. It sank into ears, hearts, screens, scrying circles, Sacred Gears, divine senses.
"Old Satans, Khaos Brigade, Hero Faction, Alliance of Hell, every little offshoot Rizevim's been grooming." He tilted his head slightly. "You really went all-in, huh? Trying to plunge everything into chaos, stroke your pride, prove your little philosophies."
He tapped Kokabiel's shoulder with two fingers.
"It's a shame," he added comfortably. "That I'm around."
The words were simple.
What everyone felt was: You picked the wrong era.
...
Rizevim's grin twitched.
"Hah," he whispered. "And he knows I'm watching."
On a distant couch in a Kuoh manor packed with cultivators, Tiamat dug her nails into the cushions. The TV in front of her showed the same Saint Kingdom image the Maous were watching.
"That idiot…" she muttered, golden eyes locked on the projection.
Beside her, Ophis blinked slowly, small frame curled up with a snack box in her lap. Her face was blank. Her eyes were not.
Far away in the Dimensional Gap, Great Red paused mid-roll, massive body twisting lazily through the void. Some instinct pricked, an itch at the level of "world taste." Reality's flavor had shifted for a moment, then settled with a new, faint spice.
Ren reached up.
"Rizevim," he said, tone still relaxed, almost lazy. "You like chaos, right?"
The Super Devil felt a cold weight slide down his spine for the first time in a very long while.
"You enjoy stirring pots, poking beasts, seeing what breaks." Ren's eyes narrowed just a fraction, the smile never leaving his face. "Then let me show you what your chaos gives you."
His Immortal Soul Bone lit fully this time, fusing with Perfect Ancient Ming Bloodline and the authority of nine Fate Palaces. Lines of energy spread out from Kokabiel and the three old Satans—not just memory threads now, but paths.
Ophis' snakes embedded in their bodies. Qlippoth tethers running through stolen Graal fragments. Khaos Brigade command links. The taint of Evil Dragon souls resurrected and anchored by Sephiroth Graal.
In Ren's perception, it looked like someone had spilled ink across the multiverse.
Thin lines, thick strokes, splashes of malice. Every "connection" the conspirators had ever built had left residue. Most beings would never see it. Most worlds would never even notice it.
To the Immortal Soul Bone, it was all painfully clear.
He followed the darkest stroke.
And hanging off the central knot of that black ink, like a hooked fang, was a presence so violent and obvious it might as well have been screaming.
"…There you are," Ren murmured.
His hand closed on empty air.
The world shuddered.
...
Reality tore open above Kuoh.
Not in the ragged, shrieking way of a failed spell gone wild, but in a precise incision—like someone had slit open the skin of the world with a surgeon's scalpel. On the other side, a storm of curses, forbidden magic, and dragon malice boiled.
One shape surged through.
Three heads.
Six arms, each gripping a different weapon or weaving a different spell-sign.
A body covered in black-violet scales, every scale crawling with glyphs and curse formulas, each one a magic circle. Every breath carried a new curse, layered in a thousand different mythologies' maledictions.
Aži Dahāka.
An Evil Dragon, one of the strongest of his kind. Said to be stronger than the Five Great Dragon Kings. Counted among the top three Evil Dragons alongside Crom Cruach and Apophis, his power rivaling even the Heavenly Dragons themselves. A dragon who had memorized and mastered a thousand kinds of magic.
He landed in the sky over Kuoh with a roar that flipped cars and shattered windows. Even protected inside Ren's dimension, Ultimate-class beings flinched as that hatred rolled over them.
Curses spilled from his mouths, stacking like thunderclaps:
Zoroastrian maledictions that tried to rot concepts.
European disaster sorcery that called down invisible plagues.
Asian curse arts stitched into a blasphemous whole, latching onto names and faces just by seeing them.
His aura tore at the seams of space, each movement like a knife carving new wounds into the world.
On the ground below, Kiba froze mid-guard, sword half-raised.
Issei's eyes went wide. "That… that's—"
In his chest, Ddraig growled low, dragon instinct bristling.
On the opposite side, Albion rumbled from within Vali's soul, cold and analytical, but the edge of tension clearly there.
All dragons recognized the presence that had just arrived.
In the Underworld, Tannin and the other Dragon Kings stared up at their own sky, where the projection magnified Aži Dahāka's presence for them, the Evil Dragon's killing intent washing over entire territories.
In the dim hall of Hades, the God of the Underworld went very still.
Angra Mainyu's expression actually cracked.
"That's my…" he whispered, voice low and shaking, "…you dare drag out my child like that?"
On the floating fortress, Rizevim's grip slipped. A dark drop of wine spilled off the rim of his glass, splashing onto the floor.
He didn't pick the glass back up.
"…Ah," he said. "You're kidding me."
...
Aži Dahāka twisted, three heads turning as he took in the scene.
Saint Kingdom overhead, layered over Kuoh like a pale, absolute sky.
Three crippled old Satans kneeling, Kokabiel sealed like a specimen.
The town below humming with restless power and rising fear.
Ties to Qlippoth humming in his body, snakes of Ophis's power coiled under his scales, Graal reinforcement pulsing through his soul.
Killing intent exploded from him.
"So this is the pest playing with my leash," one head hissed, voice like grinding bone.
Another head grinned, jagged teeth bare. "Good. Good. I was getting bored."
The third laughed, high and wild.
"I'll paint this continent red."
He gathered power.
Forbidden spells and techniques whirled around him like planets around a sun. Flame that tried to eat concepts. Ice that sought to freeze magic itself. Darkness that gnawed at existence. Beams of destruction stolen from half a dozen mythologies.
All of it amplified, woven together, extended by the enhancements Sephiroth Graal had given him.
The air screamed.
Even with ninety-percent-condensed Soul Palace, even with two Soul Palaces humming behind them, Rias and Akeno felt their inner worlds strain at that pressure. Everyone in Ren's class could feel what a Heavenly Dragon-class monster meant up close.
Somewhere in the Underworld, a council hall full of Pillar devils watched the projection and understood exactly how small they were.
In the human world, priests and magicians who had never heard the name Aži Dahāka felt like a nightmare had just pressed its snout against their windows.
Ren regarded the Evil Dragon for one heartbeat.
Then he smiled.
"People consider you a Heavenly Dragon match, huh," he said. "Not bad."
Aži Dahāka snarled. Three sets of eyes burned.
He compressed all that gathered might into a single apocalyptic volley.
"DIE!"
He fired.
The world went white.
Beams of annihilation, torrents of cursed flame, whirlwinds of blades and black lightning—every spell he had ever learned, every breath weapon, every twisted technique.
Aži Dahāka unleashed everything, pulverizing the space Ren had stood in, aiming to erase him so completely that not even Sephiroth Graal would find a scrap of soul or concept to work with.
Sirzechs' hand snapped out toward a teleportation circle.
Michael's wings flared, light rising around him.
Odin swore, clutching Gungnir, one eye sharpening as he judged distances.
Shiva narrowed his eyes, fingers twitching toward his dance.
Azazel cursed so loudly Penemue almost slapped him.
In the manor, Tiamat shot to her feet, aura slamming against Ren's wards.
"Ren!"
Rias' heart stopped. Akeno's lightning spasmed, eyes wide. Asia's fingers shook around her prayer beads. Koneko's tail wrapped around her leg so tightly it hurt.
For a moment, all anyone could see was a blinding pillar of devastation punching a hole through clouds and sky.
Then it cleared.
Ren was still there.
He hadn't moved.
One hand hung at his side.
The other was curled into a fist, arm extended slightly forward—like someone had lazily punched through a wet paper screen.
Around his knuckles, the air was… wrong.
Not empty.
Full.
Full of something that wasn't this world's power. Chaos refined into primordial energy, compressed by an Ancient Saint foundation, channeled through the Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique and Perfect Ancient Ming Bloodline.
His punch hadn't just met Aži Dahāka's attack.
It had eaten it.
Behind Ren, nine Fate Palaces shimmered like suppressed suns—nine worlds stacked inside him, radiance folded down to a thin skin so he wouldn't crush everything around him by existing.
For an instant, everyone who could see them felt like they were staring at the backbone of a deeper universe.
Aži Dahāka stared.
All three heads.
His attacks were gone. Not deflected, not scattered.
Erased so thoroughly that even the concepts behind them couldn't find purchase. The residual Graal enchantments bound to his "ultimate volley" shrieked, then went silent, threads cut from both ends.
Ren's fist hadn't just countered.
It had defined.
"This is my world," that punch said. "Your power was never written into it."
"Impossible—" one head choked.
Ren's eyes softened, almost gentle.
"Relax," he said. "You won't have to worry about it for long."
He took a step.
Not a teleport.
Just a step.
Space folded around his feet anyway, because it wanted to be where he was moving.
He disappeared.
He appeared right in front of Aži Dahāka's central head, so close the dragon could see his own three faces reflected in Ren's calm eyes.
Ren drew back his fist once more—slowly, almost lazily.
"This is just a stretch," he remarked. "I'm only using a little of the physique and bloodline. Anything more would be overkill."
For the first time, true survival instinct screamed in all three heads.
All six arms fired spells at point blank range. Claws slashed, jaws spewed forbidden magic designed to tear apart gods and devils alike. Curses targeted body, mind, soul, name.
Ren's punch passed through all of it like it was fog.
Then it touched Aži Dahāka's chest.
There was no explosion.
No shockwave.
Just… absence.
In one heartbeat, the Evil Dragon's body existed.
In the next, there was a Ren-sized hole through him.
In the heartbeat after that, there wasn't even that.
Aži Dahāka didn't get to scream.
His body, his magic, his soul, the Graal threads anchoring him to resurrection—everything—collapsed into dust finer than concept.
Perfect Ancient Ming Bloodline stirred, devouring the lingering scraps of dragon authority like seasoning, folding it into Ren's own blood.
The Immortal Soul Bone flared once, ensuring not a single trace of "Aži Dahāka" remained for Sephiroth Graal or any other system to grasp. Every label, every coordinate, every metaphysical "handle" that could have pulled him back was smoothed away.
And just like that, one of the strongest Evil Dragons in existence—Heavenly Dragon-class, terror of the Evil Dragon War—was gone.
The shockwave wasn't physical.
It was mythic.
Loki's erasure had been one thing: a god falling to his own arrogance.
This was an Evil Dragon of legend, resurrected by the Holy Grail, killed and deleted in two strikes.
Ren Ming had dragged him across space like tugging on a leash and then casually annihilated him like a street thug.
He didn't even look winded.
The ripples ripped through the world.
...
In the hall of Hades, every torch guttered low, flames shrinking like they wanted to hide.
Angra Mainyu stood very still.
He felt it.
The sudden, clean absence where a roaring, beloved shard of destruction had been. A piece of his hatred, shaped as a child, ripped out of the tapestry of the world and burned to nothing.
"…Aži Dahāka," he breathed.
For once, there was no amusement in his tone.
Then his expression twisted, beautiful and terrible in its hate. His aura surged, drowning the stone hall in black, choking malice.
The killing intent he released this time wasn't aimed at devils, angels, pantheons.
It was aimed at one calm, smiling man in Kuoh.
"I will kill you," he whispered, each word a curse. "No matter what you are, no matter where you hide—I will drown you in curses until even your so-called Dao bleeds."
Hades' fingers tightened on the armrests of his throne, eyes narrowing as he felt the target of Angra's hatred.
Nyx's eyes became thin blades of night.
Deep below, Tartarus stirred in his pit, faintly pleased at the prospect of more chaos, more cracks in the order of things.
...
On the floating fortress, Rizevim finally stopped smiling.
For the first time since he'd appeared on any battlefield, his childish facade slipped.
He sat up properly, eyes unreadable for a long, thin moment.
"One punch," he said softly. "You killed a Heavenly Dragon-class Evil Dragon with one punch and erased the soul so clean my Grail can't sniff it out."
He whistled, low.
"Ahaha… ahahahaha…"
The laugh that followed was ragged, missing its usual lazy music.
He raked a hand through his hair, silver strands falling over his face.
"…Okay. Fine," Rizevim muttered. "Now I'm irritated."
Not afraid.
But for the first time, he had to admit—to himself, at least—that this wasn't just an amusing toy.
This was a variable.
A bad one.
...
In the Dimensional Gap, Great Red twisted, massive body rolling through the void in a lazy arc. Something had pinged at his level for a brief second—a "punch" that had talked to the world the way he did.
Ophis tilted her head slightly on the couch, like a cat hearing a faraway sound only it could recognize.
Far away, sealed in a space even devils hesitated to name, Trihexa shifted imperceptibly in its bonds. The faintest murmur of recognition crawled through its sleeping malice.
Something out there had just proven it could reach across systems and erase a piece of "dragon" from the story.