Night enveloped the Kuoh area, one of Japan's prefectures, in a calm that appeared ordinary to human eyes. Streetlights glowed as usual, the night breeze blew gently, and life went on without any sign that history was preparing to be rewritten.
Yet behind the curtain of the human world, something far greater was taking place.
A conference between three major races of the same mythology—a mythology recorded in the sacred text of the Bible—was finally being held. Not as a celebration, but as a last effort to end a cycle of hatred that had lasted for thousands of years.
Devils.
Fallen Angels.
Angels.
With the death of God in the great war that had shaken the foundations of the supernatural world, the reason to continue maintaining that hostility gradually crumbled. There were no more absolute commands. No more center of absolute truth.
What remained was only a choice.
Would they continue to be trapped in the cursed relationships inherited from the past—or finally shake hands to face new threats, for the sake of the future generations?
The first to arrive at the conference venue was Azazel.
The leader of the Fallen Angels walked in casually, as if this were merely an ordinary academic meeting. His signature coat swayed lightly, a thin smile adorning his careless-looking face that hid a terrifying intellect.
Behind him walked his chosen guard.
Vali Lucifer.
The silver-haired man stepped forward calmly, his gaze cold and empty, as if the world around him were nothing more than a backdrop. The aura of the Vanishing Dragon pulsed faintly within him, restrained yet ready to erupt at any moment.
His mere presence was enough to make the air in the room feel heavier.
Not long after, the conference hall trembled once more with the arrival of the next party.
Sirzechs Lucifer, the Crimson Devil King, appeared with a friendly smile that contrasted sharply with his reputation as one of the strongest beings in the Underworld. His aura was neatly suppressed, yet still perceptible to anyone sensitive enough.
At his side stood Serafall Leviathan, who walked cheerfully with exaggerated flair, a mask of cheerfulness that nearly fooled anyone who did not know her well.
Behind them, two younger figures followed with far more serious demeanors.
Rias Gremory, Sirzechs' younger sister, brought part of the Gremory nobility as her guards. Her face was calm, yet her eyes were vigilant, observing every corner of the room.
On the other side, Sona Sitri walked together with guards from the Sitri clan. Her attitude was firm, measured, and full of calculation—the complete opposite of Serafall, who continued waving cheerfully.
The presence of the two devil factions made the atmosphere of the conference even denser. The history of the Underworld, the civil war, and the blood of the old Devil Kings seemed to still echo in the air.
Finally, holy light filled the room.
Archangel Michael descended with steps full of dignity, his wings of light folded neatly behind his back. His expression was gentle, yet his eyes reflected the heavy burden of a leader who had lost his God.
As his guard, Irina Shidou walked behind him.
When her gaze met Xenovia's, Irina's body tensed slightly. She lowered her head faintly, a natural reflex—guilt, confusion, and old wounds that had not fully healed.
Xenovia merely returned her with an indifferent stare.
No mockery. No spoken regret.
Only the reality that the world had changed, and that they now stood on different sides.
After all parties took their seats, a brief silence enveloped the room.
Azazel glanced around, ensuring that all the key players were present. Then, with his characteristic casual style, he leaned back in his chair and grinned broadly.
"Well then~" he said lightly, as if he were not opening a meeting that could determine the future of three races. "In that case… let's get this meeting started."
Outside, Kuoh City remained asleep in ignorance.
But within that room, history was in motion—and no one knew whether the outcome would be peace, or the beginning of an even greater chaos.
The first topic raised was not the future, but wounds that had yet to dry.
The chaos caused by Kokabiel.
And the territorial violation committed by Fallen Angel subordinates who had recklessly entered devil territory without official permission.
The air in the room immediately hardened.
That discussion naturally dragged them back to events that had occurred long before—the incident involving Raynare and her group. That name alone was enough to make several expressions tighten. For the devils, it was an outright violation. For the angels, it was a stain difficult to defend.
Azazel raised a hand, leaning back in his chair with a casualness that was almost irritating.
"Ah~ about that Kokabiel thing?" he said, scratching his head. "He really did act on his own. It wasn't my order at all."
Several pairs of eyes stared at him sharply.
"Starting another great war? Give me a break," Azazel continued lightly, as if discussing a failed experiment. "If that actually happened, we'd be the first ones to get wiped out, right?"
His casual tone only worsened the atmosphere.
On the devil side, several nobles were clearly holding back their impatience. On the angel side, it was the same—even Michael frowned slightly, though he maintained his composure.
Sirzechs Lucifer finally spoke.
"Azazel," he said in a calm yet firm voice. "It may be true that they acted beyond your control. However, no matter what, they are still your subordinates."
The room fell silent once more.
Azazel let out a long sigh, then raised both hands as if surrendering.
"Yeah, yeah. I admit I'm at fault," he said. "For that, I apologize."
The apology was spoken, yet not all parties felt satisfied.
Then Azazel grinned faintly, his eyes changing—sharper, more focused.
"However," he continued, "the reason we gathered here isn't just to discuss the past, is it?"
Several people fell silent.
"I admit Kokabiel went too far," he said again. "But in the end, wasn't there someone who cleaned everything up?"
He leaned forward.
"And the funny thing is… even now, we don't actually know who that person is."
Rias tensed slightly. Michael raised his eyebrows faintly.
"A Sacred Gear user," Azazel continued, his voice growing more animated, "whose level suddenly skyrocketed… all the way to the Longinus class."
Several people reacted immediately.
"That's impossible," one angel muttered.
"Reversing a phenomenon," Azazel tapped the table lightly. "Not just activating a Gear, but changing the very nature of the battle itself. Heh… looks like the system in Heaven has really reached its limit, huh?"
That remark was clearly directed at Michael.
The Archangel did not answer immediately. His expression remained calm, but his gaze darkened slightly.
"The Sacred Gear system," Michael finally said, "was created and operated directly by God."
He continued in a deeper voice.
"Even if I am the one operating it now… there are limits that I cannot cross."
It was a heavy admission.
The system that governed Sacred Gears throughout the world—holy artifacts scattered among humanity—was a direct legacy of the God of the Bible Himself. An absolute mechanism, designed to be stable, orderly, and—at least in theory—impossible to violate by any individual will.
That was the old dogma.
But reality told a different story.
Because within that very system, there existed a loophole.
Balance Breaker.
A stage where a Sacred Gear bound to its user's soul breaks past its initial limits, shatters the balance, and unlocks potential capable of rivaling a Devil King. Of course, all of that still depended on the user. No matter how powerful a Sacred Gear was, it would be nothing more than an ornament if its owner was weak—soul, resolve, and will were the true keys.
Azazel leaned back, gazing at the ceiling as if speaking to the past.
"I know," he said casually yet honestly. "Even I can't do anything about a system created by… our father."
Michael nodded slowly. There was no rebuttal. No denial.
Silence enveloped the room for a moment.
Then Azazel broke into a wide grin and clapped his hands together.
"Alright!" he said. "So how about it? Do you agree?"
He looked at each representative present—devils, angels, and fallen angels.
"We shake hands," he continued. "Face future threats as one united front. No more stabbing each other in the back. Doesn't sound too bad, right?"
No one answered immediately.
The silence was heavy, filled with deliberation. Their past was stained with blood and hatred—it was not easy to erase it with just a few sentences. Yet at the same time, the new threats beginning to move behind the scenes were far more terrifying than the old wars they had come to know.
Azazel even glanced at Issei, grinning meaningfully.
"Besides," he said with a chuckle, "if there's peace, you and your ladies won't have to worry about war. You can focus on… hmm, multiplying and building a better future."
Rias flushed instantly. Issei choked on air.
But before anyone could respond—
Time stopped.
In that instant, the entire room froze.
The guards outside Kuoh Academy halted in place. Wings mid-flap, swords mid-grip, even particles of dust in the air—everything stood still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
But not everyone.
A few figures could still move.
Those who possessed extraordinary power. Those who wielded holy swords, dragon equipment, or whose very existence lay outside ordinary laws.
Rias jolted—and realized her hand could still move because Issei was holding it. Ddraig reacted. The dragon blood within Issei rejected the freezing of time.
"Well, well~" Azazel's casual voice echoed within the frozen world. "They arrived quickly."
Sirzechs narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Azazel gave a crooked smile.
"Who else?" he said. "Of course, the uninvited guests."
At that very moment, a gigantic magic circle appeared in the sky above Kuoh Academy. Its patterns were complex, ancient, and saturated with suffocating energy.
Azazel watched it with keen interest.
"But this time-stopping ability…" he muttered. "That's from that dhampir kid's Sacred Gear, isn't it?"
Those words made Rias and Issei widen their eyes at the same time.
Issei's face went pale.
"Gasper…?" he whispered.
That name echoed softly through the halted space.
//--//
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