In the hollow, decaying church, the cold wind howled through broken windows, carrying with it a menacing darkness that seemed to bleed from the very stone walls.
At the center of the desecrated sanctuary, bound naked to a rusted, inverted cross, was a beautiful, heartbreakingly girl.
Her blonde hair was matted with sweat and grime, her green eyes wide with terror and unshed tears.
Not a single stitch of clothing covered her; her body was fully exposed to the chilling air and the lecherous gazes of her captors.
Freed Sellzen stared at the girl with a twisted sort of pity, his eyes lingering on the details of her vulnerability—her erect, pink nipples pebbled from the cold, the delicate, untouched folds of her virgin pussy.
What a waste to die such a tragic death without ever tasting a single pleasure in her life.
"Shame, really," he muttered under his breath, licking his lips. "A pretty thing like that, going to waste…"
"Stop leering, you wretch!" Raynare's voice cracked like a whip as she slammed the flat of her hand against the back of his head. "We hired you for your skills, not for you to gawk. If you want her, you can have what's left after we finish the ritual."
From the shadows, Dohnaseek chuckled, a low, devious sound.
He licked his lips, his gaze crawling over the girl's exposed form. "No need to wait, Raynare. Let the human know his place. I'll enjoy her once she's… finished. A beautiful corpse is still beautiful."
No one objected. No one even flinched. The casual depravity—the anticipation of defiling a lifeless body—was simply part of the atmosphere, a testament to how far these Fallen Angels had fallen.
"Enough," Raynare snapped, her patience fraying. "Begin the ritual. Now."
She stepped toward the bound girl, her hands already glowing with a sinister light as she prepared to violently extract the Sacred Gear, Twilight Healing, from her living vessel.
But before her fingers could make contact, he altar exploded.
However before she could touch her, the altar exploded.
A wave of compressed phoenix fire detonated across the ritual circle, not exploding wildly, but shearing through it like a horizontal blade.
Chunks of masonry and splinters of wood blasted outward as the meticulously drawn ritual circle was shredded into oblivion.
Raynare shrieked a curse, black wings bursting from her back as she threw herself backwards, shielding her face from the debris cloud that filled the nave.
"Tch—who is there?!" she spat, whirling toward Freed. "Freed! You useless idiot! You can't even do your one fucking job properly!"
Freed was already standing, his custom pistols smoking, but his face was split in a wild, bloodthirsty grin. His eyes were wide, manic, utterly ecstatic.
"Oi, oi, don't look at me like that!" he laughed, the sound unhinged. "I get it, I get it already! Just sit pretty and watch! I'll kill this devil bastard myself!"
Before he could lunge forward to prove his point, another volley rang out—cleaner, more precise, utterly merciless.
Dohnaseek the rear of the church, just beginning to raise his spear, had his head vaporized in a mist of dark blood and bone.
Silence slammed down, heavier than before.
Then—footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. Echoing through the shattered entrance.
A wave of heat rolled into the nave, thick and oppressive. It wasn't holy light. It wasn't divine wrath. It was infernal—a deep, smoldering pressure that seized the lungs and made the air taste of ash and embers.
Coiling around the intruder's boots, leaving blackened, scorched footprints on the stone, was fire. Not ordinary flame, but the distinct, brilliant gold-and-orange blaze of a Phoenix.
Riser Phenex stepped into the ruins of the church.
He wasn't smiling. His expression was flat, his eyes like chips of frozen amber, reflecting the glow of his own flames. The suffocating aura of a High-Class Devil, no longer restrained, radiated from him in palpable waves, pressing down on every living thing in the room.
Raynare froze, her blood running cold. All her arrogance, all her cruel confidence, evaporated in an instant, leaving only primal, chilling recognition.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
"…You," Raynare hissed.
Riser's eyes swept the room once—over the ritual circle, the corpses, the naked girl bound to the cross.
His expression didn't change, but the temperature spiked sharply.
"Scram, fallen," he commanded, his voice low and final. "She no longer belongs to you."
Freed burst out laughing.
"Oh? Ohhh? So this is one of those dramatic rescue things?" He twirled a blade in one hand, licking his lips. "Relax, Devil-sama. We were just about to kill her. You can take the body after—"
Riser vanished.
There was no flash, no warning.
Freed's laughter cut off as Riser reappeared directly in front of him, fist already buried in his stomach. Phoenix fire detonated inward, not outward—controlled, compressed.
Freed flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing through three pews and slamming into the far wall hard enough to crater it.
Before anyone could react, Mittelt moved.
She raised her spear and chanted, holy light gathering—
Riser turned and snapped his fingers.
A ribbon of phoenix fire wrapped around the spear mid-cast, corrupting the holy light instantly. The weapon detonated in Mittelt's hands, blowing her arms apart in a spray of blood and burning feathers as she screamed and collapsed.
Kalawarner roared and charged from the side, wings beating violently as she brought her massive golden spear down in a two-handed strike aimed to cleave Riser in half.
Riser caught it.
Barehanded.
The blade shrieked as phoenix fire crawled up its length, melting the metal like wax. Riser stepped in and drove his knee into Kalawarner's chest.
The impact shattered ribs.
Kalawarner was launched straight through the church wall, disappearing into the night with a fading scream.
Raynare finally moved.
She darted upward, electricity crackling around her fingers as she aimed for the girl on the cross.
Riser looked at her.
Just looked.
The fire around him surged violently.
Raynare's barrier shattered instantly as a torrent of phoenix flames slammed into her midair, engulfing her wings. She crashed to the floor in a heap, smoke rising from her scorched body as she screamed in agony.
Riser walked past her without sparing a glance.
He reached the cross and placed a hand on the restraints.
They burned away instantly.
The girl, Asia Argento, slumped forward, consciousness fading.
Riser caught her before she could fall, his movements unnervingly gentle amidst the carnage.
He shrugged off his outer coat and wrapped it around her trembling, bloodied body, shielding her from the chill and the horror.
He leaned close, his voice low, a vow more than a comfort. "Your life belongs to me now, girl. Remember that."
Behind him, Freed coughed weakly, trying to laugh through broken ribs. "Heh… damn… should've brought bigger guns…"
Riser turned.
Freed stopped breathing a second later.
Phoenix fire swallowed him whole, leaving nothing behind—not ash, not bone, not blood.
Riser looked back at Raynare, who was crawling weakly toward the door, terror etched across her face.
"Tell your masters," he said coldly, flames rising again, "that Kuoh is no longer free hunting ground."
The fire surged.
When it faded, the abandoned church was silent once more—its ritual erased, its predators broken, and its altar reduced to rubble.
Riser stepped out into the night, the girl held securely in his arms.
Another piece reclaimed.
Another enemy erased.
And his journey had only just begun.
...
"Brother, I missed you!"
A blonde oddball, Ravel Phenex, threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and burying her face in his chest.
She clung to him with a desperate, almost panicked intensity, refusing to let go.
Riser's previously hardened expression softened into a genuine, if weary, smile.
He stroked her soft blonde hair gently. "Alright, Ravel. Settle down. Listen… after this, I will be leaving for a while. To a faraway place. It's time you started building your own peerage, independent of mine. You're a King now, not just my little sister."
"I don't want to!" she cried out instantly, her voice thick with sorrow and a flash of anger.
Her hug tightened possessively. "Why are you trying to throw me away?! Because of those… those sluts?! It must be them! They betrayed you, and now you don't want me anymore! I'm sorry, I should have watched them better for you!"
Riser blinked.
This level of frantic, jealous clinginess was… odd.
New, even for Ravel.
A suspicion began to form in his mind.
Don't tell me…
He looked down to see her gazing up at him, her big eyes shimmering with pitiful tears.
However, he held his ground.
His voice remained gentle but unyielding. "Don't think of it as being thrown away, sister. It's not a bad thing to be independent. In fact, I have a gift for you. For your very first peerage member. If you refuse… your brother will be very sad."
If she wanted to play the emotional card, he could play it right back.
In terms of cunning and gentle manipulation, Riser was far from inferior.
The tactic worked.
Ravel's eyes immediately brightened, the tears vanishing as if by magic, replaced by sparkling curiosity. "A gift? For my first peerage member? I'm so happy! Let me see it, onii-chan!"
Riser simply nodded, disentangling himself from her grasp.
He guided her through the quiet halls of his private residence in Kuoh to a secluded bedroom. He pushed the door open.
Inside, on the large bed, Asia Argento slept soundly. She was covered only by his coat and a thin blanket, her small form looking fragile.
The air in the room felt strangely heavy, carrying the faint, sweet scent of her Twilight Healing and the lingering gloom of her recent trauma.
Ravel's face fell instantly, then flushed a deep, furious red.
"Brother…! You haven't changed at all, you baka! Pervert! Playboy!" she shrieked, her small fist flying in a weak, telegraphed punch aimed at his chest.
He didn't flinch.
He merely reached out and placed a hand on top of her head, holding her at arm's length.
Her fist punched the air harmlessly in front of him, her short arms failing to reach their target.
"Are you calm now?" Riser asked, a note of genuine lament in his tone. "What a woman…"
His sister, having expended her brief burst of indignant energy, slumped to the floor in a pout, looking up at him with pure, theatrical resentment.
"Alright," Riser said, looking down at her sprawled form. "You should calm down, Ravel. You shouldn't say such things to your own brother."
His tone was that of a patient but firm educator.
She lowered her head, the fight draining out of her, replaced by a contrite mumble. "Sorry… I just… I…"
"Hush," he cut her off, his voice softening just a fraction. "You are my younger sister. I can forgive you for being willful. But remember this, Ravel: no more accusations. I hate it—even from my own sister—when people think I am some rapist who preys on defenseless girls."
The stern reminder was clear in his eyes.
"Then punish me, brother," Ravel said suddenly, her voice firming with a strange resolve.
She looked up, her cheeks still flushed. "Mother always said bad girls deserve spanking. Please spank me. Spank me hard."
Okay…
So that was your purpose all along.
Riser deadpanned, the pieces clicking into place.
Her outburst, her clinginess, the dramatic accusation—it was all a setup to arrive at this very request.
A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips.
Devils were born sinners, after all.
Unlike the hypocrite Sirzechs, who was in deep denial about his own twisted affection for Rias, Riser had never made a secret of his possessive, complicated love for his younger sister.
He saw no need for denial.
"Come here, then," he said, his voice dropping to a low, accepting murmur.
He did not refuse.
Ravel's face broke into a triumphant, eager grin.
She scrambled up and positioned herself obediently across his lap, presenting herself.
He raised his hand and brought it down on the curve of her buttock without hesitation.
Plap!
A sharp, crisp sound echoed in the quiet room.
Plap! Plap!
Ravel let out a muffled gasp that quickly morphed into a soft, shuddering moan—a mix of genuine sting and unmistakable pleasure.
She squirmed slightly, not to escape, but to press herself more firmly against the punishment.
Her brother continued, the rhythmic spanks filling the room, each impact met with another breathy, acquiescent sound from Ravel.
The strange, charged atmosphere from before returned, thickening now with a palpable, shared deviancy, transforming the sibling interaction into something far more intimate and explicitly twisted.