The stillness of the twilight sky over Kuoh Academy was a deceptive curtain. Beneath its placid surface, gears were turning—ancient, unknowable, and cruel. The demon known as Amon, the Blasphemer, had begun shifting his plans once again. Riser Phenex had been his first marionette, and though the strings had loosened, the stage had merely widened.
Now, a new pawn drew his attention.
Within a hidden layer of reality—a twisted veil constructed between the folds of space and fate—Amon stood silently, his form fractured like a mirror, each reflection shifting in posture and expression. His real body did not exist here, but echoes of him did. Echoes of plans, of identities stolen, of intentions reshaped.
He saw Vali Lucifer. Proud. Brilliant. Wielding the White Dragon Emperor's power with reckless defiance.
And most importantly, close to Azazel.
"He'll do nicely," Amon mused in a voice that did not belong to him. "Unrefined yet potent. A direct contradiction to Ddraig's vessel."
He reached through the void—not to seize, but to prepare. Unlike Riser, Vali would not be tricked by an obvious parasite. His ego would recoil from such control. No, Amon needed something subtler. He would plant an idea. A seed of doubt. A whisper too distant to notice until it grew into a roar.
He extended his finger into the swirling reflection of Vali—who at that moment was training in an isolated mountain range, punching through boulders with monstrous force.
"Let's see how deep I can reach without touching the surface," Amon murmured.
Far away, Vali paused.
His silver eyes narrowed.
"…Did you hear that?" he asked Albion, his Sacred Gear partner.
The dragon's voice responded slowly, "Hear what, partner? I only sensed your fist striking that stone."
"Huh," Vali muttered. "Weird. I thought someone was laughing."
A shiver ran up his spine.
̶̷T̶̴h̷̸e̵̸y̸̶ ̶̴w̷̶i̷̵l̵̵l̶ ̶a̶l̸w̸a̸y̶s̸ ̴f̴o̶r̷s̶a̵k̴e̶ ̴y̵o̵u̸.̴
Vali spun around, but there was no one there. Just the wind. Still, something clung to the air like static—an invisible thread brushing against his soul.
Meanwhile, in a hidden research chamber beneath the Grigori base…
Azazel slammed a report onto the console, his brows furrowed and his wings flared with agitation. He'd been compiling data—residual traces of parasitic spiritual distortions during the Rating Game, changes in Riser Phenex's energy signature, and now… new anomalies near Vali.
"He's accelerating," Azazel muttered. "That bastard. I thought we had more time."
Shemhazai, another high-ranking fallen angel, looked over his shoulder. "You mean Amon?"
Azazel nodded grimly. "Yes. I knew he'd eventually go after Vali. It's a perfect chess move—destabilize my protégé and inject chaos into the only wildcard faction that can counterbalance the devils and angels. But I didn't expect it this soon."
He brought up a hologram displaying Vali's training zone. A field of mana pulses fluctuated across the image—unstable, as if something other than Vali's power was flickering in and out.
"Has Vali reported anything?" Shemhazai asked.
"Not yet. But I'll bet he's sensed it."
Azazel closed his eyes. "I told Michael that Amon's goals revolved around Issei's fate, but I was wrong to think that was his only play. He's not just trying to control fate—he's trying to rewrite the board entirely. If he corrupts Vali too…"
The thought trailed off. Azazel didn't say it aloud, but he knew what it meant: the birth of a corrupted Heavenly Dragon could unbalance the very pillars of this world.
Back in Kuoh, unaware of the dark schemes playing out above their heads, Issei was walking home with Asia and Kiba. The recent battles had left everyone tense, but Rias had given them the evening off to relax.
"Things have been intense lately," Issei sighed. "First Riser, now more whispers from the Grigori."
Kiba nodded. "You're not wrong. I feel like something's watching us constantly."
Asia hugged her bag tightly. "You don't think… Riser is coming back, do you?"
"No," Issei answered. "He's still recovering. Whatever that thing inside him was… it broke him."
Issei didn't say the name out loud. Amon. Just thinking about him gave him chills. He remembered how it felt during the Rating Game—how Riser's voice had changed, how the world bent like glass.
It wasn't just evil.
It was wrong.
Even Ddraig had recoiled at the presence.
I must become stronger, Issei thought. Not just to fight, but to protect the others from that… Error.
A sudden pulse struck his chest.
He gasped.
"I-Issei?" Asia grabbed his arm.
"I'm fine. Just… my Sacred Gear pulsed."
But that wasn't all. He heard something—very faint, like a whisper buried deep in the soil of his soul.
̶̶T̸̸h̴̵e̷̷y̵̸ ̸̷h̴a̸v̴e̷n̵'̴t̷ ̶s̸e̵e̷n̴ ̴a̸n̸y̷t̶h̵i̸n̴g̶ ̷y̶e̵t̸.̵.̴.̶
He turned back to Asia and forced a smile. "Let's hurry home."
In the shadows of a rotting chapel on the outskirts of town, Amon watched all of them. Not with eyes, but with intention. Vali was now marked—subtly, gently. He wouldn't rush this time.
But he had already left fingerprints on fate.
As Vali resumed his training, more brutal than before, he began to feel heavier. Slower. Something was clinging to his magic, like barnacles on a ship.
He tried to ignore it, but a seed had already been planted.
In the coming days, he would dream of eyes with too many pupils, of laughter that wasn't his, and of feathers that turned into glass.
Back at the Grigori base, Azazel wrote down one word on his private terminal, sealing it behind layers of encryption.
Target: Vali Lucifer.
Enemy: Amon — Error-Class Entity.
Priority: Red.
He leaned back, wings limp, eyes narrowed.
"Damn it… you're playing faster than I thought."