The dust had yet to settle from the skirmish between Amon and Vali. Deep within the Underworld, the scars of their confrontation etched themselves into the arena floor like runes of power and defiance. Though the confrontation was brief, it left echoes—echoes that rippled far and wide, tugging at the strings of attention from every faction.
In the quiet aftermath, Vali sat in the corner of an isolated mountain temple—a haven Azazel used for secret training. His white armor was cracked in several places, the aftermath of Amon's strange and terrifying power.
"He didn't even use his full strength…" Vali muttered, gritting his teeth.
"Yeah," came Azazel's voice from behind him, arms crossed. "Because He's not even normal being from this world."
Vali glanced up. His face remained stoic, but a fire brewed behind his silver eyes. "Then what is he?"
Azazel stepped forward, placing a folder down beside Vali. Inside were pages—old pages, some ripped from sealed libraries buried under the Vatican, others from magical ruins buried beneath the sands of ancient Babylon.
"They call him Amon," Azazel said softly. "The Blasphemer. The God of Deceit. He's a being born from deceit and ascension—neither angel nor devil, neither man nor god. A creature who manipulates the concept of identity itself. He shouldn't exist here."
Vali flipped through the pages. Ancient sketches of hooded figures, masked men wielding staffs, and entities that shifted faces. All bore a similarity. One mask. One staff. One eye always hidden.
"He… tried to strip away my name," Vali muttered. "During the fight, I felt something invading my soul—trying to claim my identity, erase my bloodline, my pride."
Azazel nodded grimly. "That's his nature. He consumes identities, wears them, breaks fate with lies. The power of the Error. He doesn't just fight with strength—he distorts what reality says you are."
"And why is he after me?" Vali's voice was calm, but his fists were clenched. "Because of you?"
A flicker of guilt crossed Azazel's face. "Partly. Amon doesn't just act randomly. He targets those who might pose a threat to his path. And your bloodline… the blood of Lucifer… you're a symbol. A symbol of power and legacy. That kind of symbol threatens a liar like him."
Vali stood. "Then I'll tear that symbol into his chest."
Azazel chuckled darkly. "Easy there. You saw how strong he is—and that was just a projection through Riser Phenex. Now that he's no longer anchored to that boy, he's moving faster."
"Where is he now?"
Azazel narrowed his eyes. "I don't know. That's what worries me."
—
Meanwhile, in the Dimensional Gap.
Amon stood before the roiling sea of nothingness, where time bent and space collapsed. The Error sequence swirled faintly around him, like glimmering lies stitched into the fabric of unreality. His form was shifting—a flickering silhouette that changed height, shape, and posture every second.
Behind him, a figure stepped forward from the mist—a tall man with glowing eyes and a long robe etched with runes from three different mythologies.
"Was that necessary?" the man asked.
"More than you understand," Amon replied. His voice was serene, almost warm, yet hollow. "Vali was a key piece. An inherited fate born of rebellion. I needed to test whether his identity was worth stealing."
"And?"
Amon turned slightly. A brief smirk curled his lips beneath his mask. "He resisted. Impressively. I might enjoy shattering him later."
The other man bowed his head. "We are making enemies quickly."
"We always have," Amon replied. "What matters is not their strength, but their roles. Fate is a game board. I only need to switch the pieces."
—
Back in the human world, at Kuoh Academy.
Rias sat with Sona in the student council room, reviewing reports and scans of Riser's condition post-battle. The Rating Game had been suspended, pending further investigation. And yet, no one could quite explain what had happened.
"I still can't believe it," Sona said. "Riser was… possessed? Mutated?"
Rias shook her head. "It wasn't a Sacred Gear. And it wasn't a devil power either. Something was… wrong with him."
Akeno entered the room with Azazel following behind, holding a crystal tablet displaying encrypted data. "We found something," Azazel said. "Not about Riser—about what came out of him."
He projected the crystal's contents into a magic circle. An image appeared—Amon's face, masked, with a single glowing eye and the strange staff crackling with symbols of chaos.
"This… thing is not just after Issei," Azazel said. "He's accelerating. He's probing multiple factions now. He already tested the Hero Faction and the Grigori."
Sona's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because he's looking for something," Azazel said. "Or someone. Each encounter is like he's adjusting his path—shaping the story. He's altering fate."
Rias looked at Issei, who had been silent the whole time. His eyes were downcast.
"You okay?" she asked gently.
"I felt something… familiar," Issei murmured. "When Amon fought Vali. Like I've met him before. But I know I haven't. I would remember that kind of terror."
Azazel stepped closer. "That's his trick. He doesn't just steal powers or memories—he implants fake ones. Makes you doubt what's yours."
Issei clenched his fists. "Then I won't let him."
—
Elsewhere, in the Hero Faction's hidden base.
Cao Cao read the new reports with narrowed eyes. "He's targeting the Lucifer Descendant now? Bold."
"Should we intervene?" asked Georg.
"No," Cao Cao replied. "Let the devils and fallen deal with their problem. But prepare the Sacred Gear users. I want a test run on the field. If Amon tries to rewrite our stories… we'll burn his script first."
—
Back in the Dimensional Gap, Amon walked through a hall made of mirrors—each showing a different world, a different possible future.
He paused at one.
A vision of Issei, bloodied, face cracked, but holding aloft a staff similar to Amon's, with the wings of both dragon and shadow flaring behind him.
Amon touched the glass.
"Soon," he whispered. "Soon, your fate will belong to me, Red Dragon Emperor."