The Occult Research Club was silent—eerily so. The aftermath of their encounter with Amon's influence through Riser still hung in the air like lingering smoke from a sacred fire. Despite their recent victory, an unease had settled deep into the bones of every member. Rias sat at her usual desk, flipping through reports from the Rating Game committee, while Akeno sipped tea silently beside her. Issei fidgeted on the couch, lost in thought.
He couldn't shake it—the image of Riser's eyes during the fight, when Amon had taken control. It wasn't just strength or rage; it was... emptiness, the kind of void that felt wrong, like a mockery of life itself.
Kiba stepped into the room. "No new disturbances reported from the underworld or Earth's ley lines," he announced, handing a folder to Rias. "But the Church has been unusually quiet. Azazel suspects they're planning something—or someone."
Akeno's expression darkened. "If Amon is still pulling strings, then the Vatican's silence may not be peace, but paralysis."
Rias nodded, but her voice was resolute. "Then we'll act. We won't sit and wait for Amon to move next."
Suddenly, the door opened with a soft knock.
"Yo," came the calm voice of Azazel. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
Rias stood up. "Just analyzing threats. What brings you here this time?"
Azazel's eyes flickered toward Issei. "I've received word from the Grigori intelligence division. Vali's group encountered a strange anomaly during their latest skirmish with rogue exorcists in southern France. Energy signature matches the one we saw during the Riser incident. It's Amon—he's testing the waters."
"Wait," Issei blinked, "he's targeting Vali now?"
Azazel nodded. "It was unexpected. I assumed Amon would remain passive, continuing his infiltration tactics, but this... he's accelerating."
"Because of you," Akeno said flatly. "He's forcing your hand."
Azazel shrugged but there was no humor in his gaze. "He always had a flair for timing. That bastard knows I'd keep a close eye on Vali. Targeting him is a declaration."
"Is Vali okay?" Kiba asked.
"For now. But he's furious," Azazel said, placing a palm-sized crystal orb on the table. "I brought the footage from the encounter. You'll want to see it."
With a tap, the orb projected a shimmering blue image midair—Vali and his team clashing with what appeared to be an army of specters stitched from black flame and lightning. The centerpiece was a cloaked figure—not Amon himself, but a puppet filled with his essence.
Vali was holding back.
He wasn't frightened—he was studying.
"Do you see it?" Azazel gestured as the projection looped. "Vali sensed it too. Amon wasn't aiming to kill them. He wanted Vali to taste something… corrupted. A thread of possibility. Temptation, perhaps."
Issei shivered. "So now he's playing with Vali's mind?"
Azazel looked directly at him. "Just like he did with Riser. And maybe... like he once tried to do with you."
"But why Vali?" Akeno asked.
"He's not just my student," Azazel answered, voice lowered. "Vali is a potential variable. Half-Lucifer, inheritor of the White Dragon Emperor. He's powerful, but also emotionally volatile. Amon may be trying to fracture our alliance by turning him."
Silence fell again. The idea of Vali being manipulated like Riser—by a being they still didn't fully understand—was horrifying.
"But it won't work," Rias finally said. "Vali's pride runs deep. He won't kneel for anyone."
"No," Azazel said. "But Amon doesn't need him to kneel. He only needs him to waver."
Meanwhile—in the depths of a forgotten catacomb in the Alps, carved with sigils lost to both angel and devil—Amon observed his puppets through rippling pools of space. His form was indistinct, shifting in and out of phase like a bad dream trying to remember itself.
He chuckled. "Ah, Vali. You carry the Lucifer blood, yet serve under Azazel's thumb. You dance on the edge of betrayal without realizing how far you've already leaned."
His voice echoed not in sound, but in will—a ripple through the strings he'd laid out over centuries. In front of him, the puppet he had sent against Vali twitched and dissolved into ash, its purpose fulfilled.
From behind the shadows, a thin figure approached—cloaked in high-vault priestly robes stained with ink and burned edges. "The Vatican noticed the flare," the figure rasped.
"I expected as much," Amon replied. "They're not blind. Merely late."
"What is your next step, Error?"
Amon turned, and for a moment, the reality bent. His face flickered between a thousand visages, and for one chilling moment, it mirrored Azazel's own smirk.
"My next step," Amon whispered, "is to ensure the chessboard stays in flux. Kings are amusing, but it's the pawns who reach the end and transform."
The figure hesitated. "Do you intend to draw Issei into another vision?"
"No. Not yet. His fate remains rooted. But I will push—gently." He spread his hand, and small orbs flickered—each representing an individual: Rias. Issei. Vali. Michael. Even Sirzechs. "Let them believe they're preparing. The act of preparation is what opens the door."
Back at Kuoh Academy, night had fallen.
Issei stood alone atop the school roof, looking up at the stars. His mind spun with too many thoughts—Amon, Vali, his Sacred Gear, and his own growing power.
"What does it mean," he muttered, "to have your fate targeted?"
A voice stirred in his chest—Ddraig.
[It means your path is no longer just yours.]
Issei exhaled slowly. "Yeah. I figured."
[But that doesn't mean it belongs to him either. Fight, Partner.]
Issei clenched his fist. "Always."
Behind him, Rias stepped onto the roof. "Hey. Couldn't sleep either?"
He turned, offering a tired smile. "Just thinking."
She stood beside him. "Everything's changing. We're still in school, still going to classes, but... it feels like we're standing at the edge of something bigger."
"We are," Issei said. "And it has Amon's name written all over it."
Rias nodded. "Then we'll stand together."
Their hands brushed, fingers curling together. For that moment, the stars didn't feel so distant.
Elsewhere, Vali gazed into the horizon from a tower in one of Azazel's safehouses.
"He's watching me," Vali muttered.
Behind him, Bikou scratched his head. "Who?"
"Amon."
"You sure?"
Vali closed his eyes. "I felt him. Not just in the fight. In the way space bent around my thoughts. He doesn't want my body... he wants the idea of me."
He clenched his fist, white aura flickering.
"Then let him come. I'll show him what an idea can become when it fights back."