April 28th, 2012, Runeas Arena Infirmary, Midday.
The sterile, quiet air of the infirmary room was violated by a raw, guttural shout of fury.
"Argh... FUCK!"
Rias's fist, coiled with all the stress, shame, and frustration of her defeat, slammed into the small bedside table.
The wood, not designed to contain such emotion even if manufactured for the Underworld's standards, splintered with a loud crack.
She pulled her hand back, the knuckles bleeding slightly, but she felt no pain—the agony in her heart was too all-consuming. She brought her hands to her face, pressing her palms against her eyes, trying to piece together the last, confusing seconds of the Rating Game.
Where had she failed? What had happened?
The memories were a chaotic jumble. The certainty of victory as the Extinguishing Star consumed Riser. The sudden, overwhelming wave of crimson flames that felt nothing like his usual magic—it was older, hungrier, wrong.
And then, nothing, nothing at all. Waking up in this sterile bed, the reality of her failure a lead weight in her stomach.
"Damn it all!" she shouted again, the curse feeling inadequate. Rias Gremory, the calm, compassionate, sometimes silly President of the Occult Research Club, was gone.
In her place was a raw nerve of humiliation and betrayal. She crashed down onto the bed, throwing an arm over her face, wanting to disappear into the darkness behind her eyelids.
'I hate it. I hate that prideful bastard. I hate my family for condemning me to this!' The thoughts were a vicious cycle in her mind. 'All my words were for nothing... in the end, I couldn't do anything. I failed myself and my real family.'
The rage began to ebb, its energy spent, and in its wake came a cold, crushing tide of sadness and shame. A single, hot tear escaped from beneath her arm and traced a path down her temple into her crimson hair.
The door to the room burst open without a knock. "Rias! Are you hurt? Oh, Satan, I was so worried about you! Can you move? Speak? Do you need something? Should I call a doctor? Just tell me!" Sirzechs's voice was a torrent of fraternal anxiety. He rushed to her bedside, his usual composure utterly vanished.
He reached out, his hand intending to rest on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort he had offered a thousand times before. But Rias flinched. She moved away, a slight, deliberate shift that created a chasm between them.
"Rias?" Sirzechs asked, his voice laced with confusion and hurt.
"You shouldn't be here, Lord Lucifer." Her voice was cold, flat, devoid of its usual warmth when addressing her brother. "It is inappropriate for the Satan of Internal Affairs to mingle with the heiress of a Pillar House."
The title "Lord Lucifer" was a weapon, and it struck its target with devastating precision. Sirzechs recoiled as if struck by a terrible attack, the color draining from his face. The formality was a wall she had built between them, brick by bitter brick.
"Rias? Please, listen to me. I am sorry. I tried to speak with Father, but you know I could not do anything about it," he pleaded, his voice soft, desperate.
"I know. I would never question your actions, Lord Lucifer." The repeated use of the title was a deliberate twist of the knife. "Now, please, leave me alone. I need to check on my family."
She emphasized the last word, making it perfectly clear who she now considered her true family—the one she had chosen, not the one she had been born into.
Sirzechs opened his mouth, a dozen more apologies, explanations, and pleas poised on his lips. But the sight of her turned back, the rigid line of her shoulders, silenced him. The message was received. He had failed her not just as a Satan, but as a brother.
"I... understand." The words were barely a whisper. He lingered for a moment longer, hoping for a sign, a crack in her armor. There was none. He turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Once in the empty corridor, he leaned his forehead against the cool wall, biting his lip so hard he tasted the metallic tang of his own blood.
The moment the door clicked shut, the dam broke. Rias buried her face in the pillow, the sobs she had been holding back finally wrenching themselves free.
What she had said to Sirzechs was cruel, she knew that. He loved her more than anything. But he, and her parents, had chosen their duty over her happiness.
Where were they when she had needed them to be a family? Was a contract with Lord Phenex truly more important than their daughter's life? The questions had no answers that could comfort her.
With a heavy, shuddering sigh, she pushed herself up. The self-pity was a luxury she couldn't afford. She had to find her peerage. Her real family.
In another room of the infirmary, the atmosphere was one of stunned confusion rather than grief.
Rias's peerage had gathered after their injuries were treated, watching the final moments of the match on a small screen. When Rias had seemingly vaporized Yubelluna, a wave of triumphant hope had swept through them.
The sight of Riser's face as the Extinguishing Star closed in had felt like a vindication of all their training, all their belief.
Then came the announcement. It was so abrupt, so anti-climactic, that it failed to register as truth.
"What!? There must be an error, right? A lag in the streaming, or something like that, no?" Irumi asked, her voice loud with disbelief. She looked around at the others, seeking confirmation.
"President..." Koneko murmured, rubbing her eyes as if she could clear the impossible image from them. It had been too fast. No one had understood what happened.
"I am going to look for Rias—" Akeno began, trying to stand, but a sharp wince of pain forced her back down. She was the most injured of them all. Yubelluna's final, desperate attacks had taken a severe toll, and even a Phoenix Tear could only do so much, so quickly.
"Senpai, don't overdo yourself. I will search for the President," Kiba offered, already moving towards the door.
He didn't need to. Rias herself entered the room. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed, though she was trying desperately to hide it. She looked at her gathered servants, her knights, her family, and her heart broke anew for having failed them.
"A-are you ok?" Rias asked, the question catching in her throat. She tried to force a smile, but it was a brittle, fragile thing that convinced no one.
"Apart from Senpai Himejima, we are completely fine..." Kiba reported. Then, Irumi, with her characteristic bluntness, asked the question everyone was thinking. "President... are you crying?"
Rias jolted, shaking her head vigorously. "No, no! We knew we could lose... I am fine," she insisted, the fake smile still plastered on her face.
Her gaze then fell on Akeno, bandaged and pale on her cot. A mix of resentment towards her parents and profound worry for her friend churned within her. "Akeno, I am so sorry. I... really don't know what to say..." She gritted her teeth, frustrated by her own helplessness, by the inadequacy of words.
Then, she felt Akeno's arms wrap around her, gentle but firm. "Don't be so apologetic, Rias," the queen said, her voice a bittersweet melody. "We did what we could."
"President, what happened there? We didn't understand anything," Irumi pressed, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Rias hesitated. The truth was a mystery even to her. To admit that would be to admit a fundamental lack of control. It was easier, and in a twisted way less painful, to shoulder the blame herself.
"Riser is stronger than me. It's just like that," she decided to say, the words tasting like ash. "Sorry if I disappointed you."
"President, it is not you who are at fault here..." Kiba began, his voice gentle, trying to lift the oppressive mood, but the words rang hollow in the face of their reality.
A heavy, awkward silence descended upon the room. Each member was trapped in their own private turmoil.
Rias was reflecting on her bleak future, a future now chained to the man she despised.
Akeno watched her king, her heart aching, but no words of true comfort came to mind.
Koneko sat silently, her small fists clenched in her lap.
Kiba was on a similar path, his mind replaying every parry, every thrust, wondering what more he could have done.
Irumi frowned, a familiar, cold fear settling in her heart.
'Will I always be helpless in front of threats to the people I hold dear?' The thought was a gateway, leading her back to the memory of her parents, to a powerlessness she had vowed to escape.
'Partner,' Ddraig's voice rumbled within her, uncharacteristically solemn. 'I am a dragon, so being a morale support isn't my best, but I know a few things about people, and you are not someone who is helpless.'
'The results say otherwise,' she thought back bitterly.
'The results are not the best, the contrary,' he admitted. 'Still, you fought, and you didn't yield until the very end. I saw other Red Dragon Emperors crumble in front of defeat, but you didn't. I saw warriors give up to panic and madness. You didn't.'
The silence was finally broken by Rias. She turned towards the exit, a new, determined, yet lost look in her eyes. "Rias, where are you going?" Akeno asked, sensing a shift.
"I need to take a walk and... reflect, I think," Rias said, not meeting anyone's gaze. Without waiting for a response, she left the room, closing the door behind her and leaving her peerage in a silence that was now filled with a profound and shared sorrow.
April 28th, 2012, Runeas Arena, Midday.
'Universe, you don't understand! We must take that thing down, now!' Apollo's voice was a shout in the shared consciousness, laced with an anxiety that was rare for the Sun God.
'No. We are not sure what that even was,' Makoto replied, his mental voice calm but firm.
He was walking purposefully through the now-empty alleys of the Arena, heading towards the entrance to the Rating Game dimension.
He had asked Serafall to prevent the pocket dimension from resetting. Perhaps the scorched battlefield held clues to the mystery of the "Phoenix."
'Sun God, is it fear in your voice?' Lucifer inquired, a note of dark curiosity in his tone.
'Yes! You don't understand how dangerous a Reverse Persona is!' Apollo repeated, his psychic presence radiating urgency. 'Tatsuya...' he then whispered to himself, a name from a buried past.
'While I agree with you, Apollo, we can't deny the fact that that is not a common Reverse Persona,' Ryoji interjected logically. 'Where is the Shadow Self?'
The personas descended into a heated argument, a cacophony of conflicting opinions and fears. Makoto finally silenced them with a thought.
'I have a hypothesis. What if Nyarlathotep is trying to make artificial Persona users? Just like the Strega.' He recalled the fragmented documents from Tartarus, the records of horrific experiments designed to force a Persona's awakening.
'And Nyarlathotep is trying to do it, but with Reverse Personas? Is this what you mean? Then why? He already created a Shadow Self with Izanami; he doesn't need artificial 'Reverse Persona users,' if we can even define them as such,' Kohryu reasoned.
'We are missing something...' Makoto muttered aloud, scratching his head in frustration. The puzzle was incomplete.
'And why Riser Phenex, of all the people in this world?' Yoshitsune added.
'The answer is perhaps simpler than you think, Universe,' Odin grumbled. 'The Crawling Chaos could just be trying to acquire more weapons for his arsenal.'
'Nyarlathotep only fights with Shadow Selves, usually. If he's developing new ways of fighting, it means he's plotting something far beyond a simple confrontation,' Ryoji pointed out, the implication chilling.
'I don't like how it sounds, hee hoo,' Jack Frost whimpered.
Makoto stepped through the teleportation rune and into the pocket dimension. The sight that greeted him was one of utter desolation. The familiar layout of Kuoh Academy was gone. In its place were vast, smoldering plains of ash and heaps of burning debris. The air was acrid and hot, and the very ground was warm beneath his feet. It was a landscape from a nightmare.
"Let's take a look around," he said to the empty, ruined world.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Arena, Riser Phenex was happily whistling, a spring in his step. He felt invincible, euphoric with his newfound power. He, Riser Phenex, was truly the shining jewel of his House, not his insufferable brother, Ruval.
'Stop gloating yourself, mangy bird,' the Reverse Phoenix's voice grated in his mind, full of venom.
'Ah, I am simply stating the truth here, my supposed 'other self,'' Riser replied smugly.
He took one last, triumphant look back towards the pocket dimension, smirking at the memory of his victory. But the feeling of superiority was abruptly cut short, replaced by a sudden, primal sense of dread.
'GREAT MASTER!' the Reverse Phoenix shrieked, seizing control of Riser's body with violent force.
The Phenex heir stumbled, his own consciousness fighting a losing battle against the invading will. He clutched his chest, gritting his teeth, but his limbs moved against his command.
"He's here! If I bring HIM to the Great Master, I will be one with the Universe! I WILL BE FREE FROM THE CAGE YOUR SOUL IS, MANGY BIRD!" Riser's mouth shouted words he did not form.
The Reverse Phoenix had felt Makoto's presence and was consumed by a desperate, irrational desire to unite with him.
"Great Master!" Riser's body began to walk, then stagger, towards the teleportation rune Makoto had just used, the real Riser struggling with every step.
"Stop fighting, Mangy Bird! Do yourself a favor and yield!"
The Reverse Phoenix's dreams of deliverance were abruptly severed by a new, commanding voice that spoke directly into its shared consciousness with Riser.
"Reverse Phoenix. Seal."
It was the voice of Nyarlathotep. Instantly, the foreign will was suppressed, locked away deep within Riser's soul. Control of his body returned to him so suddenly that he stumbled and fell to his knees, gasping.
"Brother! Brother, calm down, breathe! What happened!?" Ravel cried, rushing to his side after hearing his frantic shouts.
Riser looked up at her, his eyes wide with confusion and fear, before the world swam and he fainted, his body and mind utterly spent.
April 28th, 2012, Old Satan Faction Headquarters, Midday.
In the dark, fortified heart of the Old Satan Faction's stronghold, Nyarlathotep closed the Shadow Compendium with a soft, final thud.
"The Reverse Phoenix is still too unstable," he explained to the Shadow Self of Shalba Beelzebub, who stood attentively nearby. "It has an irrational desire to reunite with both me and Makoto. Its instincts are overriding its purpose."
"Did the experiment fail, then?" Shalba asked, his voice a careful monotone.
"No," Nyarlathotep replied, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "While it did not work out precisely as I intended, the results are still acceptable. The concept is proven. We shall let the Reverse Phoenix sleep for a while, until it is fully grown and its... impulses can be properly directed."
"Do you want to start testing the new guinea pig, Father?" Shalba questioned.
"We shall wait until we have clearer results from this first trial. For now, focus your efforts on supporting Izanami. Her role is paramount," Nyarlathotep ordered, rising from his seat, ready to depart.
"Wait, Father," Shalba interjected. "What about that Fallen Angel? Kokabiel."
"Him?" Nyarlathotep's dismissive tone was laced with contempt. "Do not waste your time. No one can be so stupid as to assault a town head-on in the delusional hope of restarting a war that no one wants. Even the most irrational beings maintain a fragile glimmer of sanity. An all-out war will eventually come, but only when I decide so."
Dismissing the topic of the rogue Fallen Angel, Nyarlathotep's form dissolved into a swarm of black butterflies that fluttered away through a crack in reality.
A few moments later, a soldier entered the room. "Lord Beelzebub. Diodora Astaroth wishes to speak with you."
Shalba grimaced, his face twisting in repugnance. "What does that spineless trash want to discuss with me?" he sneered.
"He demands a recompense for killing the Glasya-Labolas heir. He said he wants assistance in acquiring an Italian nun," the soldier informed him.
"Tell him he should be glad I still find some marginal usefulness in keeping him around," Shalba spat, his left eye twitching. "If he wishes to abandon himself to his perversions, then he must not waste my time with his petty demands."
With that, he violently slammed the door in the soldier's face, the sound echoing in the dark corridor.