May 4th, 2012, The Land of Oz, Morning.
The emerald-tinted light of the Land of Oz filtered through the crystalline structures, casting prismatic patterns across the clearing where Vali Lucifer stood.
The gleaming plates of his White Dragon Emperor Scale Mail caught the light, reflecting it in sharp, clean lines. He was a figure of pure, focused intent, preparing to depart.
"Hey, Vali! Off to Grigori again, eh?" Bikou's voice cut through the quiet, cheerful and unrestrained. The Monkey King's successor leaned against a nearby tree, his tail flicking with restless energy behind him.
"Yes," Vali replied, his tone characteristically calm but carrying an underlying firmness. He did not look up from checking the secure fastenings of his armor. "My weekly report for Azazel is due. Though this visit is slightly ahead of schedule."
Bikou nodded, his initial solemn expression quickly collapsing into a huge, mischievous smirk as a thought struck him.
"Sooo," he drew the word out, hopping down from his perch. "Have you finally decided? Are you going to ask the famous Makoto Yuki to join our little band?"
Vali opened his mouth to respond, then paused. His hands stilled for a second, and a thoughtful, almost pensive look crossed his features before being schooled back into neutrality.
"I discussed the possibility with Azazel last week," he admitted. "Given the escalating situation with Shalba Beelzebub and the Old Satan Faction's movements, he conceded that sending Makoto as reinforcement would be strategically sound. Provided, of course, Makoto himself agrees."
Bikou's eyes lit up like twin suns, and a sonorous, delighted chuckle burst from him. He punched the air. "Ah, I can't wait for this! Hey, Vali, I call dibs on the first spar with him, okay? No arguments!"
"Wait—" Vali began, but Bikou was a force of nature, his enthusiasm a tidal wave.
"Wait, what? You've been hyping this guy up for weeks! It's only natural I want to test his mettle myself! I bet even the stoic and ever-collected Arthur will struggle to keep his composure if this Yuki is half the swordsman you claim!"
Vali exhaled a soft sigh, the barest hint of exasperation tinged with understanding. He couldn't truly fault Bikou's eagerness; in his friend's position, he would feel the same burning curiosity, the same drive to test a potential ally's strength.
'Let us depart, Vali,' Albion's voice echoed in his mind, calm and resolute, a steadying presence.
"Very well. I will… convey your request," Vali said diplomatically.
"Oh well, safe flight, Vali!" Bikou called out, his laughter trailing after the White Dragon Emperor as he gave a final, energetic wave.
With a powerful push of his wings, Vali shot into the sky, a streak of platinum against the green-tinged heavens, leaving the whimsical, hidden country behind as he arrowed toward the realm of the Grigori.
May 4th, 2012, The Fallen Angel Borderlands, Morning.
Deep within the shadowed, monolithic bastion hewn into the desolate mountains bordering the Fallen Angel territory, a conversation was unfolding that aimed to drown the world in fire once more.
This fortress was a relic of the Great War, its walls thick with old blood and even older hatreds.
Kokabiel, the renegade Cadre, sat across from Zidrion, his most brutal and loyal lieutenant. Their topic was singular: the reignition of total war.
Both viewed the current, tense peace between the Three Factions as a stagnant, shameful farce—an insult to their history and their nature. They craved the glorious, violent crucible of conflict, believing it would purify the world and crown the Fallen Angels as its absolute masters.
The carnage itself was a desired sacrament.
Kokabiel looked like a specter that had clawed its way out of a historical tapestry of the Great War and now wandered the modern era, disgusted by its peace.
His face was pallid, almost ghostly, framed by a severe cascade of ink-black hair. His eyes were narrow slits of burning blood-red, holding a malice as deep and cold as the void between stars.
His ears tapered to sharp points, a cruel, deliberate mockery of the light elves of Alfheim, a permanent sneer at the concept of purity.
His attire was an obsidian longcoat, embroidered with gilded serpents that seemed to writhe in the low light, as if the very darkness clung to him as a second skin.
Opposite him, Zidrion was a mountain of scarred flesh and simmering rage. He towered even seated, his face forever hidden behind a mask of polished golden bone—a grotesque, grinning visage that mocked the deaths of countless enemies.
Beneath it, the scars from Archangel Uriel's holy flames still festered, a perpetual, painful stain on his flesh and his pride. His silver armor was a museum of violence, dented and scored from forgotten battles, adorned with the pelts of savage beasts from realms he had razed in his tireless, vengeful campaigns.
"My lord," Zidrion rasped, the sound like gravel grinding behind the golden mask. "The fragments of Excalibur—Rapidly, Nightmare, and Transparency—have been successfully extracted from the Church's grasp as you commanded. The human, Galilei, is en route to deliver them to the town overseen by the sisters of Leviathan and Lucifer."
A serpentine smile slithered across Kokabiel's thin lips. "Excellent. Let the Church dogs scramble to reclaim their lost teeth. When they converge to protect what is theirs… that is when we strike." He leaned forward, the red gleam in his eyes intensifying.
"Sirzechs Lucifer will be forced to watch his precious little sister die. And then? His grief will become a rampage. The fragile peace will shatter like glass, and the Great War will blaze anew."
The vision of that conflagration warmed his cold heart.
May 4th, 2012, Azazel's Laboratory, Morning.
In the wake of Makoto's revelation about Ophis, Azazel's brilliant mind was a supercomputer running a thousand disaster simulations. Each scenario spiraled into greater catastrophe.
Ophis was not just a power. No, she was a metaphysical keystone, a counterweight to the Great Red in the Dimensional Gap. Her compromise was unthinkable.
Yet, that cosmic concern was almost overshadowed by the immediate, terrestrial threat: Nyarlathotep potentially at the helm of the Khaos Brigade. The thought of that entity of pure chaos with an army of disillusioned fanatics at his command was a nightmare of the highest order.
'Universe, what is your intent?' Odin's voice was grim, cutting through the psychic noise.
'The strategy is clear,' Makoto's mental reply was steel. 'First, we eliminate this new Shadow Self, Shalba. Then, we turn our full force on Izanami. With both of them gone, Nyarlathotep stands alone.'
Aloud, his voice was flat and determined. "Azazel. Tell me everything about this Shadow."
Azazel pushed his personal dread aside, focusing on the tactical. "His name is—or was—Shalba Beelzebub. Simplified, he is a direct descendant of the original Satan Beelzebub and a leading figure in the Old Satan Faction. They are revanchists who want to tear down the current government and restore the old order, by any means necessary."
'Beelzebub…' Leviathan's murmur in Makoto's mind was a flicker of ancient recognition, followed by quiet disdain.
'I question the choice,' Kohryu mused, his thoughts analytical. 'Nyarlathotep's first Shadow here was a goddess, Izanami. What unique quality did this mere devil descendant possess to warrant such attention so early?'
'I don't follow, Kohryu,' Cendrillon admitted.
'It's a matter of efficiency, girl,' Odin grumbled. 'A god provides immense power and influence. A single devil, even a noble one, seems a lesser tool. Unless he was not a choice, but a necessity.'
'Maybeeee,' Fafnir's metallic screech suggested,
'Nyarlathotep was forced to use what was available. Perhaps Shalba was… convenient.'
'That implies…' Apollo began.
'It implies,' Izanagi concluded with chilling certainty, 'that Shalba Beelzebub was very likely the first Shadow Self Nyarlathotep created in this world. A prototype. A test subject.'
"I see," Makoto said aloud, processing the implications. "Azazel, I need to infiltrate the Khaos Brigade."
A sharp, almost relieved smirk touched Azazel's lips.
"Well, Messiah, it seems great minds such as us think alike under pressure. Vali himself recently asked if you might be… persuaded to join his team. Initially, I refused outright—who am I to give you orders? But his description of Shalba's recent behavioral shifts, the unnatural aura… I changed my mind."
Makoto gave a single, firm nod and closed his eyes, focusing inward. 'Ryoji?' He reached out along the unique bond he shared with Death.
'Makoto?' Ryoji's response came, tinged with surprise.
He was in Kuoh, in the middle of a surprisingly intense game of shogi against Chomei Kegawa, while Tomoe practiced kata in the background. 'What's happening?'
'Search fkr Elizabeth and head to the Velvet Room. We have critical planning to do.' Makoto sent the message and severed the connection without waiting for a reply, his attention snapping back to Azazel.
"Additionally," Azazel continued, "the other reason I called Lavinia and Tobio—besides confirming the Outcasts' connection to Izanami—was to begin formulating a joint operation to eradicate them."
Makoto's brow furrowed slightly. "Elaborate."
"Patience, you're as bad as Shemhazai," Azazel chuckled without humor. "Vali has a working relationship with the Slash/Dog team. Coordinating a strike on the Outcasts with Vali's team providing direct support would be seamless. Furthermore, the Slash/Dog operatives have formal permission to operate within the territories claimed by the Shinto Pantheon. It bypasses the diplomatic minefield entirely."
"Wait," Makoto held up a hand. "There are two confirmed Shadows, three including Nyarlathotep himself: Shalba, Izanami."
Azazel's expression darkened, the last of his levity evaporating. "Izanami… is also a Shadow? That… fundamentally alters the strategic landscape. A pantheon leader turned enemy complicates everything."
'The core of the plan remains sound,' Izanagi asserted. 'With the Tower's support and the combined might of Takamagahara, a two-front assault becomes feasible.'
'Divide and conquer,' Yoshitsune agreed. 'Isolate each target and annihilate them with overwhelming force.'
"She is," Makoto confirmed. "But we can coordinate with Takamagahara. We have an agreement."
Azazel stared at him, his golden eyes searching Makoto's impassive face for any hint of deception. Then he laughed, a short, sharp burst of sound.
"You… you just casually have a deal with the entire Shinto Pantheon? And you wait until now to mention it? Ah, Messiah, you never fail to astonish. Very well. I will confer with Slash/Dog and the other Cadres. Return to Grigori when you are prepared to move."
"Not yet. Come with me first." Makoto concentrated, extending his will. The air before them wavered, and the familiar, ornate blue door of the Velvet Room solidified out of nothingness.
'You grow more proficient with each summoning, Makoto,' Messiah observed with quiet pride.
Makoto pushed the door open, and he and a wide-eyed Azazel stepped through.
May 4th, 2012, The Velvet Room, Morning.
"Makoto. Councillor," Elizabeth greeted them, already seated at one of the central tables as if she had been waiting for centuries. Her smile was serene, but her eyes held a keen intelligence.
"Liz, the situation is urgent. Where is Ryoji?" Makoto asked, his tone leaving no room for casual conversation.
"He will arrive momentarily," she assured him. "Until then, Azazel, if you would be so kind as to repeat your briefing for me?"
Azazel, however, was momentarily distracted. His sharp, scientist's gaze darted around the impossible space—the barred cages floating in a blue void, the elegant furniture that seemed both solid and ethereal.
"Fascinating," he murmured, his voice hushed. "This spatial distortion… it feels akin to the principles behind Dimensional Lost, but infinitely more refined. Stable. Intentional. What is this place?"
Elizabeth began to answer with evident pleasure. "This is the Vel—"
"We don't have time for a full explanation, Liz," Makoto interjected firmly.
Azazel shook himself, tearing his eyes from the architecture with visible effort. "A question for another time, then," he conceded, crossing his arms and refocusing.
He proceeded to lay out the situation for Elizabeth and for Ryoji, who materialized from a shadowy corner just as he finished.
Elizabeth's eyes gleamed with a fierce, almost predatory excitement. "I approve. Direct, overwhelming force is a language even gods understand."
"Attendant, I believe Makoto's approach will require more finesse than simple force," Ryoji cautioned, though a smile played on his lips.
"Precisely," Makoto said. "Phase one is a precision strike. We infiltrate, locate Shadow Shalba, and eliminate him before Nyarlathotep even realizes we are moving."
'The theory is sound, Universe,' Cendrillon chimed in, worry coloring her tone. 'But how do you avoid detection? A Shadow would sense another Persona user, surely.'
'A significant obstacle, hee hoo,' Jack Frost agreed.
"If you can truly secure Takamagahara's cooperation, our operational flexibility increases exponentially," Azazel stated, grounding the discussion.
"However, I must excuse myself. If I leave Shemhazai alone with Tobio and Lavinia for much longer—especially after I was the one who summoned them—he will personally disassemble my favorite particle accelerator. Contact Grigori when you are ready to proceed." With a final, curious glance around the Velvet Room, Azazel departed.
"I believe I have a solution to your identity problem," Elizabeth said, her voice taking on a melodic, almost teasing quality as she retrieved the massive Persona Compendium from behind the counter. "What this operation requires… is a Fool."
'I REFUSE!'
The psychic roar that echoed through the shared space was so potent it felt physical. It was Odin's voice, but stripped of all its usual calculated grandeur, vibrating with pure, visceral rejection.
'All-Father?' Kohryu and Apollo responded simultaneously, stunned by the outburst.
'I WILL NOT ALLOW IT! If you proceed down this path, Universe, you will do so without me!' Odin's mental voice was iron, final, and trembling with a deep-seated antipathy.
'I know who the Attendant speeeeaks of,' Fafnir creaked, a note of gleeful understanding in his voice.
'Who could provoke such a reaction from the All-Father merely by suggestion?' Yoshitsune wondered, his warrior's calm pierced by curiosity.
'Loki.'
The name was spoken by two voices: Odin's, spat out like a curse, and Lucifer's, uttered with a dark, appreciative chuckle. The single word explained everything.
———
A/N:
Damn, Chapter 100. From this moment on there will be a lot more action... which actually goes against the premise of The Blue Messiah's Burden, but if I want to finish it changed must be made.