May 4th, 2012, Kokabiel's Bastion, Afternoon.
"My lord," Zidrion intoned, kneeling again in the dim war room. "The Church has dispatched multiple scout teams to investigate the theft. One such team is being routed directly toward Kuoh Town. What are your orders?"
Kokabiel's blood-red eyes were fixed not on Zidrion, but on the narrow window, where a distant, platinum streak—Vali Lucifer—had just vanished into the horizon, headed unmistakably for Grigori headquarters. His orders came out distracted, his mind elsewhere.
"Instruct Freed or Valper to intercept and eliminate them. We require higher-value targets to truly provoke the response we need."
"As you wish, my lord," Zidrion replied, bowing and exiting once more.
Alone, Kokabiel sank back into his throne-like chair, the shadows of the room clinging to him.
"Vali Lucifer returns to make his report ahead of schedule," he mused to the silent, cold air. "And now Azazel convenes with the leader of Slash/Dog and his second simultaneously."
He had neutralized every spy Azazel had sent to the borderlands, each death a silent message he knew the Governor General had received. Yet, Azazel seemed perpetually one step behind, still viewing him as a mere rogue element, not the architect of a new war.
But this confluence was new. Vali and Tobio Ikuse in the same place, for the first time since Vali began his deep-cover mission…
"The Khaos Brigade…" Kokabiel muttered, his lips curling into a sneer of profound contempt. "The moment they make a substantive move, Sirzechs or Ajuka will crush them utterly. They are a distraction, nothing more."
Yet, a sliver of cold suspicion remained. What was Azazel planning that required his top agent and his top human operatives in the same room?
May 4th, 2012, The Velvet Room, Afternoon.
"Liz, the record player, please," Makoto instructed, his voice devoid of hesitation.
"Of course, Makoto," Elizabeth replied, her movements graceful as she retrieved the antique device from behind the counter.
'Universe, if you insist on this course… remove me from your active roster. Substitute me with… that one,' Odin's mental voice was a low, strained rasp, the words dragged from him.
'I cannot, Odin,'Makoto responded, his thoughts firm. 'Vali knows your power, your signature. For this deception to work, I must maintain a facade of... normalcy however strange kt sounds. Your presence, for now, is still required.'
'Whaaat? Is the mighty All-Father afraaaid of his own blood?' Fafnir taunted, the metallic laughter echoing.
'Cease your prattling, iron worm,' Odin snarled, but the fight seemed drained from him, replaced by a heavy, dreading acceptance.
'A logistical issue remains, Makoto,' Messiah interjected, his calm tone cutting through the tension.
'Death.' He let the word hang. 'Even these twisted Shadow Selves born of Nyarlathotep are, at their core, Shadows. And all Shadows possess an innate, gravitational pull toward the concept of Death. Its presence will still act as a beacon.'
"Messiah is correct…" Ryoji murmured, the weight of the statement settling on him. His eyes met Makoto's, and in that shared look was an ocean of unspoken history, of final goodbyes on a moonlit bridge.
"Well," Ryoji said finally, breaking the somber silence with a deliberately bright, sly smile. "I guess I'll be staying in Kuoh, then. But," he raised a finger, his grin turning sharp, "if your plan goes sideways I'll be there faster than you can say 'Nyx.'"
Makoto nodded slowly, his gaze turning distant, as if he were viewing their path through a tangled, thorny future.
"Makoto?" Elizabeth probed, her hand coming to rest lightly on his shoulder. "What troubles you?"
"Nothing. Just a thought." He turned abruptly to Ryoji. "Ryoji. How do you think a confrontation between you and Nyarlathotep would end?"
Ryoji blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… I've never really considered it, but…" He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheerful mask slipping to reveal a core of solemn certainty. "I wouldn't win. Not in a contest of raw power. But I could… delay him. Complicate his plans. Buy time. I'm very good at buying time."
Makoto's eyes narrowed, the strategist within him calculating odds, weighing sacrifices. "Then the operation proceeds in three phases." He held up his hand, counting off on his fingers with precise, deliberate motions.
His index finger rose. "Infiltration and assassination. Vali, his team, and I locate and eliminate Shadow Shalba with maximum speed and secrecy. Nyarlathotep must not be alerted."
Immediately after a second finger joined the first.
"A combined strike. We coordinate with Grigori and Slash/Dog to launch a full, obliterating assault on the Outcasts of Yomi. Simultaneously, we leverage our alliance with Takamagahara to pinpoint Izanami's exact location, using the chaos as cover."
Finally, the third finger snapped up. "Finally, Ryoji engages and occupies Nyarlathotep directly, drawing his focus away from the main theater. Meanwhile, Izanagi and I confront and destroy Shadow Izanami."
"And I," Elizabeth declared, placing the massive Persona Compendium on the counter with a definitive thud, "will, as ever, be your emissary and coordinator. I shall ensure Grigori and the proud gods of Takamagahara do not tear each other apart mid-operation. The Tower, in particular, will require… careful handling."
"Agreed," Makoto said, genuine gratitude softening his tone for a moment. "Discreetly inform Rias and Sona as well. They should be aware, but not alarmed. No details that could cause panic."
"Oh, it will be my distinct pleasure," Elizabeth hummed, her fingers tracing the cover of the Compendium. "Now. Are you prepared?"
As the first, haunting notes of Aria of the Soul spiraled from the record player, the blue light of the Velvet Room seemed to deepen, pulsing in time with the music. The air grew thick with potential, with the scent of ozone before a storm.
'Cendrillon…' Makoto's mental voice held a thread of regret. 'I need you to return to the Compendium for now.'
'Oh…' Her psychic presence flickered, a brief wave of sadness washing through the bond. But it was followed immediately by resilient warmth. 'Don't you dare make that face, Universe! I… I loved being able to help you again. Until next time, my dear friend.'
With a final, shimmering flicker of graceful light, the spirit of the Ash Princess faded, drawn back into the pages of the great book.
In the space she left behind, a new presence erupted into being.
Loki, the God of Mischief, the Ultimate Trickster, manifested not with a disorienting glitch in reality itself.
His form was a living paradox, a walking optical illusion rendered in jagged, dizzying stripes of black and white that seemed to pulse and writhe. He was size without scale—one moment he loomed like a colossus over the room, the next he appeared as a mere flicker at the corner of the eye, his true dimensions perpetually in question.
Through the visual chaos, one feature remained constant: his smile.
It was a gash of pure, unadulterated glee stretched across his face, a grin so wide and sharp it seemed to mock the very concepts of order and fate. From his brow curled two serpentine horns in the same maddening pattern, and twin braids of jet-black hair, threaded with captive starlight, spilled down his back.
In one hand, he leaned casually on a slender longsword forged from a strange, bloody crimson metal that glowed with an inner, ember-like light.
Stare at the blade too long, and whispers seeped into the mind—screams for help, manic laughter, desperate curses—as if the metal itself were a prison for tormented souls. Every exaggerated, theatrical gesture he made radiated playful, intelligent malice.
"I am Thou. Thou art I." His voice was a melodic, mocking purr that resonated in the bones. "From the Universe in thy soul, I am born. I am the Trojan Horse within Fate's own walls. I am the part of you that thrives on chaos for a righteous end. I am Loki, and together, Universe, we shall make fools of the entire world."
With a final, theatrical bow, Loki's essence flowed into Makoto, settling amidst the choir of personas.
'Am I dreaming? What a delightfully dysfunctional family you've assembled, Universe!' Loki's purr echoed in the shared mental space, causing Odin to emit a low, audible groan of disgust.
'The Selfless Messiah! The dreadful Morning Star! The Wise Kohryu! The Honourable Yoshitsune! The Mighty Jack Frost! The Ravenous Fafnir! The Creator Izanagi! The Blinding Apollo! The Inevitable Death! The Authoritarian Leviathan! And… myself!' He paused, the silence deliberate, pregnant with teasing.
'Loki… you omitted the All-Father,' Apollo pointed out gently.
'No, Sun God,' Kohryu observed dryly. 'He did not forget. He is savoring the moment.'
'All-Father?' Yoshitsune ventured.
'AND MY DEAREST, MOST GRUMPY BROTHER!'Loki's psychic shout was a blast of jubilant irreverence. 'DINDIN! How I've missed you!'
"Pfft—ahahahaha!" Ryoji couldn't contain himself, doubling over with laughter at the ridiculous nickname.
Odin's silence was thunderous, a pressurized void of sheer, unmitigated annoyance.
"Makoto," Elizabeth asked, tilting her head. "Why did you leave one slot open? You did not substitute Thanatos."
"It is a contingency," Makoto replied, his eyes already looking ahead, beyond the blue walls, toward the coming storm.
"Loki," Makoto addressed the new presence within him aloud. "Your purpose is singular: make me undetectable to the senses of a Shadow. Can you do it?"
'Oh, Universe, you wound me with your simplicity!' Loki's laughter was a cascade of shimmering, deceptive notes. 'You ask if I, the father of lies, can deceive a deceiver? It is not a question of ability, but of artistry! This will be my masterpiece. We will fool the fooler, trick the trickster. Nyarlathotep's pride will be the canvas, and our deceit the brushstroke. It is, after all, the greatest contest of all.'
The Universe had just invited the ultimate wild card into his hand.
May 4th, 2012, Grigori Headquarters, Afternoon.
The sterile, pressurized atmosphere of Grigori's main reception hall was shattered the moment Vali Lucifer materialized from the transit array. Before the light had fully faded, a streak of gold and motion shot toward him.
"Val! Welcome back!"
Lavinia Reni moved with the precision of a striking serpent and the force of a freight train. Her arms locked around his torso in a tackle-hug that drove the air from his lungs with a soft oof. Her cheek pressed against the cool white plating of his Scale Mail, a brilliant smile lighting up her face.
Vali froze, his body rigid. A flush of crimson crept up his pale neck to his ears. He stood stiffly for a moment before raising a hand to awkwardly pat her shoulder. "L-Lavinia. Release me. I have to report to Azazel. Immediately!"
She let go with an exaggerated pout, stepping back but not losing her cheerful demeanor. "Fine, fine, all business as usual. Azazel's in his office with Tobio. They were deep in discussion about the Outcasts of Yomi, you know, that new cult that's been causing trouble for Takamagahara? Honestly, it's all gotten so complicated."
Vali's icy hazel eyes narrowed, the brief moment of human awkwardness vanishing behind the mask of the White Dragon Emperor. "Obviously. I am embedded within the Khaos Brigade. Their factions are my business."
His tone was clipped, leaving no room for further small talk. He brushed past her, his boots striking the polished white floor with sharp, purposeful echoes as he headed into the labyrinthine corridors of the inner sanctum, a path he knew by heart.
Azazel glanced up from his desk as the office door was shoved open with enough force to make the frame shudder. Vali stood in the doorway, his presence filling the space with a chill intensity.
"Vali. Perfect timing," Azazel said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers, the picture of composed authority, though his golden eyes missed nothing—the tension in Vali's shoulders, the tightness around his mouth.
"Where is he?" Vali demanded, bypassing any greeting.
"He's preparing. He'll be here shortly," Azazel replied smoothly, telling the necessary half-truth.
Internally, a silent plea echoed: 'Messiah, please return soon.' The thought gave him a moment of surreal pause.
'Did I just… pray? Ah, Michael, my brother, look what's become of me,' he sighed inwardly, the weight of his strange new reality settling once more.
'Vali… your spirit is in turmoil. What burden do you carry?' Albion's voice resonated in the White Dragon Emperor's mind, a cool, steadying presence against the rising tide of his host's anger.
'The Brigade,' Vali replied silently, his jaw clenching so tight the muscle jumped. 'They plot in shadows, making moves that even Ophis seems unaware of. They're imbeciles, but imbeciles who are suddenly… stronger. More coordinated. It stinks of outside influence.'
'To deceive the Ouroboros Dragon is no small feat. Caution is your ally, Vali. Focus on the immediate objective,' Albion counseled.
Vali's hands, hanging at his sides, curled into fists. His knuckles bleached white against his skin—a telltale sign of suppressed rage that Azazel knew all too well.
"Oi, Vali!" Azazel barked, his voice cutting through the thick silence. "Stop grinding your teeth over that bastard grandfather of yours. You'll burn a hole straight through my nice, expensive floor, and the accounting department already hates me."
The glare Vali leveled at him could have frozen the core of a star. Without another word, he turned on his heel. "I'll wait for Yuki in the training arena. Don't keep me waiting." The door clicked shut behind him, not quite a slam, but carrying a finality that echoed in the sudden quiet.
Azazel slumped back in his chair, the weight of years—of watching a wounded boy become a weapon, of failing to sand down the sharpest edges of his pain—pressing down on him.
'When did I become so damn helpless?' The memory surfaced, unbidden: a younger, smaller Vali, quiet and too serious, his eyes already shadowed by the legacy of the name 'Lucifer.'
He'd tried sparring, strategy, even stupid, contrived jokes. Nothing had reached the core of that cold fury.
'Only Rizevim's blood will ever wash that stain clean,' Azazel thought, the notion grim and absolute. His gaze fell on the subtle indentation left by Vali's grip on the doorframe.
'But that brat… he's had Lucifer's own luck since the day his father died. One day, I'll track him down and…' He shook his head, physically dispelling the dark tangent.
The present crisis demanded his full attention. His role now was to support the Messiah, to be the pillar for this new, more fragile hope.
A soft, polite knock preceded the door opening. Penemue stood there, her eyes immediately noting the stressed metal on the frame. "Azazel… Vali, I presume? I passed him in the hall. He seemed… agitated."
"An astute observation," Azazel said dryly, straightening up. "What do you need, Penemue?"
"The Messiah," she said simply, her voice dropping to a respectful murmur. "He has returned. He's waiting for you in the main briefing room."
May 4th, 2012, The Velvet Room, Afternoon.
Within the timeless blue haze, Ryoji stared at the space where Makoto stood. Or rather, where Makoto should have stood. To his eyes, attuned to the truths of shadow and soul, the spot was a patch of warped, buzzing static—a glitch in reality's code, a persistent error in the visual field. It hummed with a dissonant frequency that set his teeth on edge.
"If I weren't your Death, Makoto…" Ryoji murmured, his voice a blend of awe and profound unease, "I wouldn't recognize you. I wouldn't even sense you were there. It's like you've been… edited out."
Loki's illusion was a metaphysical masterpiece. To any shadow perception, Makoto was utterly gone, replaced by this unsettling void.
Only the immutable, profound bond between the Universe and his Death—a connection that transcended mere sight or sense—allowed Ryoji to hold onto the thread of Makoto's existence within the visual noise.
"What do you perceive, exactly?" Elizabeth asked, leaning forward with rapt, scholarly curiosity.
"A void," Ryoji repeated, squinting as if trying to bring a blurry image into focus. "Like corrupted data on a screen, all buzzing and fractured light where his form should be. But his voice… his voice comes through perfectly clear. It's disorienting."
'Loki,' Makoto thought, directing his focus inward. 'Can you not adjust the effect for Ryoji? He is an ally.'
'The boy can obviously fine-tune the deception,' Odin's voice grumbled, thick with long-suffering annoyance. 'He is merely amusing himself at Death's expense. A juvenile game.'
'The air in here is so thick between you two, hee hoo!' Jack Frost observed, his cheerful tone analyzing the palpable tension. 'Like a blizzard waiting to happen!'
'It simply means the art is effective, dear Dindin,' Loki purred, the mental voice dripping with smug satisfaction. A sharp, psychic snap echoed through the shared space of Makoto's soul.
Ryoji blinked. Abruptly, the static peeled away like a translucent curtain being torn down. Makoto stood before him in perfect clarity, unchanged, yet now perceptible.
"There you are," Ryoji said, letting out a soft laugh of relief. "Thanks, Loki. That was… unsettling."
'You are most welcome, Herald of the End,' Loki replied, his tone oozing theatrical gallantry.
'All-Father,' Apollo interjected, curiosity overriding caution. 'This vendetta against your brother… is it truly warranted? He seems no more troublesome than, well…' He trailed off pointedly.
'Choose your next words with extreme care, Sun God,' Lucifer's growl was a low rumble of warning.
'You see?' Apollo retorted, undaunted.
'Theeee old maaan's just jeaaalous,' Fafnir crooned, his voice a symphony of rust and amusement. 'Siiibling riiivalry… it's the most aaaancient tune of all.'
'An understatement,' Izanagi observed stoically. 'The All-Father's animosity is a palpable force. It borders on the homicidal.'
Ignoring the eternal council warring in his mind, Makoto rose to his feet. "It's time," he stated, his voice cutting through the psychic chatter. He looked at Elizabeth and Ryoji. "I will maintain contact through Mercurius."
'I hope this works,' Makoto thought, a rare sliver of personal doubt surfacing. 'This isn't leading a team into Tartarus. This is war against an intelligent, adaptive enemy who plans layers deep.'
'Overthinking will only cloud your judgment, Makoto,' Messiah's voice was a calming balm. 'We have prepared. We have capable allies and we proceed with caution, not with fear.'
'And in the worst-case scenario,' Lucifer reminded, his tone chillingly matter-of-fact, 'there is always the atomic solution. A final, cleansing fire.'
'I'd rather not think about that, hee hoo,' Jack Frost whimpered, a shiver running through his icy form.