A sinister stillness loomed over Kuoh Academy that evening. The aftermath of the Rating Game between Rias and Riser had left tension hanging in the air. Riser was recovering under the careful supervision of the Phenex family—yet something deep and unnatural stirred within him.
In the shadows of the Phenex estate, unseen by any familiar eye, the air shimmered. A presence moved like a thought split between mirrors.
Amon stood in a space beyond reality—his domain between truths, the fracture in logic where things unspeakable gestated. His tall form, dressed in elegant robes adorned with golden glyphs of forgotten languages, shimmered beneath a hood of illusion. Glass monocles gleamed, orbiting gently around him like curious thoughts.
Before him stood two... reflections. Not illusions—no, they were avatars. Partial projections of his existence, incarnations seeded into the world like parasites.
The first wore a priest's garb, his smile kind but eyes hollow. The second appeared in the armor of an ancient scholar-knight, pages of scripture floating around him like wings. Both bowed.
"You are facets," Amon said, his voice reverberating like overlapping instruments. "Fragments torn from a once-godly deception. What knowledge have you acquired?"
The priest-avatar responded first, in a soothing cadence. "Riser's body cannot hold you for long. The flame resists, even as the parasite roots deeper. Yet the Phenex pride blinds them. They suspect nothing."
The knight-avatar spoke next. "The Vatican has begun to investigate. The balance wavers. But more... the White Dragon Emperor walks closer into your snare. Azazel watches, yet even he miscalculates your reach."
Amon chuckled softly, then suddenly split into three before merging again. "Then it is time. Let Vali feel my gaze. Let Azazel feel fear not from my power, but from my foresight."
He raised his gloved hand, and in the space between his fingers, a thread of reality bent—rippling across time and place. A piece of his essence fragmented, slithering into the world through thought, proximity, and madness.
—
Meanwhile, in a quiet underground base in the mountains outside Kyoto, Vali sat in silent meditation. The faint hum of energy surrounded him, bathing his form in silver-blue light. Albion's voice echoed in his mind.
"Vali… I sense something. An echo, almost like the breath of another being attempting to resonate with us."
Vali's eyes opened slowly. "You mean like a Longinus? No… this is different."
"Not a Sacred Gear," Albion growled. "A presence from beyond our system. Tainted, intelligent, and… amused."
A chill ran down Vali's spine—not from fear, but curiosity. "Is it the one Azazel warned me about?"
Just then, a shadow fell across the training room's threshold. Azazel entered, his coat draped over one shoulder, face drawn and serious.
"Vali," he said, "Amon is accelerating."
Vali arched an eyebrow. "So you were watching?"
Azazel didn't smile. "Of course I was. That thing latched onto Riser and turned him into a corrupted vessel. It isn't done yet. It always prepares another contingency."
He tossed a data tablet onto the nearby table. "Read that. We've had Vatican operatives identify behavior in some exorcists that doesn't match any known possession. The energy signature matches the distortion around Riser before his transformation."
Vali scanned the tablet, frowning. "So… he's seeding avatars now. Multiplying."
Azazel crossed his arms. "Exactly. And I suspect one of them is already near you."
The room fell silent.
Albion stirred within Vali's soul. "I felt it. This avatar… it watches, but does not yet act."
Azazel's gaze darkened. "That's Amon's method. He lays traps like stories. They unfold slowly, twistedly, until no one can tell fiction from truth. He might not want to control you, Vali. He might want you to become something for him."
Vali clenched a fist. "Then let him try."
—
Back at Kuoh Academy, Rias, Issei, and the rest of the peerage gathered in the occult club room. The battle with Riser had concluded, and though Rias had emerged victorious, the unease lingered. Riser's transformation… no one could forget it. The foreign divinity. The golden eyes that looked at them not as enemies, but as metaphors.
Rias poured herself a cup of tea, trying to calm her nerves. "We've confirmed it with Grayfia. Riser has no memory of the transformation. He thinks he fainted from overusing his flame regeneration."
Issei scratched his head. "How do you forget turning into a weird flaming demon guy?"
Kiba shook his head. "That's the point. It wasn't him."
Akeno narrowed her eyes. "Which begs the question: how many more like him exist?"
Rias turned toward the window, voice soft. "We need answers… and allies."
—
Elsewhere, inside a candle-lit chamber of the Vatican, a black-cloaked figure knelt before a glowing diagram. The symbols of the Error sequence flickered—unrecognized by most of the clergy, but feared by the elders.
"He is here," the figure muttered. "The one who wears false names. The Blasphemer."
And behind the veil of light, one of Amon's avatars watched quietly—pretending to be a priest, an angel, a mirror.