Kuoh Town, once a quiet place shadowed by supernatural intrigue, now hummed with unseen tension. The arrival of Vatican envoys and the reports of Amon's avatars spreading through institutions like rot under gold had stirred the supernatural factions into wary motion. Azazel had called for a discreet summit with trusted agents.
Deep beneath Kuoh Academy, in a chamber hidden behind wards forged by angelic scripts and demonic seals, the representatives gathered. The Gremory peerage, Sona Shitori and her Queen, Azazel, and a pair of Vatican agents now stood beneath the seal of truce. Among the Vatican duo was Xenovia Quarta, former Holy Sword wielder, and beside her stood a silent companion clad in silver prayer-armor.
Rias watched Azazel pace, his brow furrowed.
"We're not allies," Azazel said, waving toward the Vatican agents. "But for now, we have a mutual interest in not letting a sequence-level entity play with our world like a broken chessboard."
Xenovia nodded. "Amon's avatars have appeared in exorcist networks. They mimic priests, infiltrate councils, even forge miracles. It took us too long to realize some of our brethren were... empty inside."
Issei frowned. "What do you mean empty?"
The other agent, still unnamed, spoke, his voice like iron grinding stone. "Empty as in no soul. No desires. Just purpose: to observe, to destabilize. Some don't even know they're avatars until the real Amon activates them."
Gasps echoed. Akeno's hand twitched toward her lightning.
Kiba spoke softly, almost reverently. "Like living time bombs..."
Azazel nodded. "Now imagine what happens when one detonates near a Sacred Gear user. Or worse, someone like Vali."
Rias crossed her arms. "You said Amon accelerated his plan toward Vali."
"Yes," Azazel replied. "One of the avatars tried to contact Vali directly. Not to fight—but to talk. He doesn't just infect bodies. He poisons ideologies."
Silence reigned. Issei clenched his fists.
Suddenly, a sharp ripple of energy pulsed through the warded chamber. Everyone snapped to alert as golden symbols appeared midair, burning with an unnatural flame. A monocle floated among them—a calling card.
"No," Azazel hissed. "Not here..."
Reality bent, and from the folds stepped a figure clad in refined robes—Amon, or one of his avatars, crowned with floating lenses and mirrors that spun like orbiting minds.
"My, my," it said in a smooth, melodic tone. "Such fine architecture. Such fear. And such an ugly alliance."
Akeno summoned her lightning instantly, but it crackled uselessly. The space warped around the avatar.
"This isn't a battlefield, Lady of Thunder," the avatar said, eyes gleaming behind glass. "I come not with war, but with suggestion."
Rias stepped forward. "You used Riser. Violated him. Why show yourself now?"
The avatar tilted his head. "Because the story demands it. What is a tale without a narrator whispering into the reader's mind?"
Azazel growled. "What do you want from Vali?"
The avatar smiled. "He is a child of potential, like all who carry divine burden. I merely wish to... accelerate his awakening. He will either ascend into godhood or collapse beautifully. I cherish both outcomes."
The Vatican agent raised a glowing cross, incanting Latin.
"Exsisto iudicium super te, daemonium mendax."
The avatar only chuckled. The cross melted into petals.
"Words forged in belief are delicious, but useless when the speaker doubts."
Azazel pointed toward the sigil-embedded wall. "Enough!"
Golden chains of sealing erupted from the chamber walls, grasping toward the avatar. For a moment, the illusion flickered. Beneath the form was not flesh, but a concept—an idea wearing clothes.
"Interesting," Amon's voice echoed, now layered with a hundred tones. "You attempt to bind a metaphor. A noble effort."
With a breath, the chains unraveled like poorly written contracts. The avatar stepped back toward the fold in reality.
"This was just an echo. A whisper. But know this: the more you resist, the more you become part of my script."
And with that, the avatar vanished.
The chamber was deathly silent.
Issei fell to a knee, sweat pouring down his face. "I couldn't even move. That wasn't power. It was... like being edited out of existence."
Azazel exhaled slowly. "That was only a fragment. We need to find his true anchor. We need to sever the narrative he's writing."
Xenovia turned to Rias. "We must coordinate, Lady Gremory. He will come again, and next time, it will be more than words."
Rias nodded grimly. "Then let us become the editors of fate."
Far away, in a forgotten monastery deep in Eastern Europe, the true Amon opened his golden eyes. The monocles spun faster.
"The protagonists speak of revolt," he murmured. "How delightfully naive."
And the mirrors around him showed scenes not yet written.