Chapter 45:
– Akeno –
…She couldn't move.
It was pathetic. She knew it was pathetic. Her muscles had locked the instant those ten coal-black wings had unfurled against the moonlit sky, the instant Kokabiel's cruel, mocking voice had slithered down from above like poison dripping into her ears.
Every nerve in her body screamed at her to act, to fight, to do something, but her limbs refused to obey.
Akeno could admit, at least to herself in that frozen moment, that she was terrified.
Floating in the air above Kuoh's peaceful park was Kokabiel, one of the Grigori's top cadres. A monster among fallen angels. His aura pressed down on her like a physical weight, thick and suffocating, reeking of bloodlust and ancient malice. The sheer density of his power made the air itself feel heavy, difficult to breathe. And he had just announced that he was here to kill her and her long-lost brother.
Blake.
Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. They had only just reunited. After ten years of believing him dead, of mourning a brother she thought she'd never see again—fate had finally, finally given him back to her. And now this bastard wanted to rip him away again? The injustice of it burned like acid in her throat, but still her body wouldn't respond.
Still she stood rooted to the grass like a worthless statue, demonic lightning was flickering uselessly at her fingertips without ever fully manifesting.
Move, she screamed at herself internally. Move, damn you! Fight! Protect him!
But the gap in power was too vast. Her instincts, honed through years of training and serving as Rias's Queen, recognized the truth her pride refused to accept—she was hopelessly outclassed. Kokabiel could crush her like an insect without breaking a sweat.
The knowledge paralyzed her more completely than any binding spell ever could. And then—
Eight jet-black wings exploded from Blake's back!
The sudden burst of power hit her like a shockwave, stealing the breath from her lungs. Akeno's violet eyes went wide as she watched her younger brother's wings unfurl in a magnificent display. Eight wings. Just one pair short of ultimate-class. When had he grown so powerful? The Blake she remembered from childhood had been a scared little boy, crying in her arms as their world collapsed around them over a decade ago.
Before she could even process what she was seeing, he moved. Blake rocketed into the air with explosive force, the grass beneath his feet cratering from the sheer power of his launch, he was rocketing upwards aimed directly at the cadre hovering smugly above them.
"Blake, no!" The words tore from Akeno's throat involuntarily, raw with terror. Her hand reached out uselessly toward his ascending form, fingers grasping at empty air. He couldn't possibly—Kokabiel was a cadre—he would be slaughtered—
Kokabiel's sneer widened into something grotesque, his eyes glittering with sadistic amusement as Blake closed the distance between them. "How adorable," he drawled mockingly, contempt dripping from every syllable. "A pathetic little whelp, thinking he can challenge someone so far out of his league. Did your whore mother never teach you to know your place, half-breed?"
A lightspear materialized in Kokabiel's hand—massive, crackling with lethal golden energy. He thrust it down, aiming directly for Blake's heart.
Akeno's own heart nearly stopped. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. She watched the gleaming point of the lightspear streak toward her brother's chest, saw the killing intent behind it, felt her soul begin to shatter at the certainty that she was about to watch Blake die right in front of her—
Blake twisted. At the last possible instant, his body contorted, the lightspear passing so close to his torso that it singed the fabric of his shirt. The movement was perfect, the kind of evasion that could only come from countless hours of sparring against opponents who could have killed him with a single mistake.
And then his fist connected with Kokabiel's face.
The impact echoed across the park like a thunderclap. Akeno watched in stunned disbelief as the cadre's head snapped violently to the side, his expression morphing from smug superiority to genuine shock in the span of a heartbeat.
Blake didn't give him time to recover. His hand shot out, fingers clamping around Kokabiel's arm with crushing force, and then he threw him.
The cadre's body hurtled toward the earth like a meteor, trailing black feathers and indignant rage. He slammed into the grass with devastating force, the impact sending shockwaves rippling outward and carving a massive crater into the once-pristine lawn. Dirt and debris exploded upward in a violent plume, obscuring Kokabiel's form from view.
Blake descended slowly, his wings beating in measured, controlled strokes as he landed at the crater's edge. He wasn't shaking. He wasn't panicking. His eyes remained fixed on the settling dust with cold, calculated focus.
"I have a lot of recent experience training against people far stronger than me," Blake said in a determined voice.
Akeno sucked in a sharp breath at his words, her chest tightening at the sheer confidence radiating from her brother's stance. He stood at the crater's edge like he belonged there, like facing down one of the Grigori's most feared warriors was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
When had her little brother become this?
Kokabiel dragged himself out of the crater with a snarl, dirt and grass clinging to his once-pristine dark robes. His coal-black wings flared wide as he regained his footing, ruffled and disheveled but—Akeno noted with a sinking feeling—not truly injured. The bruise blooming across his cheekbone was already knitting itself back together before her eyes, the flesh rippling as accelerated healing erased the evidence of Blake's strike.
"You'll pay for humiliating me like that, you arrogant half-breed trash," Kokabiel spat, his voice dripping with venomous fury. His hand swept upward, golden light already coalescing between his fingers as he began summoning another lightspear—
Blake moved before Kokabiel could create another weapon.
Akeno's eyes couldn't track him. One instant he was standing at the crater's edge, the next he was simply gone, a blur of motion that made even her enhanced Queen devil senses struggle to follow. Her breath caught in her throat. He was fast. Impossibly fast. Even faster than Kiba at maximum speed, and Yuuto was the quickest person she knew.
So that's why he threw Kokabiel to the ground, she realized with sudden clarity. Her brother was obviously far more comfortable fighting on solid earth than in the air. It made sense—most younger supernatural beings were the same way. Aerial combat required decades, sometimes centuries, of practice to truly master. But on the ground? On the ground, Blake was in his element.
Kokabiel didn't even have time to fully manifest his lightspear.
Blake's fist crashed into the cadre's jaw before the weapon could solidify, snapping his head to the side with brutal efficiency. Then another blow. And another. Akeno watched in stunned disbelief as her brother unleashed a devastating flurry of strikes, his fists and feet becoming a whirlwind of violence that drove Kokabiel backward step by stumbling step.
Crackling around Blake's fists, wreathing his knuckles in brilliant arcs of golden-white energy, was holy lightning.
Their bloodline.
The sacred power inherited from their father that she had spent years learning to despise, to suppress, to pretend didn't exist within her. Blake wielded it without hesitation, without shame, the electricity dancing across his skin like it belonged there.
Each punch that connected sent visible shockwaves of lightning coursing through Kokabiel's body. The cadre's muscles seized and spasmed with every impact, the holy energy disrupting his movements, making it impossible for him to mount any kind of defense. He couldn't block. He couldn't counter. He couldn't even spread his wings to escape into the air—Blake was hitting him too fast, too relentlessly, the barrage of electrified strikes keeping him perpetually off-balance.
"What—the hell—is this speed!?" Kokabiel managed to roar between blows, his words punctuated by the meaty thud of Blake's fist connecting with his ribs. "And what is this—strange energy—I sense in you!? You're combining your bloodline with something—else!?" Another punch snapped his head back. Blood sprayed from his split lip. "Are you using fucking chakra like some kind of filthy yokai beast!?" Kokabiel's voice had risen to something approaching hysteria, disbelief and rage warring for dominance in his tone. "What a disgrace you are, half-breed! Tainting your already polluted bloodline with—"
Blake's spinning kick caught him square in the chest.
Kokabiel's body rocketed backward like he'd been shot from a cannon, his trajectory carrying him straight through the trunk of an ancient oak tree. The massive tree exploded into splinters on impact, wooden shrapnel spraying in all directions as the cadre continued through it and into a second tree, then a third, each collision sending fresh debris cascading across the increasingly devastated park.
Akeno's hand flew to her mouth. The once-serene landscape had been transformed into a war zone. Craters pockmarked the grass. Trees lay toppled or shattered. The beautiful marble fountain at the park's center had been reduced to rubble at some point during the exchange, water gurgling uselessly from broken pipes.
Blake stood amidst the destruction, breathing steadily, his eight wings spread wide behind him. Holy lightning still crackled faintly around his clenched fists.
"What about it?" he called out, his voice carrying clearly across the ruined park. A dangerous smirk played at the corner of his lips. "Seems like the boost I'm getting from chakra is easily helping me kick your ass, Kokabiel."
Akeno watched the exchange with a mixture of awe and desperate hope clawing at her large chest. Her brother could use chakra—actual chakra, the energy manipulation technique employed by yokai and the legendary shinobi clans that had supposedly died out centuries ago. He was enhancing his physical capabilities with it, layering the foreign energy over his fallen angel powers in a way that reminded her sharply of Sairaorg Bael, Rias's cousin who had overcome his lack of demonic talent through sheer physical perfection.
It made sense, she supposed, her mind racing even as her body remained locked in place. Their mother had returned as some kind of impossibly powerful kunoichi. Of course she would have trained Blake in those same techniques during their years together in that other world.
For a long moment, there was only silence. Then movement stirred in the wreckage of fallen trees.
Kokabiel rose slowly, deliberately, pulling himself upright. His robes were torn, his face bloodied, his expression twisted into something far uglier than mere anger. When he spoke, his voice had dropped to a low, deadly calm that sent ice flooding through Akeno's veins.
"I was merely humoring you so far," the cadre said, each word precise and dripping with menace. "Granting you a quick death seemed appropriate for Baraqiel's worthless spawn. But now?" His ten wings snapped open to their full, terrible span. "Now I am angry."
The surge of power hit Akeno with so much force she stumbled! She staggered backward, her legs nearly buckling as Kokabiel's aura exploded outward. The tainted holy energy radiating from him didn't just increase—it doubled. Then it kept climbing, swelling higher and higher until it had nearly tripled in intensity. The pressure was suffocating, crushing, making each breath feel like she was trying to inhale through a straw.
He was holding back, she realized with dawning horror, her violet eyes wide and her heart hammering against her ribs. This whole time—he was holding back!
The cadre crossed the distance between himself and Blake in the span of a single heartbeat, his speed so vastly increased that Akeno's eyes couldn't track him at all.
One instant he was rising from the wreckage of shattered trees, the next his fist was buried in Blake's stomach with enough force to crater the earth beneath her brother's feet!
Blake's eyes bulged. A choked, agonized wheeze tore from his throat as every molecule of air was violently expelled from his lungs. Spittle flew from his lips. His body folded around Kokabiel's fist.
"I won't even bother summoning weapons for filth like you," Kokabiel snarled, his bloodied face twisted into something monstrous and gleeful. He drew his fist back, golden-black energy crackling around his knuckles. "I'm going to beat you to death with my bare hands, half-breed. I want to feel your bones shatter beneath my fists."
The first real blow sent Blake skidding backward across the torn grass, his feet carving furrows in the earth as he struggled to maintain his footing. The second snapped his head to the side, blood spraying in a crimson arc from his split lip. The third caught him in the ribs with a sickening crack that Akeno heard clearly even from her distance.
Each impact shook the very ground beneath her feet. Each strike carried enough force to level buildings, to reshape landscapes, to end lives in an instant. Kokabiel wasn't fighting anymore—he was punishing, each blow delivered with the weight of wounded pride and sadistic pleasure.
And yet Blake refused to fall.
Akeno's breath caught in her throat as she watched her younger brother weave between the worst of the strikes, his body moving on pure instinct and hard-won muscle memory. He ducked under a haymaker that would have decapitated him, slipped past a knee aimed at his sternum, even managed to land a counter-strike that snapped Kokabiel's head back and bought himself a precious half-second of breathing room.
But it wasn't enough.
Blood streamed from a gash above Blake's eye, painting half his face crimson. Purple bruises were already blooming across his arms where he'd blocked blows he couldn't fully evade. His breathing had grown ragged, labored, each exhale accompanied by a wet rattle that spoke of damaged ribs and stressed lungs. He was losing ground with every exchange, being driven backward step by desperate step.
"Yes! YES!" Kokabiel's laughter rang out across the ruined park, high and wild and utterly unhinged. His fist crashed into Blake's guard with enough force to send her brother stumbling, nearly dropping him to one knee. "I should do this more often! Beating my enemies to death personally is so cathartic! I can feel every crack, every break, every pathetic whimper!"
Another blow. Blake's guard faltered. Blood splattered across the grass.
Akeno stood frozen.
Her legs wouldn't move. Her hands hung uselessly at her sides, lightning flickering and dying at her fingertips without ever manifesting into anything useful. She was the Queen of Rias Gremory's peerage—the Priestess of Thunder, they called her.
One of the most powerful young devils in the Underworld. And she was standing here like a worthless spectator while her baby brother was being beaten to death mere meters away.
Move, she screamed at herself, the word echoing through her skull with desperate intensity. MOVE, DAMN YOU!
But the fear had sunk its claws too deep. Kokabiel's aura pressed down on her like a physical weight, paralyzing her with the absolute certainty of her own inadequacy. She couldn't fight him. She couldn't even slow him down. All she could do was watch as Blake—her precious Blake, her long-lost little brother who she'd only just gotten back after ten years of grief and mourning—was systematically destroyed in front of her.
What kind of big sister am I?
Shame flooded her, hot and suffocating, mixing with the terror already churning in her gut. She had promised herself she would protect him. She had sworn, in the depths of her heart, that she would never let him suffer alone again. And now—
Something inside Akeno snapped.
It wasn't a conscious decision. There was no moment of resolve, no heroic determination steeling her spine. One instant she was frozen in helpless terror, and the next—
CRACK.
The sound echoed through her very soul as the seal shattered. The seal she had placed on herself years ago, woven from her own demonic power and reinforced by layers upon layers of self-loathing and denial. The seal that had locked away half of her heritage, the tainted blood she had spent so long trying to pretend didn't exist within her.
It broke.
Power erupted from Akeno's body like a dam bursting. Tainted light and holy lightning exploded outward in a cascade of brilliant, terrible energy, the two opposing forces spiraling together in a maelstrom of raw, uncontrolled might. The sensation was overwhelming—electricity racing through every nerve ending, fire and ice warring beneath her skin, her very cells vibrating with power she had never allowed herself to fully access.
Her back arched involuntarily as the energy coursed through her, a sharp gasp escaping her parted lips. Every inch of her body tingled with almost painful intensity, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her uniform as the rush of power triggered responses she couldn't control. Heat pooled low in her belly, her skin flushing, her breath coming in shallow pants as her sealed potential finally—finally—roared to life.
But arousal was secondary. Irrelevant. Background noise against the singular focus now burning in her mind.
Blake.
Akeno's violet eyes snapped open, and they were glowing. Crackling with holy lightning. Burning with tainted demonic light. The two energies that had warred within her for so long finally united in purpose, in fury, in the desperate, all-consuming need to protect the person who mattered most.
The pressure of her aura slammed outward like a shockwave, flattening the grass in a perfect circle around her, sending debris skittering away across the ruined park. Kokabiel's head snapped toward her, his eyes widening in genuine shock as he registered the magnitude of power now radiating from the girl he had dismissed as irrelevant.
Because Akeno's power wasn't just matching his anymore.
It was exceeding it.
I'm... ultimate class? The realization crashed through her consciousness with the force of divine revelation. I've been ultimate class this entire time? My demonic power was suppressing THIS MUCH of my potential?
The shock lasted only an instant. Then rage—pure, righteous, protective rage—consumed everything else.
"GET AWAY FROM MY PRECIOUS LITTLE BROTHER, YOU PIECE OF TRASH!"
Akeno's scream tore across the park, raw and primal and absolutely furious. Her hand thrust toward the sky, fingers splayed wide, and the heavens answered her call.
The night had been clear. Cloudless. Peaceful. It didn't matter.
A bolt of holy lightning descended from the empty sky like the wrath of an angry god, a pillar of brilliant golden-white destruction that split the darkness and struck Kokabiel with enough force to shake the foundations of the earth itself. The cadre had no time to dodge, no time to block, no time to do anything except scream as divine electricity tore through his body, cooking him from the inside out.
– Blake –
Kokabiel's fist crashed into my guard with enough force to send shockwaves radiating up through my forearms and into my shoulders. I skidded backward across the torn grass, my heels carving furrows in the earth, and barely managed to twist away from the follow-up strike that would have caved in my skull.
Dammit.
The thought burned through my mind as I ducked under another devastating haymaker, feeling the displaced air ruffle my blood-matted hair. This was like fighting Tsunade at her absolute full power—except Tsunade had never actually been trying to kill me. She'd pushed me to my limits countless times during our sparring sessions, but there had always been that underlying restraint. That knowledge that she would pull her punch at the last second if I couldn't block it.
Kokabiel had no such restraint.
His next blow caught me in the ribs before I could fully evade, and I felt something crack deep inside my chest. White-hot agony exploded through my torso as I stumbled sideways, my vision swimming, blood bubbling up my throat and spilling over my split lips. I spat the copper-tasting fluid onto the grass and forced myself to keep moving, to keep dodging, because stopping meant dying.
Was the difference between my eight wings and his ten really this vast?
Two measly pairs of feathers shouldn't have created such an insurmountable gap, but no, I realized bitterly as I narrowly avoided a knee strike that would have shattered my sternum, it wasn't just about the wings.
Kokabiel was thousands of years old. Despite being a sadistic, warmongering piece of shit, he had earned his power and skill on countless battlefields across millennia of existence. Every movement he made was refined by centuries of combat experience, every strike delivered with the mechanical precision of someone who had killed more opponents than I could possibly imagine.
I was eighteen. I'd been training seriously for maybe two months.
The math wasn't in my favor.
Another punch slipped through my guard and connected with my jaw, snapping my head to the side and sending fresh blood spraying across the ruined park. Stars exploded across my vision. My legs wobbled dangerously beneath me, threatening to buckle. The coppery tang of blood filled my mouth, mixing with the acrid taste of ozone from the holy lightning still crackling weakly around my battered fists.
But I wasn't giving up.
My face was a mess. My ribs screamed in protest with every labored breath. Blood dripped steadily from a gash above my eye, painting half my vision crimson. Every inch of my body throbbed.
And still I refused to fall.
Because I had tricks I hadn't used yet. Techniques I'd been holding in reserve, waiting for the right moment—
"GET AWAY FROM MY PRECIOUS LITTLE BROTHER, YOU PIECE OF TRASH!"
Akeno's scream tore across the battlefield like a thunderclap, raw and primal and absolutely furious. I stumbled backward instinctively, my battered body reacting before my mind could process what was happening, and then—
Holy shit!
A wave of power erupted from my sister's body, to make the very air itself vibrate with barely contained energy. I wiped blood from my eyes with a trembling hand and gaped at what I was sensing.
Akeno's aura wasn't just matching Kokabiel's anymore.
It was exceeding it!
The power radiating from her was absolutely monstrous—a maelstrom of holy lightning and tainted demonic energy spiraling together in perfect, terrible harmony. Her violet eyes were glowing, crackling with electricity, burning with a light I had never seen in them before. This wasn't the Akeno who had hugged me in the park earlier, who had cried against my chest and confessed her fears about our shared bloodline.
This was something else entirely. This was a woman who had finally stopped holding herself back.
Her hand thrust toward the sky, fingers splayed wide, and the heavens answered.
A pillar of holy lightning descended from the cloudless night sky like divine judgment made manifest—a column of brilliant golden-white destruction so massive, so blindingly powerful that I had to shield my eyes against the glare. It struck Kokabiel with the force of an angry god, engulfing his body completely, and the cadre's scream of agony was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.
Now.
My hands came together in a familiar cross-shaped seal, muscle memory taking over even as my depleted chakra reserves protested violently.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu!" Three plumes of smoke erupted around me, and suddenly there were four of us standing in the ruined park. My clones materialized in perfect combat stances, their expressions mirrors of my own bloody, determined face. I didn't have much chakra left—the technique had drained almost everything I had remaining—but it didn't matter.
Because we didn't need to sustain ourselves for long.
All four of us raised our hands simultaneously. Holy lightning erupted from our palms—not matching Akeno's overwhelming output, not even close, her display of power was genuinely shocking—but there were four of me now. Four sources of crackling golden-white electricity adding their fury to my sister's devastating assault.
Lightning screamed across the park from four different directions, converging on Kokabiel's already writhing form. North. South. East. West. My clones and I poured everything we had left into the attack, our combined power joining Akeno's heavenly bolt in a symphony of divine destruction.
Kokabiel's body jerked and spasmed within the confluence of lightning, his ten wings thrashing uselessly against the electrical onslaught, his mouth open in a continuous scream that grew weaker with every passing second.
"IMPOSSIBLE!" His voice was barely audible over the roar of thunder and crackling electricity, distorted by agony and disbelief. "I CAN'T—I WON'T—THIS ISN'T—" The words died in his throat.
The lightning intensified one final time—Akeno pouring everything she had into the attack, my clones and I matching her conviction if not her raw power—and then, finally it was over.
Kokabiel's burned, smoking body slumped forward, collapsing face-first into the charred dirt of the utterly destroyed park. His ten wings hung limp and scorched behind him, feathers blackened and still smoldering. He didn't move. Didn't twitch. The only indication that he was still alive at all was the faint, labored rise and fall of his back.
Unconscious.
Defeated.
My clones dispersed in puffs of white smoke, their chakra returning to me in a rush that did almost nothing to restore my depleted reserves. I swayed on my feet, my vision blurring, my battered body finally registering just how badly I'd been hurt during the fight. Blood continued to drip from a dozen different wounds, painting dark spots on the scorched grass beneath me.
But I was alive.
We were alive.
I turned toward Akeno, a bloody, exhausted grin spreading across my swollen face. "Nice timing, sis..." The last thing I saw was her worried expression before I experienced chakra exhaustion and passed out.
– Shuri –
Baraqiel stood before her in Blake's hotel room, his massive body somehow diminished by the weight of his own shame. His broad shoulders were slumped, his dark eyes downcast, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides like they didn't know what to do with themselves. He looked every inch the broken, guilt-ridden father he was.
"Shuri, I—" he began, his deep voice cracking with emotion.
"Don't." The single word cut through the air like one of her kunai, sharp and final. Shuri's eyes never wavered from his face, cataloging every flinch, every micro-expression of guilt that flickered across his weathered features. "Don't you dare try to apologize right now."
Once again, her children's lives had been put in danger. Once again, they had nearly died by a monster who wanted nothing more than to extinguish her bloodline. And once again, Baraqiel hadn't been there to protect them.
Yes, she knew the technical details. The fight between Kokabiel and her children had lasted only minutes. Yes, she understood that Kokabiel had erected some kind of sophisticated barrier that masked his presence, preventing anyone from sensing his ambush until it was far too late. These were facts. Explanations. Excuses.
And none of them mattered.
Because the entire reason Baraqiel was in Kuoh in the first place was to deal with Kokabiel. To hunt down the cadre who had dared attack his son and make him pay for the transgression.
And what had he actually done with that?
Shuri's jaw tightened as the answer formed in her mind with bitter clarity. He had moped. He had sulked around the hotel like a wounded animal, wallowing in self-pity when he realized that there was absolutely no chance of her taking him back. That she had moved on.
That she was genuinely, thoroughly happy with Tony Stark in a way she hadn't been in years—perhaps had never been, if she was being honest with herself.
Yes, he had helped drive off that devil Diodora earlier. She would give him that much credit. When the pompous little shit had threatened Pepper and the others, Baraqiel's presence had been enough to send him scurrying away with his tail between his legs.
But that was one thing. One single act of protection that wasn't even the reason he had come here in the first place.
Meanwhile, their children had nearly died.
"I should have sensed him," Baraqiel said quietly, his voice heavy with self-recrimination. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles whitening with suppressed emotion. "The barrier he used, I've never encountered anything like it. By the time I felt the surge of power from the park, the fight was already—"
"Leave." The word hung in the air between them, cold and absolute.
Baraqiel's head snapped up, his dark eyes meeting hers with something that might have been desperation. "Shuri, please. Let me explain. Let me—"
"I said leave, Baraqiel." Shuri's voice remained perfectly level, perfectly controlled—the measured calm of a kunoichi who had learned long ago that cold fury was far more devastating than hot rage. "Take that piece of trash with you." She gestured dismissively toward the unconscious form of Kokabiel, still smoking faintly from the lightning that had brought him down, dumped unceremoniously in the corner of the room like the garbage he was. "Deliver him to whoever needs to deal with him. Do whatever it is you Grigori do with traitors. I don't care."
"And after?" Baraqiel asked quietly. "When will I—when can we talk again? When can I speak to my children again?"
Shuri held his gaze for a long, weighted moment. She could see the hope flickering in his eyes. The hope that she might give him a specific time, a concrete opportunity, something to cling to.
She offered him nothing. "Later," she said flatly. "We can talk again later." She didn't tell him when. She didn't give him a date or a time or even a vague promise. Just later.
Something in Baraqiel's expression crumpled. He opened his mouth as if to argue, to plead, to say something—anything—that might bridge the vast chasm between them. But whatever words he might have found died unspoken on his tongue. Perhaps he finally understood that there was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do. Not tonight.
He nodded once, a jerky, defeated motion. Then he crossed the room to where Kokabiel lay crumpled and broken, hefting the cadre's limp body over one shoulder with ease. The unconscious fallen angel's scorched wings dragged limply across the carpet, leaving faint trails of ash in their wake.
Baraqiel paused at the door, his back to her. For a moment, Shuri thought he might say something else—
He didn't.
The air shimmered around him, reality folding and twisting as his teleportation magic activated, and then he was gone. Just like that. Vanished. Leaving behind only the faint smell of ozone and the echoing silence of his absence.
Shuri exhaled slowly, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The tension in her shoulders didn't ease—wouldn't ease just yet—but with Baraqiel gone, she could finally focus on what actually mattered.
Her children.
She turned toward the bed where Blake lay sleeping, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythms. Her son's face was peaceful now, the evidence of his battle erased by Asia's miraculous healing.
Asia Argento truly was an angel, Shuri thought with a surge of genuine gratitude. The girl's sacred gear had knitted Blake's injuries effortlessly.
Pepper Potts sat at Blake's bedside. Her strawberry-blonde hair was disheveled, her makeup smudged, her eyes red-rimmed from tears she had probably tried very hard not to shed. She looked up as Shuri approached, managing a weak, watery smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"He's okay," Pepper whispered, as if saying it aloud might make it more real. "Asia said he just needs to sleep it off. The healing took care of everything physical, but his body needs time to recover from the exhaustion."
Shuri nodded, reaching out to brush a strand of dark hair from her son's forehead. "Thank you for staying with him."
"I wasn't going anywhere," Pepper replied simply. This woman genuinely cared for her son.
Shuri's gaze drifted to the other figure seated at Blake's bedside, and her heart clenched painfully.
Akeno. Her daughter looked like an emotional disaster. Her long black hair—so similar to Shuri's own—hung in tangled, disheveled waves around her pale face. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, the evidence of crying she had apparently given up trying to hide. Her violet eyes were puffy and red, unfocused, staring at Blake's sleeping form with an intensity that bordered on desperation.
But beneath the emotional wreckage, Shuri could sense something else. Something different.
Shuri moved around the bed, coming to stand beside Akeno's chair. For a moment, she simply looked down at her daughter. Then, slowly, gently, she reached out and placed her hand on Akeno's shoulder.
Akeno flinched at the contact, her head snapping up, her red-rimmed eyes meeting Shuri's.
"Mom, I—" Her voice cracked, fresh tears spilling down her already-stained cheeks. "I almost lost him. I almost—he was right there, and Kokabiel was killing him, and I couldn't move, I just stood there like—"
"Shh." Shuri squeezed her daughter's shoulder, cutting off the spiral of self-recrimination before it could fully take hold. She sank down onto the arm of Akeno's chair, pulling her daughter against her side in an embrace that was probably awkward and definitely didn't care.
"I am so proud of you," Shuri murmured into Akeno's hair, her voice thick with emotion she rarely allowed herself to show. "So incredibly, impossibly proud."
Akeno let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh, her fingers clutching at the fabric of Shuri's top like she was afraid her mother might disappear if she let go. "Proud? Mom, I froze. I stood there like a useless—"
Shuri pulled back just enough to cup her daughter's face in both hands, forcing Akeno to meet her eyes. "When it mattered most, you unleashed power you've spent years suppressing. You saved him, Akeno. That's all that matters."
Shuri guided Akeno out of Blake's room with a gentle hand pressed against the small of her daughter's back, feeling the subtle tremors still running through Akeno's body. The girl—no, the young woman, Shuri had to remind herself—was running on emotional fumes, her composure held together by nothing more than stubborn pride and maternal proximity.
"He needs rest," Shuri murmured as she pulled the door closed behind them with a soft click. "And so do you. But first—we need to talk."
She steered Akeno toward her daughter's own hotel room, fishing the keycard from Akeno's pocket when it became clear the girl's hands were shaking too badly to manage it herself. The suite was modest compared to Tony's penthouse, but it had a balcony that overlooked the glittering sprawl of Kuoh's nighttime cityscape, and that was what Shuri needed right now.
Open air. Space to breathe. Room for the conversation that couldn't wait until morning.
The sliding glass door whispered open, and cool night air washed over them both as they stepped onto the narrow balcony. Shuri leaned against the railing, looking out and tracing the distant constellations of streetlights and illuminated windows that stretched toward the horizon.
Beside her, Akeno mimicked the pose, her disheveled hair stirring in the gentle breeze. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was comfortable.
Then Shuri sighed. "While you and Blake were walking around town," she began, keeping her voice carefully neutral, "Rias and I went to investigate her newest pawn's home. The boy she reincarnated last night—Issei Hyoudou."
Akeno's head turned slightly. "And? What did you find?"
"Nothing good." Shuri's fingers drummed a quiet rhythm against the metal railing. "The boy ran away. Willingly, from what we could determine. His parents were useless—hypnotized and questioned, but they'd grown so accustomed to ignoring strange sounds from his room that they noticed nothing unusual." She paused, letting the implication settle. "He's a stray devil now, Akeno. Which means every single one of the eight pawn pieces Rias invested in him are gone until someone hunts him down and kills him."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Because that's exactly what they were—for Rias's hopes, at least according to what Shuri knew of the situation that Rias's peerage was going through.
"Fuck!" The curse exploded from Akeno's lips with such vehemence, such raw frustration, that Shuri couldn't help the surprised laugh that bubbled up from her chest. Her daughter's head whipped toward her, violet eyes wide with indignation. "Mother! This isn't funny!"
"No, no, you're absolutely right," Shuri agreed, still chuckling despite herself. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the inappropriate amusement. "It's just—I don't think my daughter would swear quite that emphatically. It's like I'm getting to properly know you more and more again"
Akeno's cheeks flushed, though whether from embarrassment or lingering anger was difficult to tell. She turned back toward the city view, her fingers gripping the railing hard enough to whiten her knuckles. "We were hoping Issei had a Longinus," she said, her voice tight with barely contained frustration. "That's the only reason Rias would have used all eight pieces on a single person. If he really does possess one of the thirteen legendary sacred gears..." She trailed off, shaking her head bitterly. "And now he's gone. Stray. Taking half of Rias's peerage potential with him."
Shuri nodded slowly. "I know. Rias explained everything to me—including the marriage contract with Riser Phenex."
At the mention of that name, Akeno's entire body went rigid. Her jaw clenched so tightly that Shuri could see the muscles jumping beneath her daughter's pale skin.
"That bastard," Akeno hissed venomously. "You know what he's like, Mother? You know what he plans to do once he marries Rias?" Her voice cracked with helpless rage. "Every girl in her peerage becomes his property. His plaything. Including me."
"I know." Shuri's voice had gone cold—the frigid calm that had preceded so many kills during her years as a kunoichi. "Which is precisely why I refuse to let that happen."
Akeno turned to face her fully, confusion and desperate hope warring in her expression. "What do you mean? There's nothing we can do. The contract is ironclad. Unless Rias can somehow defeat Riser in a Rating Game, she's—"
"There's another way." Shuri met her daughter's gaze steadily. "A way to void the contract entirely, regardless of any Rating Game."
The hope in Akeno's eyes intensified, bright and fragile as spun glass. "How? Mother, if there's anything—"
"If Rias gives herself to another man before the wedding," Shuri said quietly, "the engagement becomes void. Riser would never accept damaged goods—his pride wouldn't allow it. The contract would dissolve. That's what Rias told me at least…" Shuri could admit it all sounded a bit strange. Why would Devils care about a thing like purity? And yet they did for some reason?
Akeno puffed up her cheeks. "Hmph! Rias is my best friend, and of course I would do anything to keep her from that horrible marriage, but I'm not about to let her go and break my precious ototo's heart! Ufufuf, she and I are going to have a LONG talk tomorrow morning!"
– Blake –
I woke up to warmth. My eyelids felt heavy, like someone had tied weights to them overnight, but I forced them open anyway.
Pepper Potts was curled against me, her strawberry-blonde hair fanned across my chest in messy waves that tickled my collarbone with every breath she took. One of her arms was draped possessively over my stomach, her fingers splayed against my skin like she'd been holding on tight even in sleep. Her face was buried in the crook of my shoulder, and I could feel the gentle rhythm of her breathing.
For a second, my mind flashed back. Kokabiel's sneering face. The bone-deep terror when I realized he was going to kill Akeno. The desperate, helpless fury as his fists turned my body into a punching bag. Then Akeno's power erupting like a goddamn supernova, that pillar of holy lightning tearing down from a cloudless sky—
We won.
We won. Akeno was safe. I was alive.
Pepper stirred against my chest, her eyelashes fluttering. When she finally opened her eyes and saw me looking down at her, relief flooded her expression so completely that my chest tightened.
Then she smiled and my heart did something stupid in response.
"Hey," I murmured, my voice rough from sleep.
"Hey yourself," she whispered back. Her smile lasted exactly three more seconds before her expression shifted. Her hand left my stomach, pulled back, and—
Thwack.
She punched my shoulder. Not that she could actually hurt me.
"What was that for?" I asked her.
"You made me worry, you asshole!" Pepper's voice cracked slightly, her eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. "Your sister brought you back unconscious, covered in blood, barely breathing—do you have any idea what that was like? Watching Asia heal you and not knowing if—if—" She cut herself off, her jaw working like she was physically biting down on the rest of that sentence.
I reached up and caught her hand before she could wind up for another punch, threading my fingers through hers. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I'm okay. I'm right here."
Pepper let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging. "Why the fuck is this tiny Japanese town so dangerous?" she grumbled, her free hand coming up to scrub at her face. "I want to go back to Malibu. I want safe beaches and overpriced cocktails and absolutely zero fallen angel cadres trying to murder my boyfriend."
I couldn't help it—I grinned. "You sure about that? Because the last time we walked on a beach, a crab monster stray devil tried to eat us."
Her head snapped up, green eyes narrowing dangerously. "That was one time—"
"Still counts."
"Blake Himejima, I swear to God—"
"You know, since you're dating a fallen angel now. Pretty sure blasphemy has consequences for you by association."
Pepper stared at me. Then she groaned, flopping forward so her forehead pressed against my chest. "Fuck," she muttered into my skin, her voice muffled and miserable. "This is my life now, isn't it?"
"Afraid so."
"Supernatural danger. Murder attempts. Literal hell politics."
I laughed—couldn't help it—and the sound seemed to break whatever remaining tension had been lingering between us. Pepper's expression softened again, her thumb brushing unconsciously against the back of my hand where our fingers were still tangled together.
Then I shifted slightly, leaning up, and kissed her.
She made a soft sound of surprise against my mouth before melting into it, her lips parting under mine. I cupped the back of her neck with my free hand, angling her head so I could deepen the kiss, and she responded immediately—her fingers curling into my hair, her body pressing closer.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing harder, I let my hands slide down her sides. The sheets had shifted during the night, and I could feel the soft fabric of her bra against my palms—black lace, I realized, as my fingers found the curve of her ass beneath the thin blanket.
"You know," I murmured, squeezing gently and earning a sharp intake of breath, "you look incredible in this."
Pepper's cheeks flushed pink. "I'm a mess," she protested weakly. "I have bed head and my mascara's probably smeared everywhere from crying last night—"
"You're beautiful."
"Blake—"
"I'm serious." I held her gaze, letting her see that I meant every word. "You're absolutely perfect."
Her blush deepened, spreading down her neck and across her collarbone in a way that made my blood heat. I reached up, fingers finding the clasp of her bra between her shoulder blades, and flicked it open. The fabric loosened immediately.
Pepper gasped softly as I slid the straps down her arms, baring her to me, and then my mouth was on her—kissing the soft swell of her breast, my tongue circling one pink nipple before I took it between my lips.
"Blake—" Her fingers tightened in my hair, her back arching into the contact. A quiet moan spilled from her throat, breathless and sweet.
I switched to her other breast, lavishing the same attention, feeling her nipple harden against my tongue. She tasted like clean skin and faint perfume, warm and perfect and mine.
But then her hand pressed against my chest—gentle but firm.
"Wait," she breathed, and I immediately pulled back, looking up at her with concern.
"Too much?"
"No, God no." Pepper's cheeks were still flushed, her breathing uneven, her pupils blown wide. She looked thoroughly debauched and I loved it. "But—your family. Your mom and Akeno and Tony—they'll want to know you're awake. That you're okay." She bit her lip, her expression conflicted. "And I really, really need a shower. I feel disgusting."
I opened my mouth to argue, she didn't feel disgusting at all, she was incredible, but she pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me.
"We have plenty of time to fool around later," she promised, her voice going soft and warm in a way that sent heat pooling low in my gut. "But right now? Family first. Then I'm getting cleaned up. Then—" Her eyes darkened with unmistakable intent. "Then you can do whatever you want to me."
I groaned, dropping my head back against the pillow. "You're killing me here, Pepper."
"Good." She grinned, leaning down to press one more quick, teasing kiss to my mouth before pulling away entirely. "Consider it payback for making me worry."
Pepper headed to the bathroom while I pulled out some clothes and started getting dressed. She was right of course, Pepper was incredibly smart like that. I made a mental list of everyone I should visit and decided I should say thanks to Asia before anything else because I was sure she was the reason I woke up with no bruises or broken ribs.
I heard the shower turn on the next room and couldn't help but chuckle to myself at Pepper's earlier words. This tiny Japanese town was pretty freaking crazy wasn't it? At least I didn't think we'd be staying much longer, but that's something I'd figure out once I met up with everyone and they could see I was ok.
– Azazel –
Azazel was glad that Baraqiel returned with Kokabiel so quickly. But there was one question running through Azazel's mind…
"Where the fuck is Kokabiel's legion…?" he muttered to himself when it was discovered that while the leader might have been captured, there were still hundreds of fallen angels that had gone rogue and were unaccounted for…
XXX
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