Shemhazai watched quietly from the sides of the office, his multiple wings folded tightly against his back. The office was too quiet for a normal day in the grigori.
Normally, this would be the moment Azazel would crack a joke. He'd complain about the sheer volume of paperwork required to keep the Grigori afloat, or make some offhand remark about how being Governor-General of the Fallen Angels was ninety percent bureaucracy and ten percent "looking cool in a trench coat." He was a man who lived for the thrill of research and the levity of the moment, a tinkerer who happened to lead an army.
But not today.
Today, Shemhazai wasn't looking at Azazel the scientist or Azazel the jokester. He was looking at Azazel the Fallen. Azazel the Goat. The General. The Supreme Leader, who had survived the Great War and carved out a home for his kin in the cracks between Heaven and Hell. This was the man who had seen the morning star fall and decided to build a city in the crater of war between two great powers.
How long had it been since he had seen this side of his old friend?
Azazel's face was like stone marble as he read a report in his hand. It hadn't come through official Grigori channels, no, it had been hand-delivered by a member of his "Watcher" unit, an elite of Fallen that answered only to him, to Azazel.
These were the ghosts of the Grigori, the ones most loyal to the Governor-General personally. Shemhazai was certain no more than twenty people in the entire world actually knew they existed. Some of them had been serving Azazel since the very moment they fell from grace in the Silver City.
Azazel didn't even acknowledge Shemhazai's presence. He simply kept reading, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper until, suddenly, all emotion drained from his face. It was the "General's Mask" as Benemune had once called it, when he lost all emotions in him and only started to do things by calculation with no empathy at all.
He dropped the report onto the desk and reached for a small blue stone resting beside it. Azazel stared at it as if it were a puzzle he couldn't solve, rolling it across the table surface with his left hand in a slow motion.
"Shemhazai."
The call snapped Shemhazai from his thoughts.
"Yes?"
"Tell me what you think of this." Without warning, Azazel tossed the stone. Shemhazai caught it easily, his fingers closing around a cold, impossibly smooth surface.
At first glance, it looked like a simple, polished mineral. But as Shemhazai focused his senses, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
"Is this…?"
"Hmph," Azazel hummed, his voice somber. "Yeah. That was my reaction, too. I had to run an analysis three times before I believed both my senses and the result."
When he got it, he thought he'd lost his edge and was sensing things wrong, and took it to his lab, the result showed the same thing he had sensed.
"How is this even possible?" Shemhazai whispered, looking at the stone with newfound reverence. "This is…"
"Pure mana," Azazel finished for him.
"Where did you get this?" Shemhazai demanded, his mind already racing through the implications. The things that they could do with something like this.
"My people got it from one of Yasaka's people in Kyoto," Azazel replied calmly. "It seems the Yokai Faction has gotten their hands on something extraordinary."
Azazel gestured for the stone. Shemhazai returned it, watching as the Governor-General closed his eyes. Slowly, Shemhazai sensed the mana within the stone begin to drain. It flowed, absorbed cleanly into Azazel's body with zero resistance. The stone dulled, turning a brittle, ash-grey before crumbling in Azazel's hand.
"That's… amazing," Shemhazai whispered. He understood the gravity immediately. What just happened now was Azazel taking in the mana and increasing his power, even if just by a bit, it worked. If they could mass-produce this, the Fallen could increase their power tenfold. They could rival the Seraphs of Heaven without needing the Sacred Gears.
"Were they able to secure more?"
Azazel nodded but remained frowning. He pulled open a drawer and placed seven more stones on the desk. "Just these. My men were lucky to get even this much."
"And the source? Did they find out where Yasaka is getting them?"
Azazel shook his head, his jaw tightening. "No. It seems Yasaka is far more ruthless than I gave her credit for."
He leaned back, his golden eyes narrowing. "Every Yokai given these stones is placed under a contract of sorts. We captured one of them to get answers out of him, but the moment he even thought about revealing what he knew to my interrogators… his heart stopped. instant death. It happened four more times before I ordered my people to stop. There was no use if Yasaka was willing to off her men like that just to keep where she got it safe."
Shemhazai clicked his tongue, impressed despite himself knowing he'd do the same in her position. He hadn't expected the "kind" leader of the Yokai to utilize such lethal insurance policies. "Any leads at all?"
"Not a damn thing," Azazel sighed, standing up and walking to the window to stare out at the artificial sky of their base. "I'm having the Watchers keep a close eye on Kyoto, but we have to be careful. If the Devils and others find out about this...."
He paused, his voice turning cold. "Gather the remaining Cadre in three hours. And send a message to Yasaka. Tell her I'm coming for a visit soon. Remind her she owes me a favor for that help last year.'"
"You think she'll sell out her supplier for a small favor?" Shemhazai asked skeptically.
"No. I expect her to lie to my face," Azazel smirked faintly. "But favors create conversations. Conversations create opportunities to slip up. Whoever is providing these stones… they just became the most interesting person in Japan."
Back in Shizuoka, the Takahashi household was experiencing a different kind of pressure.
The living room felt smaller than usual, and even the kids could feel the tension. It made the hair on one's arms stand up.
Kenji sat on the main couch, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. Aoi was tucked beside him, her expression a mirror of his calm, though her fingers were subtly tracing patterns, a nervous habit. Ayaka sat next to her, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, while Ren sat at the far end, looking at everyone in the room.
Opposite them sat the Volkov family, his wife's family sat. It was a sea of cold, aristocratic faces, each one more statuesque than the last.
Dmitri Volkov, Anastasia's father, sat at the head of their side. Beside him was Elizaveta, her mother, whose smile never quite reached her eyes. Then there were the older siblings, Mikhail, Katerina, Irina, and Viktor, and at the very end sat the twins, Anastasia's younger siblings, Nikolai and Sofia, who looked to be the same age as Aoi.
Anastasia entered the room carrying a tea tray. She didn't set it down with her usual grace, oh, not even close, as the tray hit the table, with an aggressive clack that made the teacups rattle.
She didn't offer a polite greeting. Instead, she sat down next to Ren, effectively placing all three of her children between her and Kenji.
"Ah, this is wonderful tea, my dear," Dmitri said smoothly, taking a sip as if he hadn't noticed the frost in the room. He looked around the modest living room with the kind of pity one might show a well-kept stable.
"Indeed, daughter," Elizaveta added, setting her cup down with a delicate click. "Oh, my little girl... how I've missed you. You've grown quite into your features. Though I see you've adopted the... local fashion."
Kenji watched as Anastasia's face twisted into an angry scowl. "If you missed me so much, Mother, you should have visited. You've had fifteen years to find Shizuoka on a map."
"Well, we didn't think you wanted to see us, dear," Elizaveta interjected smoothly. "We gave you the space you so clearly desired. We were being... respectful of your little rebellion."
"Respectful?" Anastasia's voice was a low growl. "And suddenly you decided now would be the perfect time to invade my home? "
"Things have changed, Anastasia," Dmitri said, his voice carrying the weight of a command. "Please, where are my manners, You haven't even met your little siblings. Family should know one another. It is important for the Volkov legacy that the next generation recognizes their kin. Children, greet your sister and her family."
The twins stood up in perfect unison, their movements synchronized.
"Greetings, Elder Sister. Greetings, Elder Brother," they said in sync, giving a shallow, practiced bow before sitting back down.
Kenji looked at his wife and saw that her gaze didn't budge. She wasn't looking at the children, she was still staring at her father, her eyes reflecting a decade of resentment. But Dmitri was already shifting his focus to Kenji, as he ignored her, his gaze sharpening with intensity.
"Ah, Kenji. It has been a long time since we last met. How have you been? It's quite nice ot see you again," Dmitri spoke with a warmth that felt like wet paint.
'Nice?' Kenji thought incredulously.
This was the same man who, years ago, had looked at Kenji like he was a stain on the rug. He had called Kenji a "peasant," reaching beyond his status, a man not worthy of even laying eyes on the Volkov name. He had kicked Kenji out of the Volkov estate without a second thought, convinced that his daughter would eventually come to her senses once she grew tired of "playing house" with a commoner.
Now, he was acting like they were old war buddies.
Kenji smiled, but it didnt really reach his eyes. "I've been well, Dmitri. Better than expected, I'm sure. Life as a 'peasant' has been surprisingly lucrative."
"I can see that," Dmitri replied, his smile strained when Kenji said peasant, no doubt remembering what he had said a long time ago.
The man had never liked him, yet here he was trying to make nice. why? Well, Kenji could easily guess their reason. From the moment they entered his house, he had used observation on them.
Now he had an idea why his wife was such an abnormality when he had been training her.
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