{Azazel POV}
I hadn't planned to be out tonight.
I was just wandering—stretching my wings, so to speak. Kuoh Town was quiet on the surface, but something in the air had been off for days now. Subtle shifts. Growing tension. A little crackle of divine, devilish, and… something else.
Three factions brushing shoulders always makes for good gossip.
And I do enjoy a little gossip.
Then I felt it.
A flicker. Not loud, not flashy—but precise. Like a scalpel slicing the fabric of space. A barrier. Quick and contained. Centered around an alley near the old church ruins.
Interesting.
I changed course, letting my wings carry me across the rooftops like a silent breeze. When I reached the source, I crouched low, peering down through the magical veil.
And there he was.
Malrik.
I'd heard whispers about him—mostly nonsense from low-level agents. A human. Supposedly awakened a Sacred Gear. No divine record. No angelic observation logs. No demonic contracts. An absolute anomaly.
Frankly? I thought it was just the usual gossip from overexcited rookies.
But now… now I was staring right at him.
And across from him, as expected—Donaseek. Wings out, posture full of arrogance. I should've known he'd make a mess of things sooner or later.
Still, watching this scene unfold?
I thought I'd see some posturing. A scuffle. Maybe Malrik would surprise me with a cute little trick or two.
But no.
He didn't even blink.
Didn't tense. Didn't posture. Didn't react the way most people did when confronted by a fully-armed Fallen Angel.
He looked…
Annoyed. Like someone had bumped his coffee.
Then he lifted his hand.
The space behind him didn't glow—it fractured.
And then—
My eyes widened.
Weapons.
Not one. Not a dozen.
Thousands.
They didn't materialize in a puff of light. They broke into existence. Reality shattered around them as if the world itself couldn't quite handle what it was being asked to conjure.
Swords of divine light. Axes humming with demonic force. Spears tipped in celestial flame. Blades from realms I didn't even recognize.
Weapons of gods, monsters, warlords, and legends.
All summoned by a human.
I stood there, jaw tight, completely still—actually shocked. I haven't felt that in centuries.
Donaseek? Poor bastard didn't even get to scream properly.
One gesture from Malrik and the sky rained hell. Not fire. Not lightning. Steel.
He was impaled from every angle. Torn through. Swallowed beneath a flood of divine and demonic force. And Malrik?
Didn't even watch.
He turned away before the first weapon hit.
Like it wasn't worth his attention.
Like it was… routine.
And then, silence.
No dramatic line. No flashy pose.
He just walked away.
Hands in his pockets. Shadows curling at his heels.
I stood on that rooftop, wind tugging at my coat, and for the first time in a long while—
I felt a chill.
That wasn't just a Sacred Gear.
That was something new. Something dangerous.
No chant. No incantation. Just will and control. A Gear that defied all system logic. Pure, instinctual creation magic… on an industrial scale.
And the wielder?
Didn't even look serious.
I narrowed my eyes.
That level of power… and no faction had claimed him? Not the Church. Not Heaven. Not Hell. Not even the strays from the Grigori.
How had he slipped past everyone?
And more importantly…
Could I bring him in?
I rose slowly to my feet, gaze fixed on the direction he vanished toward. My wings spread silently behind me.
"So… the anomaly," I murmured. "Now you've got my attention."
Maybe it was time I stopped watching from the shadows.
And had a little chat.
——
The shattered remnants of the barrier flickered like glass in the air before vanishing completely.
By the time Rias and Sona's Peerages arrived at the alley, it was already over.
What met their eyes was nothing short of devastation.
The narrow street was half-collapsed, scorched black and carved with deep gashes. The walls were cracked, windows shattered. At the center of the wreckage lay the ruined corpse of a Fallen Angel—wings torn, body pierced through by dozens of gouged holes, most of them still seeping faint traces of magic.
Silence hung over the group like a heavy fog.
No sign of a struggle. No signs of hesitation.
Just raw, overwhelming power.
"He's gone," Tsubaki said quietly, scanning the area with narrowed eyes. "The fight ended before we could even get close."
Rias stepped forward, staring down at the broken alley. Her crimson hair caught the moonlight, her expression unreadable.
Sona stood beside her, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. "This is strange," she murmured. "He was always calm. Playful. Never serious."
Rias glanced at her. "Yeah… I've never seen him angry. He flirts, teases, cracks jokes… but this?" Her voice lowered. "This is something else."
Kiba stepped ahead of the others, eyes scanning the crater, his voice thoughtful. "When I sparred with him, he was holding back. I thought I knew how much—but clearly, I didn't."
Koneko crouched near the remains, sniffing the air subtly. Her golden eyes narrowed. "He's strong," she said simply. "Stronger than any of us. I can smell it."
Issei, standing stiffly a few paces back, stared with wide eyes. "He did… all this? Alone?" His voice cracked. "Just how strong is he…?"
Reya and Momo stood side by side, both looking stunned. Momo's usual smile was absent. "Honestly," she said softly, "I never expected this. He always felt like someone playing around. This doesn't feel like that."
Tsubasa's fists were clenched. Not in fear—but in awe. "He crushed a mid-tier Fallen Angel without even being here for more than a minute."
Tomoe glanced around, visibly shaken. "What kind of Sacred Gear does that?"
Sona adjusted her glasses again. "It's more than just his Gear," she said quietly. "This level of precision… it's controlled. He knew exactly how much force to use. That's not just power—it's discipline."
There was a pause.
Rias exhaled slowly, folding her arms. "Whatever it was that triggered him… it wasn't random."
Rias didn't answer right away. Instead, she stared into the ruins—thoughtful, calculating.
Sona looked over. "We need to keep a closer eye on him."
Rias nodded. "Agreed. But not to interfere."
Kiba stepped back. "To understand."
And standing at the edge of the alley, watching as the moonlight bathed the shattered street, the Peerages of Gremory and Sitri realized something quietly, almost at once.
Malrik was no longer just a charming anomaly.
He was something much more dangerous.
And the game they were all playing?
Had just changed.