The mountains loomed in eerie silence.
The cold night wind howled, carrying with it an ominous energy that clung to the air.
Piles of dust lay scattered across the ground.
Thin scratches marred the trees.
Among the wreckage, torn black cloaks and abandoned scythes littered the scene, their owners nowhere to be found.
Sona stood still, her gaze scanning the battlefield.
Around her, members of her peerage stood tense, unease settling over them.
Kiba Yuuto was the first to break the silence.
"What… happened here?"
His voice was usually calm, but now, it carried an edge of unease.
His normally warm expression was marred by a deep frown.
Momo trembled, her arms wrapping around herself as guilt clawed at her throat.
"Noel was with us. He was running right beside me, but then… he was gone."
She swallowed hard. "We were too focused on escaping. I—I didn't even realize when we lost him."
Her voice wavered, and the weight of regret pressed down on the group.
Tsubasa Yura placed a steadying hand on Momo's shoulder.
"Noel-kun probably stayed behind to buy some time." she said firmly.
Sona's brows knitted together, her mind racing.
"But… why is there no trace of demonic power?" she questioned, voice sharp with disbelief.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"No matter how little magic was used, something should remain. A signature, a remnant—anything."
That didn't make sense.
Akeno exhaled shakily, lowering her gaze.
"I don't understand it either." Guilt flickered across her face.
"I should have been paying closer attention. I should have—" She bit her lip, stopping herself.
Seeing the heavy atmosphere settle over everyone, Rias took charge.
"Kiba. Koneko." Her voice cut through the thick air.
"Find Noel-kun. Anything—any trace of where he might have gone."
Kiba nodded without hesitation.
"Understood."
Rias turned to Sona. "Call Serafall. I'll contact my brother. This isn't just an ambush—it's a diplomatic crisis. If the Grim Reapers of the Netherworld are involved, the stakes are higher than we thought."
Sona sucked in a breath and nodded.
Her logic returned, pushing back the emotions clouding her thoughts.
"You're right. We need to act, not grieve."
Koneko, usually composed, hesitated.
She scanned the battlefield, golden eyes narrowing.
"…Noel isn't the type to just disappear," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
There was an uncharacteristic edge to it.
She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms.
"Something isn't right."
Rias met her gaze, nodding in understanding.
"That's why we need to find out what happened. Fast."
Without another word, Kiba and Koneko vanished into the shadows, their search beginning.
——————✗—————
A dull, throbbing pain pulsed at my side.
My thoughts felt slow, heavy.
I tried to open my eyes, but the air was sharp, dry—cold.
A sudden sting forced them shut again.
I took a breath.
The air was frigid.
Each inhale felt like swallowing shards of ice, freezing me from the inside out.
I tried again, blinking against the cold. My vision was blurry.
But—nothing.
Only darkness.
I shifted—or at least, I tried to. Chains clinked.
Heavy.
Cold.
Something wrapped tight around both my wrists, sapping my strength with every passing second.
Where am I?
I turned my head, trying to make sense of the endless void.
Magic.
I called upon fire.
A small wisp flickered to life in my palm, casting a faint, flickering glow.
For a moment—there was light.
I winced, eyes squeezing shut against the sudden brightness.
When I opened them again—
Black ice.
The walls, the floor—everything was smooth, lifeless, dark.
A dull sheen reflected the faintest traces of movement, as if the ice itself was watching.
Then—darkness.
Huh?
I tried again. Fire flared in my hand—only to flicker out a second later.
The magic was being absorbed.
No—not just absorbed, disrupted.
I focused, shifting to another ability.
Threads.
I conjured them with my death energy—only for them to vanish, unraveled by an unseen force.
Magic absorption and disruption…
Creak.
A faint noise.
I turned.
A sliver of light spilled into the cell as a rectangular opening slowly widened.
Hooded figures stepped inside, each gripping a scythe.
Grim Reapers.
"Release the restraints first," one ordered.
Without hesitation, two of them moved, unfastening the chains from the wall.
"Get out."
A Reaper stepped forward, pointing his scythe at me.
Cold, deathly energy radiated from the weapon.
I exhaled, feeling the weight of the situation.
"Fine, fine—I get it."
Stepping out of the cell, I took in my surroundings.
A long corridor stretched before me, lined with identical doors.
The walls, floor, and ceiling—all black ice.
The only source of light?
Purple-tinted candles, flickering weakly along the walls.
Bland.
That was my first impression, but now wasn't the time to dwell on it.
How the hell do I get out of here?
"What are you doing? Get moving!"
A Reaper's voice sliced through my thoughts.
We continued walking down the corridor, the clinking of the chains in my hands echoing with each step.
As I walked, my mind raced.
I needed to figure something out.
My senses sharpened, scanning every inch of the environment for weaknesses, for an escape.
I glanced at the chains around my wrists, the cold metal biting into my skin.
A twinge of reluctance flickered within me.
Even with these chains, I was still strong enough to take down the Reapers in front of me.
As a Rook, my body was a fortress—enhanced strength, near-unshakable endurance, and raw, overwhelming power.
But I had to be careful.
A plan began to form, but first, I needed to know where I was.
Suddenly, we stopped.
One of the Reapers pushed open a grand door, or perhaps "enormous" would be a better word for it.
Beyond the threshold, I saw an endless stretch of tundra—icy winds whipping across the barren land.
Am I in Antarctica?
We stepped outside, the cold biting through the thin fabric of my clothes.
We kept walking.
"Let's go," the Reaper muttered.
"If we're lucky, we could get there by dawn."
The words caught me off guard.
I searched the sky, trying to gauge the time.
The sun hung high, near its peak.
By my guess, it was at least 11 AM, maybe 1 PM at the latest.
Are we really going to keep walking toward some unknown destination for the next 15 hours?
In this temperature?
Wow.
Just… wow.
This was going nowhere.
But with this open field and thick snow, an escape would be difficult to track.
If I was going to make a move, now was the time.
I pulled my hands behind my back, subtly focusing my energy.
I tried conjuring my threads with death energy.
The chains reacted instantly, draining the energy away.
But that didn't matter.
This was just trial and error.
I needed to create threads infused with the same level of death energy as the Reapers' scythes.
I experimented, adjusting the flow—too much, too little—until, finally.
I got it.
I stopped walking.
"What are you doing?" one of the Reapers demanded.
I didn't answer. I simply brought my hands forward, pretending to inspect the chains.
Summoning my threads again—this time with the correct balance—I saw it.
The weakness in the chains.
It burned into my mind like an engraved truth.
Sensing something was wrong, one of the Reapers stepped forward, scythe raised.
I met his gaze—then lashed out with the chains in my right hand.
The force sent him flying back several meters, crashing into the snow.
"Stop!"
Another Reaper lunged, scythe slashing toward me.
I remembered the weakness.
In one swift motion, I raised the chains in my left hand as a shield.
The scythe struck—
And the chains were sliced clean through.
"What?!"
The Reaper's voice cracked with shock.
The one who had attacked me wore a stunned expression—just before my foot slammed into his chest.
He flew back several meters, crashing into the snow.
"Don't use the sharp edge of your scythes! Go!"
Their leader barked the order, and the Reapers surged forward in eerie synchrony, scythes raised.
I exhaled, mist curling in the frigid air.
My grip tightened around the chain in my right hand.
The first strike came fast—I twisted my foot, kicking up snow as I dodged.
The blunt end of a scythe whistled past my face.
I struck back.
The chain snapped forward like a whip, coiling around a Reaper's arm.
With a sharp yank, I tore him off balance—then hurled him into another.
Another lunged.
I caught the shaft of his scythe with my left hand, pivoted, and drove my knee into his ribs.
A sharp crack.
He staggered.
Another attack—from behind.
I spun.
The chain lashed through the air like a serpent, its links wrapping around a scythe's handle.
With a savage pull, I ripped the weapon free—then drove my elbow into the attacker's chest.
The Reapers didn't stop.
They attacked in pairs, their movements a synchronized dance of death.
I ducked under a sweeping strike, then vaulted over another, my body twisting mid-air.
The chain snapped forward mid-spin, slamming into a Reaper and sending him crashing into the snow.
The cold stung my skin—
But adrenaline burned hotter.
A scythe came for my ribs—I blocked with my chain-wrapped arm.
The force sent a jolt up my bones, but I gritted my teeth and countered—a snap kick to the chest, sending the Reaper skidding back.
Without hesitation, I twisted the chains around my knuckles, turning them into a makeshift gauntlet.
I stepped in—drove my fist forward.
A sickening crunch.
The Reaper collapsed.
Four left.
They circled me now, more cautious.
I rolled my shoulders, shifting my stance as the chains slithered around my wrist.
My breath came in steady, frozen puffs.
Then—I moved.
I dashed forward, weaving through scythe strikes with razor-sharp precision.
The chains snapped out, catching a weapon mid-swing.
With a savage yank, I tore its wielder off balance—then spun, delivering a crushing heel kick.
The Reaper shot backward, crashing through the ice.
Two more lunged.
A scythe arced toward my skull—I raised my chain-wrapped forearm, absorbing the impact.
My free hand struck like a viper, fingers jamming into a pressure point at the Reaper's neck.
It reeled back, gasping.
The last one hesitated.
Big mistake.
The chains lashed forward, coiling around its leg in an instant.
With a violent pull, I ripped it off its feet, slamming it onto the ice.
Before it could recover, I was already on top of it—my knee digging into its chest, the chains tightening around its throat.
The blizzard howled, drowning out the silence of the fallen.
I rose to my feet, the chains slipping from my fingers.
A sharp exhale—a ghostly mist curling in the frozen air.
My gaze fell on the nearest scythe.
I picked it up.
Remembering the weakness in the chains, I turned the weapon in my grip and brought it down.
A sharp snap.
The metal links shattered.
Finally, surge of strength return.
Then, I looked back at the battlefield.
Bodies half-buried in the snow.
Scythes abandoned.
The wind howling through the silence.
I sighed—this time, with concern.
"...Where am I again?"