3rd Person POV
Time had lost all meaning.
Arto's room was lit only by the soft glow of the desk lamp and the occasional flicker of hovering test sigils. Pages of the primer lay scattered—covered in dense notes, cross-references, and newly drawn translation matrices. His handwriting, precise even in exhaustion, filled every margin. Empty tea cups—courtesy of a sleepless summoning of minor refreshment spells—stood in a neat row at the edge of the desk.
He was deep in the flow state, pen moving without pause, when a soft, sleepy voice broke the silence. "Arto... what are you doing this early in the morning?"
He blinked, pen slowing. Turning in his chair, he saw Rias in the doorway—hair tousled from sleep, wearing a loose silk nightgown that fell to mid-thigh. Her eyes were half-lidded, but concern sharpened them as she took in the scene: the littered desk, the hovering runes, and Arto himself—shirt sleeves rolled up, eyes bloodshot but bright with focus.
Arto glanced groggily toward the window. The first pale gold of dawn was creeping over the horizon. "It's morning already..." he muttered, more to himself than her.
Rias caught it instantly. She stepped fully into the room, arms crossing as her voice took on that familiar mix of worry and exasperation. "Arto. Don't tell me you stayed up all night working at your desk?"
Arto blinked, the sudden transition from the abstract geometry of mana-flow to the physical reality of the room making his head swim. He tried to shift his posture, but his lower back protested with a sharp, audible crack. He set the pen down at last, rolling his shoulders with a wince. The motion made him aware of how stiff he was—hours hunched over paper, mana thrumming constantly through his hands. "...Maybe."
Rias sighed, walking over and placing a hand on his forehead as if checking for fever. "You didn't sleep at all these for another 3 days, didn't you?" She noticed the amount of pre-made food is stacking on his desk and under the desk, along with countless cups of coffee, it seems he snuck out of the clubhouse by night to go buy food and coffee from the nearby convenience stores.
Arto looked at her, his gaze momentarily drifting. "I need to complete it, Rias, the formulas, they are working well, integrating seamlessly into the new system. Just a few more formulas, Rias, let me finish then I'll go to sleep"
Rias didn't buy it. She didn't care about the matrices right now; she cared about the man who looked like he was one strong breeze away from collapsing. With a decisive movement, she reached over and snapped the notebook shut, ignoring his instinctive protest. "The freaking formulas can wait. You, however, cannot. You are a genius, Arto, but you are not a machine. Even a mercenary needs to sleep, or he becomes a liability."
Before he could protest, Rias stepped right up to the desk chair.
With effortless strength—devil heritage making her far more powerful than her graceful figure suggested—she slid her arms around his waist and lifted him clean off the seat.
Arto's eyes widened in pure, startled surprise. For a split second he went rigid, arms hovering uselessly in the air, as though his brain hadn't quite processed that a woman half his size could hoist him like he weighed nothing. "Rias—?"
She didn't give him time to finish. With a playful little toss, she deposited him onto the mattress. He landed with a soft bounce, still wide-eyed. Before he could sit up, Rias followed—climbing onto the bed and immediately wrapping herself around him.
Her arms looped across his chest, holding him firmly against her. One leg slid between his, intertwining until there was no escape. Her head settled on his shoulder, crimson hair spilling over his collarbone like warm silk. She pressed close—soft, warm, and unapologetically possessive.
"Sleep a little, Arto," she murmured against his neck. "You told me you value this human life. Dying from lack of sleep isn't noble enough for me to press that Knight piece into your chest."
Arto lay there for a long moment, the rhythmic thrum of Rias's heartbeat against his ribs acting as a far more effective sedative than any spell. The frantic noise of the formulas—the overlapping geometries and the relentless pursuit of efficiency—began to fade, replaced by the scent of roses and the heavy, comforting warmth of her presence. He tried to maintain a shred of his mercenary dignity, but as his muscles finally surrendered to the mattress, he let out a long, shuddering exhale and relaxed into her.
"You're... incredibly bossy for a clan heir," he whispered, his voice raspy from days of silence and caffeine.
Rias let out a soft, triumphant hum, tightening her hold. "It's part of my charm. Now shut up and close your eyes."
He didn't fight her. The darkness that claimed him was not the cold, oppressive void of his past, but a velvet haze induced by sheer physical exhaustion. For a few hours, the world of political leverage, Sitri spies, and revolutionary mana-tech ceased to exist. There was only the steady rise and fall of Rias's breathing and the feeling of being anchored to something tangible.
When he finally stirred, the room was filled with the golden brilliance of a high noon sun. He woke not to the sound of an alarm, but to the feeling of a small, warm hand brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Rias was still there, though she had shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to watch him wake. She looked radiant in the daylight, her expression softening into something deeply tender.
Rias's POV
Darkness. Not the comforting kind that comes with closed eyes or a power outage—no, this was absolute, suffocating, living darkness. It pressed against my skin like cold oil, heavy enough to make every breath feel borrowed.
I woke up in it. No warning. No transition. One moment I was curled against Arto's warm chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as exhaustion finally claimed him after his all-nighter. The next... nothing.
My devil eyes adjusted instantly—crimson glow illuminating my own hands, the curve of my arms, the fall of my hair—but beyond that faint bubble of self-light, the void refused to yield. No walls. No ceiling. No floor texture beyond unnaturally smooth, featureless stone that stretched forever.
I stood slowly, wings half-unfurling on instinct. The air tasted stale, metallic, like old blood left to congeal. My heart began to hammer. "Hello?" My voice echoed strangely—swallowed almost immediately, as if the darkness had teeth.
Nothing answered. I reached for the peerage bond—Akeno? Kiba? Koneko? Arto?—and felt only empty silence. Not even static. The connection was gone, severed clean.
Panic rose like bile in my throat. No. Stay calm. Think. I dropped to one knee, pressing my palm flat against the ground to steady myself. Deep breath. Another. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The way my mother taught me when I was small and the weight of the Gremory name first started pressing down.
Last memory: pinning Arto to the bed after he refused to sleep. Wrapping myself around him. His quiet surrender. His warmth. Then... nothing. Questions swirled. Where am I? How did I get here? Where is Arto?
I forced myself to stand again. Panic wouldn't help. Directionless wandering wouldn't either. But standing still felt worse—like surrendering to whatever this place wanted. I chose a direction at random and walked. One step. Two. The ground never changed. No slope, no cracks, no sound but my own heartbeat and the soft tap of my bare feet.
Minutes bled into what felt like hours. My legs trembled—not from fatigue, but from the creeping dread that I might walk off an unseen edge into oblivion. My wings twitched, wanting to fly, but the memory of endless upward nothing earlier kept them folded.
Eventually, exhaustion forced me to sit again. I hugged my knees, wings wrapping around myself like a cocoon. Think, Rias. You're the heiress of destruction. You don't break.
I tried to recall every teleportation mishap, every dimensional trap I'd studied. Nothing matched this sensory deprivation. No ley-line interference. No sealing ward signature. Just... absence.
And Arto was missing. That hurt worse than the dark. I stood once more. Walking was better than waiting to be consumed. I opened my wings and launched upward—higher, higher—until vertigo made me stop. Still nothing. Just black in every direction.
I landed. The impact barely echoed. Then I felt it. A pressure at my back—massive, malignant, hungry. Instinct screamed. I threw myself forward.
BOOM.
The ground where I'd stood shattered. An axe larger than my entire body embedded itself in the stone, sending shockwaves up my legs. I rolled, came up in a crouch, and faced it.
The creature was nightmare-made-flesh. Pale, bloated skin stretched over a grotesque, muscular frame. Glowing red eyes set in a face that had no right to exist. One arm ended in claws; the other fused into the haft of that monstrous axe. A distended belly hung low, as though stuffed with the remains of everything it had ever killed.
It didn't roar. It just advanced—slow, inevitable. I fired Power of Destruction without thinking. Crimson orbs streaked through the dark and struck true—burning craters across its chest. It staggered, black ichor oozing from the wounds. But it kept coming. I retreated, firing again and again. The burns deepened. Blood flowed. Its movements slowed.
I focused—joints, eyes. One orb took an eye. It howled—a sound like tearing metal. Blind, it swung wildly. I closed the distance. A massive orb of concentrated Power formed between my palms—larger than my head, swirling with annihilating force.
I hurled it. The creature's head vanished in a crimson detonation. The body toppled. Silence. Victory trembled through me—shaky, adrenaline-fueled.
Then more presences. Dozens. Hundreds. Red eyes opened in the dark, surrounding me in a tightening circle. Axes raised. I shot skyward, wings beating furiously. Below, the horde collided in confusion—blades and claws tearing into each other. Some fell, crushed by their own kind.
Hope flickered. Then—sound. Metal on metal. Explosive impacts. Roaring wind. From my right. And with it... light. Dim at first—blue-white, flickering like a distant star. But growing. I banked hard, flying toward it at full speed. The closer I got, the clearer the scene became.
The darkness was surrounding the blue flame, tide after tide came from all direction, hitting the fire like washing over a shore, but the fire prevailed as if it was a resilient lighthouse in the black sea.
But the darkness won't stay back and watch the fire light burn them away, they pushed harder on the fire, coiling around it like a serpent, folding itself one layer over another to snuff out the fire for good. I can feel my hope rise and fall constantly to the appearance of the only source of light....and hope, that there are something, or someone else here with me. 'Please, don't die...please...' I pleaded to myself as I flew towards it as fast as I could
But as the tidal waves of darkness swallowed the light, so fell my hope "No....no...no...." I mummured, my wings straining until the muscles screamed. I didn't care about the fatigue; I didn't care that my mana was dipping into the red. I dove, cutting through the air like a crimson streak, desperate to breach the wall of monsters before they could extinguish that singular, flickering flame.
Both of my hands came together, a large sphere of destruction was form, I need to push it away before it suffocated the light. But before I could conjure up anything...."Arghhh!" I was pulled down by the leg by something.
When I turned back, my heart dropped a beat when seeing a huge black tendril shot up from the dark sea wrapping around my leg, pulling me down with a force my wings could barely keep me in the sky
Another one shot up, cupping both of my hands, putting the orb of destruction out like a candle. I screamed, wings beating in a frantic, useless blur against the oppressive weight.
The tendrils were like living iron, dragging me down toward the churning mass of red eyes and jagged blades. 'Is this how I'm going to die?' I asked myself as another tendril wrapped around my waist, my wings have given out, and I began to plummet.
'What a weakling I am' a scolding sounds bitter, but it's true, before I could receive any meaningful guidance from a person who truly knows what to do, I'm in this situation, dying by something more powerful than I am, out of my own oblivion and weakness. As I plummet, the red eyes below open wider, ready to slice through my flesh like paper. I close my eyes, bracing for the impact of a thousand blades.
Then....a bubble started blowing up from the place where the light was snuffed out, growing at exponential speed, the tendrils around me suddenly stopped like the dark sea has another priority, the tides move again, crashing on the bubble, applying more weight, pressing more forces, folding again and again to stop whatever is blowing it up, and then...
The bubble burst with the force of a miniature sun. And from it, a huge magic circle flew up in the sky and from it, a rain of arrow came down like a meteor shower, pushing back the darkness as screeching and screaming sound spread all over the place, like the sea is wounded.
The ground is no different, fire pillars flared up from below the dark surface, surrounding the giant magic circle like an unbreakable nexus of light. And in the gap between the pillars, blue fire starts breathing out, burning everything around it. I can feel my eyes illuminated but can't close them before this gorgeous performance of light.
The tendrils let go of me as I spread my wings again, using every ounce of stamina I have to keep myself in the sky and fly towards the nexus of the explosion. The darkness didn't just retreat; it disintegrated. The air, once thick with the scent of metallic blood, was now scorched clean by the heat of a thousand suns. In the center of the crater, standing amidst the dying embers of the blue fire, was a figure.
That armor, I know it too well, it's of the man that I met just a week ago, it's Arto, Arto Abyssgard, standing alone at the center of the nexus, commanding the fortress of light. I flew through the outer wall with no problem as I see him, no word could explain how relieved I am, he is here, he is alive and he is the one who saved me. I dove towards him, my wings barely fluttering, my feet hitting the ground with a heavy thud as I crashed into him with all my strength, hugging him so tight that I almost knock him back.
"Arto! Arto!" I cried out, my voice shaking. "I thought... I thought I was alone! Where are we? What is this place?" Arto looks at me as his hood fell of his head because of my tackle and his expression is...no less surprised than me "Rias? What are you doing here? How did you get to this place?"
He didn't move for a second, his body rigid, before his arms finally circled around me, pulling me tight against the cold, hard plates of his armor. The contrast was jarring—the freezing metal of his gear against the warmth of my skin—but it was the most comforting thing I had ever felt. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched my own. He wasn't just surprised; he was shaken. For the first time since I'd known him, the mercenary's composure had cracked.
"I don't know," I sobbed into his chest, the adrenaline finally giving way to a crushing exhaustion. "I woke up in the dark. There were monsters... these things with axes... and then I saw your light. I thought I was hallucinating."
Arto stepped back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze scanning me for injuries with a clinical, desperate intensity. He didn't let go of my shoulders. "I'll explain everything to you later, but I must ask you now, can you fight? Can you assist me?" The questions as I can feel the nexus trembling under the pressure of the monsters pushing in like dark tsunamis.
I nodded, though my mana reserves were flickering. "Yes, but I'm not at full strength." He nodded also "Good enough," he muttered, his voice dropping back into that cold, tactical register. "Stay close to me. This place is falling soon, cover me, okay?" I can feel my strength coming back to me as he applied a spell into my back before turning back to the monsters around us breaking in.
And with a flick of his fingers, a sword was summoned in his hand, and with a twist of his wrist, it extends into a sword spear as he got into his fighting position "Ready?"
"Ready," I whispered, the spell he'd cast on my back pulsing with a strange, rhythmic heat that chased away the chill of the void. It wasn't just mana; it was a catalyst, a synthetic boost that synchronized my heartbeat to the frequency of his own. For the first time, I didn't feel like a fragile heiress being protected; I felt like a weapon being honed.
The darkness didn't wait for us to finish our synchronization. With a sound like a thousand breaking mirrors, the horizon collapsed. The same red-eyed horrors that had hunted me surged forward, but they were no longer disorganized. They moved in a phalanx, a wall of jagged steel and bloated flesh, their axes locking together to form a crushing wave.
Arto didn't hesitate. He didn't even breathe. He launched himself forward, the sword-spear becoming a blur of silver and blue flame. He didn't just strike; he carved. Each thrust of the spear released a concentrated burst of purified energy—the result of the Stabilizer's logic applied to combat. Every impact created a miniature supernova, shredding the monsters from the inside out.
"Now, Rias! High overhead!" he roared. I didn't question him. I soared, my wings snapping open with renewed vigor. As I reached the zenith of the dark sky, I didn't just fire orbs; I channeled the catalyst Arto had given me. The Power of Destruction didn't just explode—it flowed.
I rained down curtains of crimson annihilation, carving a wide, scorched corridor through the horde, creating a vacuum of death that Arto used to penetrate the center of the formation. And from this position, I can witness how he fights, and all I can say it was the perfect combination of magic and combat.
The sword-spear is also his staff. Arto didn't just slash; he wove. In the heartbeat between a thrust and a parry, his free hand flicked through the air, sketching invisible sigils that ignited into pillars of blue fire. He was fighting as if the battlefield were a chalkboard and the monsters were merely errors to be erased. Every movement was an economy of motion, a masterclass in lethality that made the peerage's training seem like child's play.
As the last of the front line disintegrated, Arto suddenly pivoted, his blade catching a descending axe with a spark that lit up the void. He didn't push back; he used the monster's own momentum to vault himself higher, spinning in a tight arc. "Rias! Shift your focus to the twelve o'clock position!"
I reacted instantly, banking hard to the right. I saw them—a swarm of smaller, spindly creatures, their limbs like needles, attempting to seep through the gaps in the fire pillars to snuff out the core. I didn't wait for a command. I dove, my Power of Destruction condensing into a singular, piercing beam that incinerated the flankers in a flash of violet-red heat.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto and chibi Rias fighting together]
They kept coming...More....Always more.
The darkness birthed them faster than we could kill them. My arms began to ache from the constant casting; sweat stung my eyes. For every ten I erased, twenty took their place. A claw raked the air inches from my wing. An axe buried itself where my foot had been a heartbeat earlier.
I was being overwhelmed. A wall of monsters closed in—too many, too fast.
Then Arto was there. He appeared in a blur of steel and light, sword flashing in a wide crescent that severed limbs and heads in one stroke. His free arm hooked around my waist, yanking me behind him as a barrage of his own spells detonated—blue lances punching through the front line like artillery.
"Stay close," he growled, voice rough but steady. I pressed against his back—felt the heat of him, the tremor of exhaustion he refused to show.
The tide surged again. He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes sharp even through the chaos. "Time for you to learn new skills, Rias." I blinked, dodging a claw that came too close. "Mid-battle?"
He nodded once—then spun, sword cleaving through three monsters in a single motion. "Best way. Think of something more creative than simple orbs. Shape the Power of Destruction differently. Compress it. Chain it. Pierce instead of explode. I'll help you build and perfect it."
I couldn't believe my ears, this man is truly trying to fight his own battle at the forefront while teaching me how to use my own magic?
"Now!" Arto commanded, his voice cutting through the screeching of the horde. He didn't wait for me to ask how. He suddenly reached back, his hand gripping my wrist with a firm, steady pressure. He didn't pull me away from the fray; instead, he guided my hand in a sharp, descending arc, forcing me to direct a concentrated burst of my Power of Destruction downward.
Instead of the usual expansive blast, the catalyst he had placed on my back reacted, compressing the energy into a thin, vibrating line. It didn't explode; it sliced. The resulting beam of crimson energy tore through the ground, creating a jagged canyon of annihilation that split the oncoming phalanx in two.
"That's it," he grunted, pivoting to deflect a massive axe with a metallic clang. "Stop thinking of your power as a hammer. Start thinking of it as a needle. The Power of Destruction doesn't just erase—it can displace. If you compress the focal point, you can pierce through any defense, even the void's."
I felt a surge of exhilaration. It was terrifying, yes, but for the first time in my life, my eyes are truly opened to what my power is truly capable of. I didn't just follow his lead; I began to experiment, twisting the beam of destruction into a spiraling vortex that sucked the smaller creatures in before detonating in a focused implosion.
Arto let out a short, sharp huff of approval. "Exactly. Now, don't let the rhythm drop." He shifted his stance, the sword-spear humming with an intensity that made the air around us vibrate. As the monsters converged for another desperate assault, Arto didn't retreat. He stepped into the eye of the storm, his movements becoming a blur of clinical precision.
The space he created for me, I won't waste them, I gathered Power of Destruction between my palms—not the familiar sphere, but something new. I forced the energy narrower, tighter, spinning it like a drill until it screamed with density. A crimson lance took shape—long, thin, unstable, humming with barely contained annihilation.
Arto sensed the shift without looking. He adjusted seamlessly—sword-spear flashing to draw the front line's attention, spells blooming to shield my flank. "Now!" he roared.
I thrust my arm forward. The lance shot out—faster than any orb I'd ever thrown, a red streak that punched clean through the first monster's chest, the second's throat, the third's skull—drilling a perfect tunnel before detonating at the far end in a controlled crimson burst.
Bodies collapsed in a straight line, smoking and severed. The effect rippled through the horde—momentary confusion, a gap in the tide. Arto's voice cut through the chaos, calm and approving even mid-battle. "Good. Tighter compression next time. Less waste on exit."
I was already forming the next one. This time I tried chaining—three smaller spears linked by threads of destruction energy, flexible like a whip. I cracked it overhead. The chain lashed out, wrapping around a cluster of monsters before the links exploded in sequence—boom, boom, boom—shredding flesh and bone in a widening circle.
Arto fought beside me now, no longer just protecting my back. We moved in sync—he the precise blade clearing paths, me the overwhelming force erasing ranks. "Angle the release—ten degrees left on the chain!" he called between strikes.
I adjusted mid-cast. The next chain whipped exactly where a fresh wave was forming, disrupting their charge before it began. "Perfect. Now pierce and hold—don't detonate immediately."
I formed another lance—this one longer, thinner. I hurled it into the thickest cluster and held the explosion, letting the spear burrow deep before releasing. The monsters hesitated—only a fraction of a second, but enough.
Arto seized it, charging forward with a roar that shook the void itself. His sword became a blur of light and steel; magic circles flared in rapid succession—barriers to block, lances to impale, bursts to scatter. I matched him step for step, new shapes flowing from my hands faster than thought.
A spiraling disc that sliced horizontally through ranks. A cluster of needle-like darts that pierced multiple targets before exploding. A pulsating wave that pushed back an entire flank, giving us breathing room.
Every correction he gave, I applied instantly...Every success fed the next attempt. The darkness still pressed in—endless, relentless, but I can keep up, with him helping me.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Rias cultivating weapons made of her own Power of Destruction]
The tide finally eased—just a fraction.
The endless waves of pale horrors thinned, their roars growing distant. Corpses littered the unseen ground around us, smoking and dissolving into black mist. My lungs burned, arms trembling from the constant casting, but the space to breathe—actual seconds without something trying to kill us—felt like a miracle.
I hovered beside Arto, wings beating slowly to keep altitude. He stood on the ground below, sword-spear planted point-down like a cane, chest heaving. Blood streaked his armor; fresh cuts crossed older ones. His helmet was gone—lost somewhere in the chaos—revealing sweat-soaked hair and eyes that still burned with unyielding focus.
We had carved out a small circle of light in the endless dark. For now. I dropped to the ground beside him, legs shaky. "Arto..." I managed between breaths. "The waves... they're slowing." He didn't relax. If anything, his posture stiffened. "Rias," he said, voice low and grim. "Prepare yourself. We're running out of time."
I frowned, wiping blood—mine or theirs, I couldn't tell—from my cheek. "Running out of time? We're winning. They're retreating—"
"No." He turned to me, eyes deadly serious. "This is the lull before the storm. The big one of tonight is coming." My stomach dropped. "The... big one?" He nodded once, gripping his weapon tighter. "Every night here, the darkness births something worse. A sythesis abomination that holds everything this place has learned. Bigger. Smarter. Stronger than the rest combined. The waves thin out to gather strength for it."
I felt the temperature plunge. The silence that followed wasn't peaceful; it was an vacuum, sucking the remaining warmth from the air. Then, the ground beneath us didn't just shake—it groaned.
A sound like a mountain being torn in half echoed from the depths of the void, and the horizon began to fold. The darkness, which had been a sea of individuals, suddenly converged, pulling inward like a massive, swirling drain.
The ground shuddered harder now—deep, rhythmic impacts that vibrated through my bones. The lesser monsters had vanished entirely, retreating into the dark like scavengers fleeing a greater predator.
Arto straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders once as if loosening muscles that had fought for hours without rest. Blood—his own and the black ichor of countless slain horrors—streaked his cracked armor. His sword, nicked and battered, gleamed faintly in the dim blue light of his remaining spells.
He turned toward the approaching presence. "Well," he said, voice low and edged with grim anticipation, "it's time to give it something new to learn." New spell circles ignited in both his palms—complex, layered matrices I didn't recognize, glowing with that same crystalline azure light. Runes crawled up the hilt of his sword-spear, wrapping the blade in shifting patterns that hurt to look at directly.
"Cover for me, okay? And be creative with your power, after we win, I'll explain everything" I didn't need a second invitation. I felt the shift in the air before I saw the enemy; the void didn't just darken, it solidified. From the swirling vortex of the horizon, a shape emerged that defied every law of biology and magic I knew.
It was a colossus of fused nightmares—a towering mass of obsidian flesh and jagged bone, with a dozen mismatched limbs ending in blades and tentacles. Its face was a hollowed-out void, save for a single, pulsating core of violet energy that thrummed like a dying star.
The pressure it exerted was physical, a gravitational weight that tried to pin my wings to the ground. As it roared—a sound that felt like a psychic scream—it lunged. It didn't move like a creature; it flickered, teleporting in short, jagged bursts that bridged the distance in a heartbeat.
"Now!" Arto screamed as he launched himself towards the giant form, his weapon gleaming with magic, an arc of light shot out of his weapon, hitting the monster, pushing it back a little, but it's unfazed as it lifted its giant fist with a speed that can't be possible for such a giant form.
But it didn't at the man in the forefront, it's aiming at...me. The giant fist descended like a falling moon, the sheer displacement of air creating a sonic boom that rattled my teeth. I didn't have time to fly away.
Instinct, sharpened by the last few hours of Arto's brutal tutelage, took over. Instead of panicking, I focused. I didn't launch an orb; I projected a flat, dense plate of concentrated destruction energy directly beneath me, using the explosive recoil to catapult myself upward and backward in a jagged zig-zag.
The fist hit the spot where I had been standing, creating a giant crater, but it's not done, before the hand was cut off by Arto, it opened, revealing a magic circle aiming right at me. "Rias, don't look at the light!" Arto yelled as the hand fell off the monster's form
I blinked, and for a split second, a flash of blinding, iridescent light surged from the monster's palm. It wasn't an attack of force, but of perception—a psychic shockwave that tried to rewrite my senses.
My vision blurred, the void shifting into a distorted mirror of my own memories, but I felt the rhythmic heat of the catalyst on my back. It acted like an anchor, pulling me back from the brink of hallucination. I snapped my eyes shut, trusting the sound of Arto's voice over the lies of my own sight. "Behind you!" he roared.
I didn't open my eyes; I felt the displacement of air. I spun, my wings snapping shut to reduce my profile, and launched a needle-thin lance of destruction blindly toward the sound of the monster's breathing. It connected, a wet thud followed by a scream of agony. The beast howled, the lance having pierced through its secondary set of eyes.
But it's far from done as its hand soon regrew with an insane speed, but just enough for Arto to come to me and casted a spell on my head "Are you alright?" I blinked, the world snapping back into focus as the spell he'd cast—a cooling, mental clarity ward—washed over my mind. "I'm fine," I breathed, though my heart was still drumming a frantic tattoo against my ribs. "It tried to trick me."
"It's an adaptive predator," Arto replied, his voice tight. He didn't let go of my shoulder, his gaze locked on the colossus. "It has learned that you're a weak point, so it's aiming at you, will you give it that chance?" Before I could answer, his focus shifted back to the giant and what it's doing.
Surrounding us now is a done of magic circle, flaring in violet light and then it started shooting at us. Arto's hands moved quickly in response, forming a shield around us to block the strike, but the monster has had a plan, it big fist connected with the shield, shaking it violently while the spells are still shooting at us from the top.
"Don't just stand there, Rias! Use the recoil!" Arto yelled, his voice straining under the pressure of the impact. He wasn't just blocking; he was absorbing. I could see the blue energy of his shield vibrating, humming with a frequency that felt like it was building toward a breaking point.
I didn't hesitate. I looked around and noticed, the tiny canals in the structure of his barrier, I can work with this. Coming closer to the shield as it received another blow "Rias, what are you doing?" Arto asked, but I already had the answer. I didn't just fire into the shield; I pressed my palms against the vibrating blue surface and poured my Power of Destruction into the gaps of his barrier.
The power seep into the structure of the shield, creating red veins all around the barrier, rendering everything hitting it useless as it destroyed them completely on contact, even the fist of the monster was evaporated completely when it touched the shield.
Arto's eyes widened. He didn't just see the tactical advantage; he felt the sudden relief of the pressure. By feeding the Power of Destruction into his barrier, I hadn't just reinforced it; I had turned it into a caustic, erasing mirror. The colossus roared, a sound of genuine confusion and pain as its own massive limb was deleted upon contact, leaving a cauterized, smoking stump.
"A destructive filter..." Arto muttered, his voice filled with a rare spark of genuine awe. "You're using my barrier as a lens to focus your energy. Rias, that's—"
"Now!" I interrupted, my voice ringing with a newfound confidence. "Push it!" He shifted his weight, his muscles bulging under the armor as he gave one final, explosive shove. The barrier didn't just move; it detonated outward.
The combined force of his kinetic push and my concentrated power into the dome, destroying it completely before the wave hits the giant monster, its skin were flayed out of its form, revealing a beating core of violet energy.
The colossus was thrown backward, its massive form skipping across the platform like a stone on water. It tried to right itself, healing at a speed that seems impossible, but happening. I can feel myself waning from that attack, but Arto didn't allow me to fall "Concentrate your power on one last blow, I will keep its core from healing"
Arto didn't wait for me to find my footing. He launched himself forward, a streak of azure light that bridged the gap in a fraction of a second. He didn't strike with his blade; instead, he slammed his palm directly into the exposed, pulsing core.
A massive, crystalline seal of blue energy erupted from his hand, pinning the beast to the void's floor. The monster shrieked, its regeneration fighting against the seal, the violet energy of its heart clashing with Arto's azure lock in a violent, sparking strobe.
"Now, Rias! Everything you have!" he roared, his voice strained. He was pouring every ounce of his remaining mana into the seal, his armor beginning to crack under the sheer pressure of the beast's desperate attempt to break free.
I didn't think about the fatigue or the way my wings felt like lead. I soared, not in a graceful arc, but in a jagged, violent dive. As I fell, I didn't form a spear or a lance; I formed a singularity. I pulled the Power of Destruction inward, tighter and tighter, until the crimson energy ceased to be a light and became a void—a microscopic point of absolute erasure that screamed with a high-pitched, metallic frequency.
I plummeted straight toward the exposed core, the wind whipping my hair into a frenzy. At the last possible second, I slammed my palm onto the center of that singularity, driving it directly into the pulsating violet heart of the beast.
The world went silent.
For a heartbeat, there was no sound, no wind, and no pain. Then, the singularity expanded. A pillar of crimson annihilation erupted from the core, tearing through the monster's obsidian flesh and surging upward into the void. The beast didn't even have time to scream; it was simply deleted, its form unraveling into countless shards of black glass that evaporated before they hit the ground.
And as the death of the monster came, something illuminating captured my attention, even from behind, Arto turned to look at it first "It's done" I get myself to look at the light behind me and what I saw was nothing short from spectacular.
And sword of blue fire is launching down the place from high above, puncturing a hole in the solid ground, and from it, a wave of blue fire washed through the arena. I didn't have time to shield myself, but when the flame brushed against my skin, it didn't hurt, it was....warm.
And with that, all of wounds are healed, and all of my fatigue disappeared with the flame. I looked at my hands, then at Arto, who stood amidst the dying embers of the blue fire. The oppressive weight of the void had lifted, replaced by a serene, humming silence. For the first time since we had arrived in this nightmare, the air didn't taste of iron and ozone; it felt clean.
"We've won, Rias, good job." Arto's voice was softer now, the adrenaline receding to leave a heavy, honest exhaustion in its wake. He walked to me, patting my head like a proud teacher "That magic integration was spot on, I was surprised for real, how did you think of that?"
I let out a long, shaky breath, leaning into him as the last of the blue flames flickered out. "You taught me to stop thinking of my power as a hammer," I whispered, looking up at him. The warmth of the flame had healed my skin, but the mental toll of the battle remained. "I just... I wanted to be useful. I didn't want to be the one you had to protect."
Arto let out a small, genuine chuckle, the kind of sound that felt out of place in this desolate void but perfectly right between the two of us. "You were useful. More than useful. You were a force of nature." He sighed, glancing up at the puncture hole the blue sword had created in the sky. "Let's rest a little at the firey sword, we still have some time before waking up"
"Waking up?" I asked, my voice sounding small in the sudden quiet. Arto didn't stop, he kept going towards the sword now has made a bonfire around it "Yep, waking up, come, let me tell you what this place is"
We sat beside the blue flames, the heat not searing but comforting, like a heavy blanket on a winter night. I watched the way the light played across Arto's face; he looked older here, the weariness in his eyes speaking of a thousand battles I could only imagine. He leaned towards the bonfire, staring into the fire.
"This place… is my dream." My eyes widened. "Your… dream?" He nodded, still not looking at me. "Yep. This is my dream realm. The place I go to when I sleep. Everyday"
I stared at him, the concept barely registering. I had always known Arto was an enigma, a man with a history erased by the cruelty of others, but the idea that he lived a second, violent life every time he closed his eyes was staggering. "Every night? You fight these things... every single night?"
He gave a small, tired shrug. "All the way from my past life until now, I thought when I was in the Void that it had let go of me, but it didn't, now it's here again with me, in this new world, new life...to haunt me when I sleep"
I shifted closer—until our shoulders touched, until I could feel the warmth of him despite the cold void around us. "You've been doing this… alone? For centuries?"
He nodded, slow and heavy. "Yes. It's a kind of… training. No." He corrected himself, voice rough. "No… it's like a murderous learning mechanic." I blinked, completely lost again. "O~kay? What do you mean by 'murderous learning mechanic'?"
Arto went very still. For a long moment he didn't answer, as if I'd asked him to open a door he'd spent lifetimes trying to keep locked. His gaze stayed on the bonfire—the same shade of blue as the flames that had burned where his eyes should be during the fight.
"I told you before," he finally said, voice low and distant. "I was trained to be a living weapon. And this place… it's a replica of what I was forced to endure every single day of my past life. A battle against an army of ever-evolving monsters, designed to break me again and again."
He swallowed. "The price for losing was steep. No food. No water. Not even a bed to sleep on."
His fingers curled slightly against the ground. "This place was born from desperation—my own subconscious trying to survive. It needed a way to help me win when I was awake, so I could earn food and water in the real arena. So it created the Dark Arena. A battleground where my mind forces me to fight… to win… to survive."
He looked at me then, eyes shadowed but painfully honest. "And just like the waking arena, if I die here… it forces me awake. No more sleep for the rest of the night." My heart cracked. I stared at him—at the scars, the exhaustion, the quiet strength that had carried him through millennia of this—and felt tears burn behind my eyes.
This wasn't just a nightmare. This was torture. Self-inflicted, endless, necessary torture. All so he could stay alive in a world that had treated him like less than human. "So when you said 'me' earlier…" I whispered, voice trembling. "These monsters… they came straight from you?"
"Yes." He gave a small, bitter smile. "It's a learning mechanic. This place evolves every day to break me the same way I was broken in the real arena. Today's tactics won't work tomorrow. So I have to stay sharp. Creative. Always adapting."
He looked back at the fire. "Because here, I'm fighting my own ability to learn." Silence fell—soft, heavy, heartbreaking. I shifted even closer, until there was no space left between us. The bonfire's blue flames painted soft light across his scarred face, making the exhaustion in his eyes look almost gentle. "So," I said quietly, searching his expression, "the way you process information—the way you make tactics and spells on the fly, execute them perfectly while guiding me with my own magic…"
He nodded again, a faint, wry smile tugging at his lips. "Yes. It all came from this place." He gestured vaguely at the dark horizon beyond the fire's reach. "I have to think fast and accurately to win, to survive, to get food, drink and proper place to sleep in the constant winter. So I did." He paused, then added with a touch of tired humor. "Cool, right?"
I didn't laugh. The "coolness" of the feat was drowned out by the sheer weight of the loneliness he'd described. To think that while the world slept, Arto was locked in a cycle of systemic slaughter just to keep his edge—it made the silence of the void feel suffocating.
I didn't say anything; instead, I reached out and gripped his hand, my fingers interlocking with his. His palm was calloused and rough, but he squeezed back with a gentleness that contradicted everything he'd just told me about being a weapon.
"It's not cool, Arto," I whispered, leaning my head against his shoulder. "It's sad, for your fate, I can't imagine doing all of this for three thousands years, it's way beyond my comprehension because I'm just 17 years old, and you...you've been doing this for lifetime longer than both of my parents combined. All I can offer is my support, it's meaningless, I know, but as I won't give up on you."
Arto went quiet, his gaze drifting from the blue fire to the way my hand clung to his. For a long time, he didn't speak, and I wondered if he was fighting the urge to push me away out of some misplaced sense of duty to his own isolation. Then, he let out a long, shuddering breath and shifted, pulling me closer until I was tucked firmly against his side.
"It's not meaningless, Rias," he murmured, his voice sounding thicker than usual. "For the first time in... well, since this cycle began, I had someone here with me, I don't know how you ended up here in this place, maybe it's because you were sleeping next to me. But it warmed my heart knowing I am not alone against this, even for a few hours."
We stayed like that for a long time, the silence of the void no longer feeling predatory, but peaceful. The blue bonfire cast flickering shadows across the obsidian ground, humming with a low, resonant frequency that seemed to vibrate in my very marrow.
I closed my eyes, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against my ear—a constant, living reminder that despite the horrors he'd endured, he was here, he was real, and he was breathing.
"Does it ever stop?" I asked softly, my voice muffled by his cloak. "The fighting? When you close your eyes, do you ever just... see a field of flowers? Or a quiet city? Or something that isn't trying to kill you?"
Arto was silent for a moment. I felt him shift, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know, but it has never stopped since the moment it began, I'm used to it now, it kept me sharp in the mind, and the body. Even the silence here is just a countdown to the next wave," he admitted, his voice devoid of bitterness, replaced by a hollow kind of acceptance. "The mind doesn't know how to imagine peace when survival is the only currency you've ever owned."
He looked down at me, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something different in his eyes—not the tactical calculation of a soldier or the weariness of a survivor, but a raw, vulnerable curiosity. "But tonight was different. For the first time in an eternity, the arena did more than just torturing me, it honed you into something more powerful, that's more than I could expect, you didn't panick, that's the most important thing, you listened, learned and executed well in a near-death situation, that's more than I could ever expect, not mentioning that destructive shield, that was the real hightlight of the night."
I felt a swell of pride that nearly eclipsed the pity I felt for him. I shifted, looking up at him with a determined expression. "You're giving me too much credits, Arto, you did most of the jobs anyway. But if this is where you have to be every night, then I don't want you doing it alone anymore. I don't know how to 'enter' your dreams on command, but if there is a way, I'll find it."
Arto looked at me, his expression softening into something truly tender. He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. "You can barely handle the politics of the Underworld, Rias. You don't need to invite a nightmare into your sleep."
"It's not a nightmare if I'm fighting beside you," I countered, my voice firm. He shook his head, the smile is still on his lips "You naive girl, Rias, this first circle is awalys the easiest because my mind knows nothing of you or your fighting style, don't get too cocky, princess"
I puffed out my cheeks, leaning back against his shoulder. "I'm not being cocky. I'm being determined. There's a difference." Arto chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. He looked up at the blue sword as it starts to flare up into a pillar of light shooting into the dark sky
Arto stood slowly, joints creaking in protest after the long battle. He brushed dirt and ichor from his cracked armor and offered me his hand. "It's a signal," he said quietly. "We're waking up."
I took his hand without hesitation. His grip was firm, steady—scarred palm against mine. "Come, Rias. Let's wake up." He paused, looking down at me with a small, apologetic smile. "But I must warn you… you'll feel a little sore when you move."
3rd Person POV
The room was bathed in the warm, slanted light of late afternoon bleeding into dusk. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the walls in deep oranges and purples through the half-open curtains.
Arto stirred first. His body felt like it had been through a war—because, in a way, it had. Every muscle ached with the pleasant soreness of deep, uninterrupted sleep. He blinked slowly, registering the unfamiliar weight across his chest.
She was curled against him, head pillowed on his shoulder, one arm draped possessively over his torso. Her crimson hair spilled across the pillow and his shirt like spilled wine. Her breathing was soft and even, face relaxed in a way he rarely saw when she was awake.
For a moment, Arto didn't move, simply staring at the ceiling and listening to the silence of the room. It was a stark, jarring contrast to the screaming void and the crashing of obsidian shards he had lived in for hours.
He felt the slight tremor in her shoulder, a residual echo of the mental strain from the battle. Rias stirred, her eyelashes fluttering as she slowly blinked open her eyes. For a few seconds, she looked confused, her gaze darting around the room as if searching for the blue bonfire or the towering colossus. Then, she looked up at him, and the memory of the dream—and the battle, most importantly, what she learned about him—flooded back.
"Good morning, Rias" She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she tightened her grip on his shirt, pulling herself closer until her forehead pressed against his chin. A small, shaky exhale escaped her, and Arto felt the warmth of it against his skin. The silence that followed wasn't the heavy, suffocating void of the Dark Arena, but something softer—a shared understanding that transcended the boundaries of sleep and wakefulness.
"It felt so real," Rias whispered, her voice thick with the remnants of exhaustion. "The way you looked at the fire... the things you said. Arto, why didn't you tell me?"
Arto shifted, his muscles protesting with a dull ache that mirrored the physical toll of the dream. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before settling gently on the small of her back. "Because it's a burden of my own, it was not your concern, also, I didn't know it could be accessed by someone else other than myself," he admitted, his voice raspy from the lingering silence of the void. "The dream realm is a closed loop. For you to have fallen in, to have fought beside me... that shouldn't be possible."
Rias pulled back slightly, her gaze searching his. The vulnerability he had shown by the blue fire was still there, tucked behind the mask of the stoic mercenary. "It's possible because we're synchronized, Arto. You've been teaching me your logic, your timing, your way of seeing the battlefield. Maybe we just... clicked." She smiled, though it was tinged with a lingering sadness. "But to think you've been fighting those things every night for three thousand years... Arto, that's not training. That's a tragedy."
Arto let out a dry, short laugh, looking away toward the orange light of the fading sun. "I know, but it's not like I have any way to escape it, Rias. Until now, the only thing that changed was the variety of the monsters." He looked back at her, his eyes softening. "But you didn't look at me with pity in there. You looked at me like a comrade. That's the only version of this nightmare that has ever actually felt like a victory."
Rias didn't respond with words; instead, she shifted her weight, sliding upward to press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. The sudden warmth made Arto freeze, his breath hitching in his throat. He had survived the crushing gravity of a void colossus, but the simple touch of a girl's lips against his skin left him feeling more off-balance than any monster ever had.
"From now on," she murmured, her voice regaining its characteristic strength, "you aren't fighting alone. Whether it's in the waking world or that twisted arena of yours, I will find a way to be there. You've spent too long being a weapon, Arto. It's time you learned how to be a person again."
He opened his mouth to protest—to tell her that the risk was too great, that the Dark Arena would only evolve to target her—but the words died in his throat when he saw the sheer determination in her eyes. She wasn't asking for permission; she was stating a fact. For a man who had lived by the cold logic of survival, the sight of such unconditional warmth was more overwhelming than any spell he had ever cast.
Slowly, Arto leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. "You're a stubborn woman, Rias Gremory, but I must warn you, it won't be this easy the next time, I've known how you fight, meaning the Arena has learned your patterns and will have ways to counter. So while this can be a training way, it can't be everyday, you're still young, you still haven't been able to adapt as fast as I do, and I am in there, it will scale to my level, meaning the monsters will be more aggressive."
Rias didn't flinch, her gaze steady and warm. "Then you'll just have to spend more time teaching me. Besides," she added with a playful, mischievous glint in her eyes, "if the monsters get too aggressive, they can just deal with a focused blast of the Power of Destruction to the face. I'm quite good at that now."
Arto couldn't help it; he chuckled, the sound genuine and light, his threat didn't seem to faze her at all even with all his seriousness "Why do you have such confident, princess, is it blind arrogance, or is it that you trust me that much to protect you when the danger comes?"
Rias didn't blink. She shifted her weight, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look down at him, her expression softening into something profoundly honest. "It's neither arrogance nor a need for protection, Arto," she whispered. "It's the knowledge that for the first time in my life, I learnt something meaningful from someone who knows what to do. I trust you because you've shown me that I am more than just the one I am before marching into your dream."
She let out a soft sigh, the tension of the battle finally bleeding out of her muscles. "And besides," she added, her voice regaining that playful, Gremory confidence, "if I trust you to teach me how to fight, why wouldn't I trust you to keep me alive in a nightmare? You're a very efficient teacher, after all."
Arto felt a strange pressure in his chest—not the crushing weight of the void or the strain of a mana-lock, but a warmth that felt dangerously close to peace. He looked at her and realized that the boundaries he had spent millennia building to protect his sanity were starting to crumble.
He had spent three thousand years treating sleep as a tactical exercise, a grim necessity to ensure his survival. Now, for the first time, he found himself looking forward to the moment he closed his eyes, wondering if the logic of his mind would allow her to slip through the gates again.
"You're going to be the death of me, Rias," he murmured, though there was no bite in the words. "But okay, when you feel like you need a bit of training, come sleep with me..." he raised his eyebrow "It sounds....weird, somehow, do you feel that? Like a man and a woman who just met like a week ago, sleeping on the same bed...."
The warm, intimate quiet shattered like glass. "How romantic~ You two didn't even notice I was here." The voice—sweet, melodic, laced with ice—sent identical chills racing down Arto and Rias's spines. They knew that tone all too well.
Akeno.
Rias's head snapped up from Arto's shoulder. Arto stiffened beneath her, eyes widening. From the shadows near the desk, Akeno rose gracefully—hair still slightly tousled from sleep, wearing a loose silk robe that clung in all the right (or wrong) places. Her violet eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of amusement, hurt, and something far more predatory.
That smile—beautiful, terrifying—was fixed firmly in place. "So what I suspected was true," she said softly, each word precise as a scalpel. "You limited my time with my Arto so you could have him all to yourself." She began walking toward the bed, slow and deliberate, hips swaying with exaggerated grace. "And you said you'd never abuse your power as King in personal matters."
Rias leaped backward, nearly rolling off the edge of the bed in her haste to create some distance. Her face, previously soft with affection, was now a shade of crimson that matched her hair. "Akeno! How long have you been standing there? And—what do you mean 'your Arto'?"
Akeno didn't stop her advance until she was looming over them, the silk of her robe brushing against the mattress. She leaned down, her eyes shimmering with a playful, predatory light as she looked from the flustered Rias to the stony-faced Arto. "Oh, please, Rias. You've been too comfortable with him lately, in his room like 24/7 for 'learning purposes' while not allowing me to sleep with him, that's what I call a hypocrite, Buchou," she teased, her voice a melodic purr.
Arto felt the sudden urge to teleport back into the void. He could handle a gravity-manipulating colossus and a phalanx of death-beasts, but the focused attention of Akeno Himejima was a different kind of danger entirely. He shifted awkwardly, trying to find a neutral position on the bed, but Rias was still hovering close, her flustered state making her movements clumsy.
"It wasn't like that!" Rias protested, her voice pitching higher. "He simply overworked himself again and I had to throw him to bed! There is nothing more to it!"
Akeno let out a soft, humming giggle, her gaze shifting to Arto. The predatory glint in her eyes softened into something more affectionate, though no less intense. "Did that include wrapping yourself possessively around the poor man's chest, Buchou? Because from where I was standing, it looked like a very thorough form of 'supervision.'"
Arto cleared his throat, feeling the heat creep up his neck. He tried to maintain his usual stoicism, but it was difficult when he was sandwiched between a flustered Gremory and a teasing Himejima. "We were... discussing tactics," he managed, though even to his own ears, the excuse sounded thin. "The dream realm is—"
"Shhh," Akeno interrupted, pressing a slender finger to his lips. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through him that felt more potent than a lightning strike. "No need for tactical explanations, Arto. I can see you're exhausted. You have that look in your eyes again—the one that says you've been fighting a war while the rest of us were dreaming of cakes and tea."
She shifted her weight, leaning closer until her scent—something like lilies and ozone—filled the space between them. "It's truly unfair. Rias gets to share your secrets in the dark, and I am left to wonder why my favorite mentor is so tired every morning."
She glanced at Rias, her smile widening. "I think a fair compromise is in order. Since Rias has had the monopoly on your company from the morning, I believe I am owed a similar level of... attention."
Rias, finally finding her footing, stood up and crossed her arms, her face still flushed but her expression regaining its authoritative edge. "Now wait just a moment, Akeno! We were in the middle of a very serious conversation about Arto's well-being!"
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand—Rias took the phone and looked at it, her eyes brightened as she answered "Yes?....An S-rank? Yes, yes, I'm on it....no, just me....don't worry, I can handle it.....serious? I am dead serious....log that in for me. Bye"
She ended the call and stands up from the bed, all the fluster disappeared, replaced by something that looks like....excitement. She comes to Akeno, who was about to tease her a littl more "You can have him the entire night, I'm heading out to hunt an S-rank stray,"
Rias says with a triumphant, almost smug smile. She glances back at Arto, her eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and mischief. "Be careful with him, Akeno. He's more fragile than he looks when he's just woken up."
Akeno's face shifted to how bluntly Rias spoke that line, an S-rank stray "Buchou, are you saying?" The redhead nodded almost immediately "No need to call them, I can handle this on my own" Akeno's eyes widened further to the sheer confidence Rias is exuding "Buchou, it's an S-rank...."
"I know, but I can take it, trust me, I'll treat you all to a meal when I return, probably before tomorrow's dawn" Rias didn't wait for a rebuttal. With a sudden, decisive motion, she leaned over the bed and pressed a quick, firm kiss to Arto's forehead—a silent promise of the growth she had achieved in the void—and then vanished in a swirl of crimson magic.
The sudden vacuum of her presence left the room feeling strangely quiet, though the tension between Arto and Akeno remained, thick and electric.
Arto stared at the empty spot where Rias had been, a faint smile touching his lips. He could feel the residue of her mana; it was sharper now, more concentrated, reflecting the lessons of the Dark Arena. She wasn't just confident; she was genuinely evolving.
"My, my," Akeno purred, her voice sliding back into that dangerous, honeyed territory. "Our little King has grown quite the appetite for danger. Or perhaps she's just eager to prove to you that she doesn't need your protection after all."
Arto shook his head, eyes glued to the place Rias just disappeared "She just wanted to display her new power, testing it on real fights, I hope she doesn't push herself too hard" Akeno tilted her head "I hope so too, but I am curious, what did she learn last night?"
Arto sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of the void. He looked at Akeno, seeing the genuine curiosity beneath her teasing facade. "She learned how to creative with her power, and it was....thoroughly tested, I believe she can pull this off, so don't worry, we will be treated to a fine meal when she is home." He tried to shift away from the edge of the bed, but Akeno moved with a fluid grace that closed the gap before he could even breathe.
Akeno didn't move away. Instead, she shifted, gliding over the mattress with a fluid grace that made the bed dip. She didn't stop until she was reclining beside him, her shoulder brushing his, the scent of lilies once again clouding his senses. She looked at him with an expression that was softer than her teasing, her violet eyes scanning the lingering fatigue in his posture.
"That's a relief hearing that from you, darling," she whispered, her hand coming to rest on his chest, right where Rias's head had been moments before, "now, we have the entire night. No interruptions. No tactical briefings. Just... us. Do you have any recommendation on what we should do~?"
Arto cleared his throat, trying and failing to look dignified "We should… go eat something first, Akeno," he said, voice steady despite the blush. "I haven't eaten anything all day. Maybe we can cook together?"
The suggestion was so genuinely earnest—so completely Arto—that Akeno's laughter softened into a warm, affectionate smile. She sat up fully, still straddling his lap but now with far less predatory intent. "Cook together?" she repeated, eyes sparkling. "On our date night?"
He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've never really cooked with someone before. It could be… nice." Akeno's expression melted—teasing giving way to something tender. "You're impossible," she murmured fondly. "How am I supposed to stay in seductress mode when you say things like that?"
She leaned down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to the tip of his nose—light, playful—before offering her hand. "Come on, darling. Let's feed you before you start digesting yourself."