Chapter 53: The Summit, Part 1

A/N: Sorry, I forgot Wednesday was my wife's birthday. Well, I didn't forget it was her birthday otherwise I'd be quite dead, what I forgot was that her birthday fell on a Wednesday and thus messed up my typing/upload schedule.

-----

Yfel’s dark dimension hummed with quiet power as all five Satans were seated in their thrones upon the dais in the dark. Ichigo sat back, fingers loose on the armrests, half-listening as Falbium finished his report.

“…which brings the total number of bases we’ve raided up to eleven now,” Falbium sighed, voice as dry as sand. “Full logistics and battle reports have been submitted already.” Ichigo’s eyes darted to the side as a magical interface popped into existence to his left. As he absently scrolled through the data, his mind instantly committed all the reports and numbers to memory.

“And yet…” Falbium continued, sounding exhausted. “Not one of the descendants of the Old Satans have shown themselves. Lending credence to Sirzechs’ suspicions they are gathering their forces for a larger counteroffensive.”

Ichigo’s eyes narrowed faintly. It made sense to him. Initially they had assumed that the Old Satan Faction would strike at the upcoming Rating Games Youth Tournament, but the Summit was also a likely target. Especially given their zealous hatred for the Angels and Fallen.

Ichigo’s gaze then caught something in the reports. “The captured resources suggest that their supply chains are sourced from outside the Underworld?” he asked sharply.

Falbium nodded as the other three Satans frowned, turning their attention to the data. “Partially, yes,” the Sin of Sloth drawled. “Intel reports indicate they have built their fair share of mid-size pocket realms to house their strongholds, but numerous confiscated items and supplies suggest they’re funneling provisions from outside. Either through fronts set up in the Human world, or through other illicit groups.”

“Potentially Khaos Brigade,” Ichigo supposed shrewdly.  

Again, Falbium nodded, but this time he fully slouched back into his throne and shut his eyes. Ichigo suppressed a snort of amusement. Evidently, the other Satan was done with his account.

Taking advantage of the silence, Serafall leaned forward in her throne with a bubbly smile. “On a brighter note, Odin, Zeus, and even Ra, have all agreed to sending a diplomatic delegation in the coming weeks. Provided the Summit with the other two Great Powers proves fruitful on our side.”

That caused a few brows to be raised amongst them.

“Odin and Zeus are hardly surprising,” Sirzechs mused. “Both pantheons have quite the precedent for establishing open and welcoming foreign policies. But Ra?” A small smile curved his lips. “That, I did not expect.”

And really, it was quite surprising. While not the staunch isolationist that was the Jade Emperor in mythic China, the Egyptian Sun tended to be rather aloof and uncaring of the larger universe. Preferring instead to focus on his own corner of existence and the ongoings of his pantheon.

Serafall offered a shrug. “I didn’t expect it either! But stranger still, our delegates are no longer in contact with Horus. It’s Set who is now leading the negotiations.”

Ajuka’s voice cut in calmly. “That is not so extraordinary, as Sutekh has always managed Egypt’s foreign dealings, it is his defined role within the Ennead, after all. What I do find strange is his absence so far. Horus would not normally be the one to deal with matters outside their borders.”

Ichigo let out a thoughtful hum, his fingers drumming on the stone arm of his throne.

He knew very little of the Egyptian pantheon, even less of Sutekh. Thought what he did know… well, long before he was born, Hell, long before even Sirzechs and the others were born, Tiamat once had a centuries-long romance with Egyptian immortal.

As if summoned by his mere thoughts, her presence brushed against his mind, cool and teasing. ‘Jealous, beloved?’

He smiled inwardly, matching her warmth. ‘Nope. I know where I stand in your heart.’

A pause, then her answering love swelled through their bond, and Ichigo fought to keep the affectionate smile off his face so that the other Satans wouldn’t know he was distracted. ‘Whatever he and I shared ended ages ago. Nephthys, though she had been the one to sever their bond, could not bear to see Sutekh happy with another. She begged Ra to banish me, and the Sun obliged. That was the end of it. We both have long since moved on.’

The ancient dragon’s voice faded, leaving behind a lingering warmth in his chest. And Ichigo exhaled as he returned his focus to the meeting.

“That concludes things on my side,” Serafall said brightly, throwing up a peace sign near her eye.

Sirzechs leaned lazily toward Ichigo, eyes glinting. “And you, littlest brother? Any other fathers you’ve brutalized recently?”

Ichigo rolled his eyes.

Despite the immense violence he had inflicted on their respective fathers, neither Sera nor Sirzechs seemed to care. Quite the opposite, they had both patted him on the back for asserting his authority as a Satan.

At first, Ichigo had been somewhat taken aback. But then, he rationalized the whole situation and, really, it made quite a bit of sense to him. Sera and Sirzechs were so far from being human that Ichigo had to remind himself that he needed to detach himself from his personal perspectives. It’s not like he had killed or permanently crippled either Pillars.

As such, Ichigo ignored Sirzechs’ jab entirely, and instead waved his hand, interacting with the magical UI that they used to send written reports to one another. “Due to the renewed civil war - by the way, we really should get around to announcing to the public we’re at war – Ajuka and Falbium’s ministries have bought up a lot of magical materials, causing shortages in the face of public demand and leading prices to skyrocket.”

“Sod off, Ichigo,” Falbium grumbled sleepily.

Ignoring him, Ichigo continued. “Which has also caused a sharp rise in smuggling bcause of military rationing laws for certain resources. And because there’s now smuggling, we also have an increased amount of banditry and thievery against said smugglers by other organized crime. With the rise of inter-Empire crime, on top of working with the Ministry of Intelligence to root out potential Old Satan sympathizers and the usual policing we already dealt with, the Ministry of Order would like to request an eleven percent budget increase.”

Sirzechs blinked once, before slowly looking around the dais. “All opposed?”  When no one said anything, Sirzechs gave Ichigo a small nod. “Budget increase approved.”

“Thanks,” Ichigo responded dryly. “That’s it on my end.”

 “Very well. Anyone have anything else to add?” And again, Sirzechs was met with silence. In fact, the other three Satans hardly seemed to be paying attention to Sirzechs at this point. Not that Ichigo blamed them. They were all quite busy these days and had much going on. Sirzechs chuckled and straightened himself in his throne. “Well then, meeting adjourned.”

Falbium immediately vanished, while Sera jumped out of her seat and began to stretch with an exaggerated yawn. “Good luck with the feather heads,” she said jovially. “Levia-tan, out!”

And she disappeared with her usual brand of flamboyant and pink clouds.

Ajuka, on the other hand, lingered for a moment, fixing Ichigo with his cool, grey eyes. A small cube of glowing green light, no larger than a die, formed in his hand. And he flicked it toward Ichigo, who caught it easily. He flipped it around between his fingers, and beneath its green glow, Ichigo could see it thrumming with layered wards and esoteric equations.

“That should suffice for your purposes,” Ajuka said simply.

Ichigo continued to analyze it in his palm but didn’t comment.

Ajuka’s gaze then swept between both him and Sirzechs. “You’d both do well to remember we’re already embroiled in one war,” Beelzebub said wryly. “Try not to start another with Michael or Azazel.”

Ichigo snorted and Sirzechs merely quirked an amused brow. And then Ajuka too disappeared without another word.

For a moment, silence stretched in Yfel. The dark universe rippling gently around the two remaining thrones. And then Sirzechs turned, grin boyish and eager.

“Well then!” he said excitedly. “Shall we?”

Ichigo rose, the cube vanishing into his coat pocket. “Let’s get this over with.”

-----

Meril tugged the knot of Ichigo’s tie into place with the fussy precision he had fully come to expect from her. Meanwhile, from across the room, his gaze landed on Grayfia-nee as she smoothed out the emerald folds of Sirzechs’ ceremonial robes. The contrast between them was almost comical: one Satan dressed like an everyday businessman heading to regular meeting, the other decorated like some over-the-top character straight out of a fantasy manga.

Why on earth Sirzechs insisted on wearing that ridiculous get up was beyond him. Honestly, those shoulder pauldrons of his were so impractical. He wouldn’t even be able to fit through most doors!

Almost as if reading his thoughts, Sirzechs eyed Ichigo with a faint curl of disapproval. “You know Ichigo, you really ought to ditch that human suit and wear something more appropriate. You can’t go wrong with traditional Devil fashion!”

Ichigo gave him a pointed stare. “You look like a late-’80s JRPG villain.”

Sirzechs straightened indignantly, chest puffing. “Bah! Nonsense! This is peak fashion!”

Ichigo arched a brow. “Peak fashion? Give up your title of Prince of Lies to whoever fed you that bullshit.”

Their exchange continued for the next few minutes, the two Satans volleying barbs back and forth with practiced ease. All the while, Meril and Grayfia endured it in silence, though the faintest twitch of Meril’s eye betrayed her irritation. Grayfia, of course, took it all in stride, having long since become used to the antics of her husband and their once-upon-a-time ward.

Finally, Meril spoke, her tone clipped but warm enough. “You look exceptionally handsome, my Prince.”

Ichigo flashed her a smile, while Grayfia offered her own agreement, though she added, “I only wish you would let me trim your hair. It hides your eyes.”

Ichigo reached up, brushing messy strands aside with no real effort to fix them. “Eh, it’s part of the aesthetic.”

Grayfia stepped closer, ignoring Sirzechs’ affronted glare. She adjusted his lapels and brushed his bangs aside, her cool fingertips gently grazing over his brow. He met her silver eyes and gave her a warm smile. She returned it, faint but genuine. “You really shouldn’t hide them, they’re rather expressive.”

Meril nodded firmly. “I agree.”

Sirzechs looked at them indignantly. “Uh, hello? I’m standing right here? Can you not flirt with our former pawn?”

Grayfia-nee rolled her eyes as she walked over to her husband and lightly smacked him in the stomach, causing him to let out a small ‘oof’.

Ichigo chuckled in amusement and adjusted his cuffs. “Ready, Mr. Charming?”

Sirzechs’ irritation melted as quickly as it came, replaced by an eager smile. “But of course, Mr. Alarming.”

Side by side, the two Satans stepped forward, space parting into a glowing gateway. Together they crossed the threshold, leaving the Underworld’s shadows behind as they entered the mortal world.

-----

As Ichigo stepped out into the Human world with Sirzechs beside him, he cast his gaze over the area below him.

It was high noon, and the ocean below rocked softly, glistening the same shade of blue that never failed to remind him of the Dragon King in his bed.

The island before them was a small place, barely a few miles across, but it stood out with its verdant slopes that sharply contrasted the deep blue waters. His eyes then traced the coastline, a ribbon of pale sand that was wrapped around dense, lush greenery. Japanese Maples and Fringe trees clung to the cliffsides, their dark branches twisting above foaming waves. His supernatural hearing easily picked out the cacophony of cicadas below.

As he turned his gaze to the western horizon, he picked out the Korean peninsula a few dozen miles away.

“Looks like we’re the first to arrive,” he remarked to Sirzechs, who hummed in agreement.

But then, Ichigo looked beyond the physical world and noted the thousands upon thousands of layers of mystical wards that covered the entire island, and the immediate mile of ocean that touched it.  Some were crude veils of concealment, no doubt wrought by mortal servants of the Shinto; others, however, hummed with latent divinity. He recognized the brushstrokes of their maker immediately, the radiant might woven around space and time was all too telling in his eyes.

Amaterasu.

Sirzechs’ voice broke the silence, carrying his thoughts aloud. “Concealment wards keeping humans away, and some strong privacy wards too. The latter are a bit more recent; I imagine for our benefit.” His green eyes narrowed. “Though I don’t sense any traps.”

Ichigo grunted softly. If there were traps, they’d be hidden better than that. Also, given he could sense Amaterasu’s touch all over those privacy wards, they would, rather conveniently, be utterly ineffective against her.

He rolled his eyes; she really did have a habit of eavesdropping.

He then folded his arms, the sea breeze tugging gently brushing long hair, and began to wait for the other four members of the Summit to arrive.

Though not for long, as the air rippled above the ocean, opposite from where he and Sirzechs floated in the sky. From the distortion stepped two figures, both radiating a dark, corrupted power that pressed against the air.

The first Ichigo recognized instantly.

Azazel, Governor of the Grigori, grinned wide and welcoming. A long black trench coat swept behind him, leather pants gleaming faintly in the sun. His dark hair was streaked with strands of gold, the remnant light of his once holy station in the White City. Behind him spread twelve wings, vast and black, each feather devouring light until the world warped grey around him.

Beside him flew another. Taller, heavier. His dark beard framed a weathered face, and his eyes remained shut as if he had no desire to look upon the world. He wore simple black robes, yet power clung to him all the same. Ten wings shadowed the sky behind Azazel's companion, but Ichigo felt the difference betweent the Cadre immediately. Azazel was by far the more powerful of the two.

He had studied numerous files and profiles of the prominent rulers of Heaven and the Grigori, so it was easy for him to recognize the being before him: Baraqiel the Thunderer. The Fallen who painted the signs of astrology with bolts of lightning.

“Ah!” Azazel’s voice rang across the sky, jovial and bright. “The whippersnappers!” He spread his arms wide as if greeting old friends.

Sirzechs inclined his head, chuckling in quiet amusement to himself. Ichigo merely nodded once.

“It’s been quite some time, Governor,” Sirzechs said from across the sea.

“It has!” Azazel said loudly. “What has it been, a hundred and twenty -thirty?- years now since that mess in the Sacrikend?”

“A mess your side started, if I recall correctly,” Sirzechs said with some mirth.

“Pffy, details.” Azazel’s eyes, sharp and shrewd beneath the grin, then slid toward Ichigo. “And this must be the new Satan!” He whistled, leaning in theatrically even though they stood nearly a mile apart. “I can see why dear, old Tiamat is so taken with you. Tall, dark, apocalyptic – totally her type! But uh…” His smile tilted. “Maybe tone down the seismic tantrums a tad bit, eh? Be a bit more mindful of your Fallen neighbors on the other side of the Underworld? Some of us need steady hands for delicate work.”

“I’ll be sure to move your concerns to the top of my priority list,” Ichigo replied dryly.

Azazel clapped his hands once, turning delighted towards Baraqiel. “See? Progress already! Diplomacy’s working, and we haven’t even officially started! And you and Shemhazai were so worried I’d get my head lopped off! Haha!” He leaned forward again, voice suddenly dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, though, dearest Tiamat isn’t till holding a grudge, is she? I mean, a few thousand years is enough time to get over one measly incident of infidelity, no?”

Ichigo stared at him blankly. “You’re welcome to come to Infernity and ask her yourself.”

Azazel waved him off instantly. “Uhh, I’ll take a rain check. Maybe next time.”

The flippant manner of talking which hid calculating glances, the rapid shifts in conversation and the consistent jovial mask: dear Lucifer, it was like being faced with another Urahara.

Before Ichigo say anything else, Azazel gestured to his companion. “Anyway, introductions! I am Azazel! Governor of the Grigori, Eldest of the Fallen, and the one blessed by dearest Father to bear the great weight of being so damn handsome. Oh, and this hirsute lug is Baraqiel, Cadre and Lord amongst the Fallen. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, newest Satan.”

Baraqiel inclined his head, the motion deliberate, respectful. But Ichigo could sense that the Fallen Lord was holding himself back somehow, as if there were something he wished to say but kept it to himself instead.

Dismissing the momentary curiosity, Ichigo returned his attention to Azazel and plainly said, “Ichigo Kurosaki, Sin of Wrath, Satan. Nice to meet you.”

Azazel chuckled. “And just with that little bit, you’ve already proven yourself a million times more agreeable than your predecessor. Better looking, too.”

Sirzechs’ lips curved slyly. “Don’t let that fool you. In some ways, he’s worse than the original.”

Ichigo snorted. “Look who’s talking. Like you’re not messed up in some ways more than the original Lucifer.”

And despite the lightness with which he spoke, Ichigo’s words had an unintended effect.

Azazel flinched - small, sharp, and almost imperceptible. But Ichigo caught it. Sirzechs saw it as well and his smile didn’t falter, though Ichigo noted something knowing lingered in his gaze.

But before Ichigo could press, a beam of resplendent light descended.

The sky split open, a column of gold piercing the sea below. Two angels emerged, their wings radiant, their very presence infusing the fabric of reality with holy energy, a diametric opposite to his and Sirzech’s mythic weight pressing and twisting the fabric of space and time around them.

Ichigo narrowed his eyes despite himself, the sight stirred old memories. Specifically, the day Aizen, Tōsen, and Ichimaru had absconded from Soul Society with Urahara’s Hōgyoku after their treachery had been revealed.

Michael, the High Seraph, landed first. His smile was warm, his aura steady and impossibly vast as twelve golden wings shone compassion and mercy onto the world. Behind him, Uriel glowered, his own holy aura promising to burn away the wickedness and darkness found in the most secluded corners of the Earth.

Michael’s golden eyes, brimming with warmth and gentleness turned towards him and Sirzechs. Ichigo was surprised that, unlike Uriel, Michael’s gaze held no sign of judgement nor holy vengeance. They were oddly accepting… and kind.

Ichigo found it somewhat unsettling.

“Dark Ones,” Michael acknowledged, his voice rich with song and joyous luster, so much so the earth’s colors seemed to shine more vibrant and beautiful.

His eyes then turned toward Azazel, and his language shifted to Angelic. The sound grated against Ichigo’s ears, high and pure like glass grinding on steel. It didn’t hurt, he was far too powerful for that, but it was an unpleasant sensation, nonetheless. Sirzechs grimaced equally beside him.

Michael’s smile thinned. “You have been avoiding me this past millennium, ‘Azaazeel.”

Azazel shrugged, all feigned nonchalance. “Well, there’s this whole cold war thing. In case you hadn’t noticed. Plus, I’ve been busy: running the Grigori, inventing new tech, weekend hikes through the Andromeda galaxy And, well…” His grin faltered, bitterness cracking through as he let out a small igh. “It’s never just you I have to see.”

Ichigo’s brow furrowed, even as Michael's radiance dimmed just an iota. The weight in Azazel's words was wrong. Heavy. He glanced at Sirzechs, but the elder Satan only tilted his head knowingly.

Then it clicked.

Azazel wasn’t talking about Michael. He was talking about Lucifer. The original. The now dead twin. It’s why he had flinched when Ichigo had brought him up.

He supposed, regardless of the circumstances, a dead brother was still a dead brother.

The silence stretched for a heartbeat too long.

Sirzechs, ever the one to break tension with charm, clapped his hands lightly. “Well then, now that greetings have been exchanged, pleasantries offered, and old wounds reopened - shall we get this show on the road?”

-----

The cellars of Bael Castle were silent save for the faint crackle of green witchlight sconces burning along the stone walls. The cellar itself sprawled like a subterranean labyrinth, with vaulted stone arches heavy with age. Rows of towering racks brimmed with bottles sealed in arcane energies, while massive barrels and ceramic jars lined the walls, floating in an orderly procession. Zekram Bael always did appreciate the cool air, tinged with oak, grapes, and a faint metallic tang.

In the moment, his fingers brushed delicately across the surface of a pair of wine jars, sealed with pressed grape leaves and inscribed with glyphs old enough to predate most of the current nobility. His eyes narrowed as he studied the craftsmanship, the way the clay still pulsed faintly with moon-fed magic, and more importantly, the painstakingly distilled wine within.

“These,” he said softly, mostly to himself, “were pressed from the Valack vines. Grapes cultivated only when the twin moons of the Underworld aligned in waning descent. Their fermentation is tied to that motion: harvest on the wrong night, drink when the moons are too full, and the taste curdles into ash.”

The maid standing beside him, with her dark skin and eyes the wrong shade of blue, tilted her head, offering a small smile. “Your collection is as remarkable as ever, my King.”

Collection? Thousands of years’ worth of careful deliberation made into an exact science of the most minute detail… defined as a meagre collection? Zekram’s lips curled in contempt.

With a flick of his finger, the air moved. One heartbeat, she stood there; the next, there was only drifting motes of ash falling to the cellar floor.

“Just a cheap imitation,” he muttered, shaking his head.

So servile, so eager to please. And speaking so confidently, ignorant of its own ignorance.

Devils, he sneered in his own mind.

Such wretched creatures. So miserable in their existence. Slaves and nothing more. The fodder for their armies. The playthings in castles. The laborers in their fields.

Demons had withered from their once glorious kingdoms, and how could they not? His kind fought amongst themselves as much as they did with their ancient enemies. But what was their greatest weakness, was also their greatest strength. The weak were culled, the strong remained to rule.

And yet, in the end, they were all brought low.

Vile and foul dragons.

The Outrage of the Heavenly Two had proven to be the final death knell of the Great War, and all Three Great Powers were left with their leaders consumed in dragon fire. And yet, his enmity with the Scaled Emperors ran older still.

How much longer must I endure?

Near wistfully, he returned to examining the jars, obsessively checking over the wine jars and their seals. Minutes ticked by and the echo of soft footsteps reached his ears. Another maid entered, bowing low. She was the same as the last - too much the same. Bleached hair, blue eyes, dusky skin. Always the same face. Always the same insult to an ancient memory.

“My King,” she said, voice quiet and even. “A report has come from the mortal world. The Satans have made contact with the Cadres and the Seraphim.”

Zekram snorted, half in contempt, half in amusement. “Woe to you, Lucifer. Look what has become of your legacy. Your shattered remnants now sit polite with the very brothers who you hated onto madness. Oh, piteous Lucifer.”

His eyes gleamed with dark mirth, though it quickly faded. “What of the Gremory and Sitri whelps?”

The maid did not hesitate. “Both have confined themselves to their castles, my King. They are refusing to meet with anyone and have cut off all communications. Even their closest retainers are turned away.”

Zekram gave another sharp exhale through his nose, a flicker of amusement tickling him. “So, the upstart heart-thief shows teeth after all. A measure of spine, however crude.” He turned, gaze cold and sharp. “Prepare me a full report of current movements in Infernity. I want every ripple and whisper on my desk before the next nightfall.”

The maid bowed again, hands folded before her. “Yes, my King.”

Again, a tide of revulsion arose from the subservient manner, and it twisted unpleasant in Zekram’s chest. His lips curled once more.

The air split a second time, and the maid dissolved into nothing, vaporized as if she had never been. The cellar fell silent again, save for the faint hiss of the witchlight.

No, he never had such a memory. Never servile, never submissive. His Heart was proud, arrogant and filled with a delightful viciousness.

How much longer must I endure?

-----

The peak of the island’s round mountain was rather unremarkable. It wasn’t a very tall mountain to begin with, but at its apex, surrounded by green forests, was a collection of rubble and broken boulders, and small clearing made, but a few meters across in total. At its center was a single white table shaped like a triangle, its edges sharp against the wind, with three simple benches placed to each side, made of the same white stone. There was no grandeur here, no thrones or gilded canopy. Just plain carved rock, bright under the noonday sun.

Ichigo hovered a few feet off the ground, arms crossed as he took in the sight. Of course it would be something like this. Small, cramped and just beyond what would otherwise be considered inconvenient. He could readily imagine Amaterasu’s onyx eyes glimmering with laughter. There was no doubt in his mind, she had done this on purpose. If all six of them went to sit, each species’ leaders would be forced shoulder to shoulder. Like little school children sharing desks.

It was the kind of mischief he would expect from Kunou trying to assert her dominance on the Yōkai clan kids. It took all his mental fortitude not to sigh in frustration before these mythical titans. Why were the women in his life like this?

But then, he could play that game too.

“Before we start,” Ichigo said, his tone deceptively mild, “we should set up our own wards. Privacy, protections, the usual. Wouldn’t want anyone listening in.”

The sun overhead burned a little brighter, and he forcefully held down a satisfied smirk.

Michael, wings furled neatly behind him, nodded with that easy solemnity. “A wise precaution. I agree.”

Azazel chuckled, his coat rippling in the sea breeze. “Last time I stepped under Demon wards, a continent ended up a smoking ruin. The Storm Giants still haven’t forgiven me.”

Sirzechs gave a faint laugh, green eyes glittering. “Sins of our forebearers aren’t ours to carry.”

Ichigo withheld an amused snort, and the joke was not lost on the others as Azazel threw his head back and laughed, while Michael’s golden eyes twinkled. Though Uriel somehow managed to glower even fiercer. After all, he and Sirzechs carried the literal Sins of their predecessors. To an even more terrifying degree, in he were being honest.  

One by one, the six knit their magicks. Angels spun golden veils of light, Fallen wove black strands sharp as glass, and the two Demons blanketed the island in their corruption. The layers interlocked, folding and hardening until no sight nor sound could escape.

Amaterasu’s irritation radiated down on his head as the sun’s glare sharpened like a fine needle. He tilted his gaze as the last of the sunlight managed to filter through the newfound barriers, and he gave the faintest, cheekiest wave. The light dimmed, ever so slightly.

He had a feeling she would get him back for this, but for the moment, Ichigo felt rather pleased with himself.

The six touched down around the table. Sirzechs, Michael, and Azazel took their seats first, each occupying a bench. Behind them, Ichigo, Uriel, and Baraqiel remained standing like grim protectors. Not that Ichigo minded. Sirzechs was far more suited to take on the responsibilities of negotiating and communicating what their Empire needed from this summit. Ichigo could always burn wings later if things went sideways.

But before Sirzechs could open his mouth, Baraqiel’s deep voice cut across the table. “Before we begin, I would request a private word with Satan.” His shut eyes did not waver as his face turned towards toward Ichigo.

Ichigo blinked once, mildly surprised. Sirzechs didn’t look shocked in the slightest, and neither did Azazel. Michael’s expression, however, cooled a fraction, though remained kind. Uriel, on the other hand, bristled like a hound smelling blood.

“Absolutely not!” the archangel snapped, wings flaring, golden feathers catching holy fire. “I will not allow such treachery! A Cadre and a Satan, alone? Do you take us for fools? I expected lies and schemes from your kind, but not ones so brazenly obvious!”

Baraqiel did not rise to the anger. His face was a mountain, his voice steady. “If you distrust me, then oversee us yourself. Stand at my shoulder and listen. I have nothing to hide, brother.”

Uriel’s eyes burned like twin suns. “You are no brother of mine!”

Michael raised a hand, his voice a balm against the tension. “If Uriel is allowed to bear witness, then I find it perfectly acceptable. Let no seed of mistrust be sown before we even begin.”

All eyes turned to Sirzechs. The elder Demon merely shrugged, turning his all too amused gaze on Ichigo. Ichgio realized Sirzechs was clearly leaving the decision to him.

Ichigo shrugged as well, hands in his pockets. “Sure. Why not?”

Uriel ground his teeth, but said nothing more.

Inside though, Ichigo weighed the moment with a detached curiosity. Baraqiel’s request wasn’t the sort of move he had expected.

But before anything else could be said, Baraqiel’s form shimmered, the edges of his silhouette bending like heat-haze before splitting away. A perfect magical clone peeled off from his body, wings unfurling before it darted silently into the trees.

Ichigo exhaled and, with a flick of his wrist, shaped a clone of his own; its crimson eyes flashing once before it followed in pursuit. Uriel grimaced but mirrored the act, his own radiant double launching after them. As the three constructs disappeared into the forest, Ichigo became aware of five sets of eyes fixed on him. He scowled back.

“What? I’m not the one who asked for this.”

Azazel gave him an appreciative glance. “You’re pretty adept at demon magic for someone who’s only been at this for a few years.”

Ichigo regarded him cooly. “I’m a fast learner, always have been.”

Michael looked on and said with a hint of sorrow, “Regrettable. You were a magnificent guardian of the dead. Would that you remained a shepherd of human souls.”

He responded with a shrug. “Like they say, Fate works in mysterious ways.”

“Indeed!” Sirzechs said with a wide grin. “I am very mysterious!”

Ichigo could only roll his eyes. But even then, his mind turned to his shared senses with his clone.

-----

The forest closed around them, muffling the sound of waves. Ichigo’s clone padded silently after Baraqiel’s, branches creaking under his steps until the trees broke into a clearing. A creek cut through the forest, its water cool and clear, slipping over smooth stones in an endless whisper.

Baraqiel’s avatar stood on the far bank, dark robes draped like storm clouds over his heavy frame. His shut eyes seemed to fix on Ichigo, who stood on the opposite bank of the creek. Above the small current, Uriel hovered with radiant wings, glaring down with open suspicion.

For a moment, no one spoke. The creek gurgled on and a small fish jumped and made a quiet splash.

Then Baraqiel inclined his head. His voice was deep, deliberate, carrying more sincerity than Ichigo expected. “My gratitude, Vile One, for permitting this conversation.” He turned slightly, gesturing toward the archangel above. “To both of you.”

Ichigo kept his expression leveled. “Don’t thank me yet,” he said flatly. “Let’s hear what you have to say. I’m curious what you think is worth dragging us away before the meeting even starts.”

Baraqiel’s head tilted. “I thought it would be obvious.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

“I wish to enquire of Akeno’s wellbeing.”

That caught him off guard. His crimson eyes narrowed. “Didn’t think you knew she was under my watch.”

“I have always kept eyes upon her,” Baraqiel answered, his tone grim but steady. “On her, and by extension, the Gremory princess’ fledgling group. What kind of father would I be not to?”

Ichigo’s face remained carefully neutral, but inside, his blood began to boil. A Cadre planting eyes and ears in Infernity itself? The gall of it set his jaw tight. He’d have to have Meril tighten security and maybe even order his Reavers to go on a few extra purges.

Baraqiel must have sensed his discomfort, because for the first time, his lips curved in a faint smile. “Would you begrudge a father his love for his child?”

Before Ichigo could answer, Uriel scoffed. The sound was full of venom.

Baraqiel turned his closed eyes towards the hovering archangel. “Something to add, brother?

“A father’s love,” he sneered, halo brightening in scorn. “Would that you had such thoughts ere you Fell.”

To Ichigo’s surprise, and clearly to Uriel’s as well, Baraqiel didn’t snap back. Instead, his aura dimmed, heavy with some dark and weighted sorrow. It pressed against the clearing, saturating the air in grief.

“Yes,” the Cadre rumbled quietly, “After Akeno’s birth, my thoughts oft turned to Father. I do not regret my Fall, nor the love I came to know. But I regret the pain I caused him: pain given to he who loved me unconditionally. I will never forgive my unfilial actions.”

Uriel bristled, his hands curling into smoking fists. “And what good is your regret now, Baraqiel? What use in uttering them when there is no one to hear them?!”

“You are correct,” Baraqiel admitted, his voice still somber. “And I will carry that stain to the end of time. It is my guilt. My eternal shame.”

“Guilt!? Shame!? You dare utter such words after so many of our siblings lay dead by your own hand?!” Uriel trembled with fury, ready to spit more venom, but Ichigo lifted a hand.

“Enough. Trust me, I get the supreme irony of me being the one to say it, but now’s not the time for tempers.”

The archangel’s glare cut toward him, but Ichigo ignored it, turning back to the Cadre. His tone sharpened. “You want the truth about Akeno? She’s a traumatized teenage girl who's gone through shit.”

Baraqiel flinched as if struck.

“Her soul’s steeped in pain,” Ichigo continued, voice low. “Years and years of resentment and heartbreak have cut into her psyche. She’s consumed by a profound sense of betrayal, of abandonment.”

The aura of sorrow thickened until the air itself felt damp, oppressive. The Cadre let out a deep sigh from the depths of his soul. “Nothing I had not long since suspected myself, but it brings me no satisfaction to have my suspicions confirmed.

“It was not always like this, Dark One,” The Fallen Lord exhaled heavily. “We were a family once, we were happy. And though I was oft away on matters of the Grigori, I had a home and family to return to.

“I had been saved by Akeno’s mother,” he said, voice slipping into memory. “I lay grievously injured, carved by your own Falbium’s abhorrent sorcery. But she hid me away, and by her hands I found life anew. For a mortal, her spirit was… so soft, so tender and yet so fierce and unyielding. Not in a thousand years would I have imagined it, but I fell slowly, surely, until I could not imagine life without her.”

Ichigo’s eyes narrowed faintly. The tale brushed against something vaguely familiar: his own father’s first meeting with his mother, about their lives endangered and mutually saved by the other.

“Akeno,” Baraqiel went on, “is not wrong to blame me. I have enemies without number. And Shuri, my beloved wife… she had enemies of her own. Those of her family who envied her gifts. Our daughter bore the weight of both of our foes. She suffered for who we were, and I-” Black wings sagged, like clouds collapsing in on themselves. “I failed to shield her. Failed as a father.”

Ichigo let the silence stretch, the creek filling the space between them. At last, he tilted his head. “And why,” he asked plainly, “are you telling me this?”

Baraqiel raised his chin. “Because I have no right to ask this, but I will ask anyway: I would beseech thee to look after her. I know who you are, Satan. I have studied you, and your history. You are not like those before you, you are not as vile as the rest of Demon kind. You are not even as corrupt as the other Sins who walk beside you.”

Both of Ichigo’s eyebrows shot up. “…you do realize what you’re asking for, right? You, a Cadre, are trying to strike a bargain with Satan?”

“If need be,” Baraqiel said without hesitation.

Uriel’s voice cracked like thunder. “Baraqiel!”

But the Fallen Lord did not flinch.

Ichigo considered it, rolling the thought over once. He could do it. He could fully well strike a Demon’s deal with Baraqiel and claim the Fallen’s soul, but…

Ichigo shook his head. “No, that doesn’t sit well with me or what I want. Your daughter won’t get any special treatment from me. She’ll stay right where she is in Rias’s peerage and I’ll do whatever the fuck I think is best for them. If you’ve got a problem with that, if you don’t think that’s good enough for your little girl, feel free to storm through the Devil Empire, cut through our armies, and try to pry her from my grip and raise her your damn self. Don't dump your failures on me.”

For a moment, everything fell silent save for the bubbling water of the creek.

Baraqiel’s head tilted back as though it was struck. Then, slowly, he released a humorless laugh, the sound tinged with deep bitterness. “Times have changed indeed. To think I would live to see the day the great Adversary speak in equal measures of kindness and cruelty.”

Ichigo’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’ve heard that before.”

Baraqiel drew in a long breath. His blind eyes lifted toward the canopy. “Very well. One last thing, then. Does she… does Akeno know happiness? Even a little?”

Ichigo’s expression softened, conjuring memories of when he peered into his young charges’ souls, as well as Gobdad’s and Meril’s reports over the last several months. “She has a good group of friends.”

Something eased in the Cadre’s aura, though sorrow still weighed it down. He inclined his head deeply. “Then I thank you, Satan. And you too, Uriel.”

Uriel’s gave no reply, settling instead to look down with some distant frost. Though, Ichigo couldn’t help but think the archangel lost a touch of his venom in his expression. It was now less Jormungandr melt-you-from-existence venom and more a Lernean Hydra give-you-a-most-painful-death venom.

“That is all,” Baraqiel said at last. His form began to shimmer, unraveling like smoke in wind. “We need not maintain these vessels any longer.”

Ichigo gave a short nod, and his clone dissolved into a scarlet haze. Uriel’s light flickered once before vanishing with a snap.

-----

Sutekh of the Red Sands stood behind Atum-Ra, the Sovereign Sun. “It has begun,” he said.

“Yes,” the Sun responded, though to Sutekh’s ears, he sounded quite unbothered by it all. “My sister-self is not pleased. But then, children so rarely act as parents wish they would.”

“That one is no child,” Sutekh said plainly. “Young yes, but a child, no. The gamble of the Dead-Kings may very well come to fruition. Swift-learned; he delves deep into the timelessness.”

“He has an excellent instructor.”

The Red Sands fell silent, and the Sun turned its full rays upon the rolling dunes.

“Do you not resent me? I denied your vengeance upon Osiris, I denied your claim to the throne, and I even denied you her love while accepting Nephthys’ ire.”

“A pointless query,” Sutekh said. “One to which you already possess the answer.”

“Indulge me,” the Sun commanded.

“Tam-Tum has found her happiness. And I have found mine outside of your radiance.”

The sky rippled with sunlight. “You see? Children never do as you wish. No matter, prepare yourself. Your part in this comic farce is soon to come.”

-----

Far off and beyond, in the swelling dark of the Soul King’s palace, Adnyeus watched as all of the future lay bare. Skeletal arms moved, plucking and threading the ever-shifting weave of time.

Ever the warp and weft of the tapestry was woven. And though the past was a painted picture, it was not a wholly static thing. All things were subject to change.

And there lay the Heavens and the Earth, and the Sun and the Moon. O’er the grand tapestry of time, Unseen and Unheard, the heliocentric egg was planted. And he beheld two of his children come to the Shrine of the Sun. And as she Willed, and as he Wanted, they put a soul in place.

And the name came unbidden.

Zangetsu, Moon Slayer.

Artless, perhaps. Blunt and obvious, certainly. But the results spoke for themselves. After all, the Dead do not like to be denied.

-----

Look.

Look at the would-be and should-be little kings shiver in anticipation. Ah, but they think my blessing a guaranteed victory. Such folly. Here is where humanity has surpassed the long lived. But are they long lived? I have seen stars born and those same stars die. Even the Stars die- Ah, but I digress.

Humanity knows a simple wisdom: that which has a beginning, has an ending.

Every story has an ending, after all.

Oh?

Fret not.

There is more to come. Much more. It would not do for things to end before I have had my number.

I?

I Am OPHIS

I Am Older Than Narration

I Am the Blank Canvas

Upon Which Are Painted

The Illusion of Dreams

Hush now, the stage is set. Enmity from eternity. The ancient plot is hatched.

-----

A/N: And things begin to coalesce. Next chapter is gonna be a doozy.