Chapter 51: Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned

Ichigo manifested in the high, purple skies of Infernity, his presence seamlessly slipping into the fabric of reality itself, the very essence of the realm. Three days with Yasaka and Kunou was time enough to indulge in being content, he had a realm to rule, after all.

Below, the broken sprawl of the ruins of Harak stretched for miles, jagged stone and shattered towers jutting like the ribs of some long dead giant. His avatar was already there, overseeing the clash between Sona’s peerage and the pack of Reavers he had charged them to defeat. The ground trembled as the monsters slammed fists and claws into the battered Devils, every exchange ending in another body sprawling, groaning, or bleeding on the shattered earth.

The avatar looked up at him as he arrived and spoke with his own voice.
“Three days of making me watch a bunch of kids get their asses kicked. Man, you’re an asshole.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes. Was there some unwritten rule in the universe that every single being who shared his face had to insult him?

Regardless, he didn’t bother asking his conjured clone for any details. Every sensation, every blow, every decision made by Sona and her peerage had already been assimilated into his mind. Everything the avatar knew, so too did Ichigo. Dismissing the projection with a flicker of will, Ichigo then descended slowly, shoes crunching against the fractured stone of the broken city. The moment he made his presence known, the Reavers disengaged at once, flying to his position and falling silent and obedient as they stood rank behind him.

With a wave of his hand, Ichigo gathered Sona’s peerage through space. They were dragged before him in an instant, their bodies bruised, battered and bleeding, their armor and weapons cracked, their uniforms scorched and torn. A sorry, stumbling line of half-broken Devils.

And yet they stood. They swayed and panted heavy, but their eyes remained sharp and alive, grit and panicked awareness shining there even through their deep exhaustion.

Ichigo felt a flicker of approval spark in his chest.

The peerage blinked in confusion at their sudden displacement, but then they saw him. Their gazes darted to the towering Reavers arrayed at his back, and they immediately understood. The group fell to their knees as one, some with a wince of pain, others clutching ribs or shoulders. But even broken, they could not resist the submission his sheer presence demanded from their souls.

“You failed.” Ichigo’s voice carried across the ruins like steel, flat and unyielding. The word struck them like a hammer, and several flinched visibly. He let the silence hang for a moment, the weight of disappointment heavy in the air.

But then Ichigo let out a low chuckle. “Good job.”

Their heads snapped up, startled, though none dared to speak. Ichigo’s gaze swept over them, steady and firm. “Honestly, you weren’t meant to win. The Reavers I chose may only be a step stronger than you in raw power, but they have something you bunch are sorely lacking - experience. Every single one of them has lived through a hundred battles. Every scar on their hides is a lesson learned. Tactics alone aren’t enough, not when you’re in the chaos of war and battle. Thinking too much will get you killed. What you need is instinct.”

And that one word echoed throughout the ruined city. The young Devils all looking at him, entranced by the magic in his voice.

“That was the purpose of this exercise. To push you past the edge. To force you to feel what it’s like to continuously fight something that wants you destroyed. But you endured.” His tone softened, a faint praise seeping through. “You’ve grown. The mistakes you made, and the pain that they cost you; they will be ingrained in your minds from now on. Your instincts have been honed. That’s what you needed.”

Several of them lowered their heads deeper, some in relief, others in thought. None of them argued.

“Rest well. You’ll need it for what’s to come.”

With a simple gesture, Ichigo’s power enveloped them. Space folded, and the entire peerage shimmered away in a flash of light, sent back to Grevex to recover from their ordeal.

The Ruins of Harak fell silent again, save for the low rumble of the Reavers at his back. Ichigo stood tall at the center of the broken city, the faintest hint of approval tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Not bad, he thought, not bad at all.

-----

Ichigo teleported above the brown-green sprawl of the Murklands, the stench of stagnant water and decay immediately clogging the air. Below, lightning split the mire as a hulking creature, scales glistening electric blue, barreled after the group that was the other half of his young wards.

Rias and her peerage were drenched, smeared in mud, weapons and magic sparking feebly, as they scrambled across a patchwork of sinking earth and shallow pools. The beast’s jagged dorsal spikes crackled with electricity, each step lighting up the swamp like a storm cloud flickering with power.

A Bolt Drake.

His avatar was already there, lounging in the sky with its arms folded, watching with unimpressed detachment. “Admittedly, it was pretty damn funny,” it drawled, gesturing at the chaos below. “Watching them walk right into the drake’s nest and then running like headless chickens. Kinda reminded me of when we first met Tiamat.”

Ichigo raised a brow, unmoved.

The avatar leaned forward, scowling. “Speaking of our favorite Dragon King, how’s it fair that you get to have fun cuddling with her while I breathe in swamp gas all day?”

Ichigo merely narrowed his eyes at his clone. These damn doppelgangers of his were far too mouthy for his liking. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t been with Tiamat for the last three days. I was with Yasaka and Kunou.”

The avatar flipped him off with an indignant glare. Ichigo snorted and dispersed with a single thought, leaving only the lingering echo of his own sarcasm.

He descended, jacket billowing against the rising mist. The drake roared, snapping arcs of electricity that made the water boil and hiss. But when Ichigo touched down between the predator and its fleeing prey, his gaze came to life with crimson light. His eyes met the beast’s, and with a pressure of will, it froze in terror. Lightning sputtered and died across its scales. A whimper rattled through its throat, and in an ungainly scramble of claws, the Bolt Drake turned and fled into the mire, vanishing with a hiss into the fog.

As he turned around, Rias’ peerage froze in the same way the drake had. Though instead of running, they immediately kneeled. Their chests heaving, bodies covered in muck and bleeding cuts: they looked downright pitiful. Ichigo eyed their injuries and the many places where blood flowed, idly wondering if they might suddenly contract some exotic jungle fever. He made a mental note to have Meril send a healer to them in the coming days, just in case. He’d doubt he’d hear the end of it from Sirzechs or Sera if either of their precious sisters fell sick on his watch.

“You failed.” His voice cut through the swamp air like a blade. Their already-slumped shoulders sagged lower.

“I can sense four Bullfrogs still alive,” Ichigo continued, his tone flat.

The young Devils looked down, faces tight with distress and exhaustion. Then Rias, muddy hair plastered to her face, stepped forward, frustration plain in her voice. “O-our task was compromised! That overgrown lizard,” she gestured furiously toward the mist where the drake had fled “has been chasing us for nearly a full day! And it caused the Bullfrogs to scatter!”

Which was unsurprising to Ichigo. Bolt Drakes, like all drakes, were powerful creatures. Being wingless cousins of Dragons, they possessed enormous physical prowess and rudimentary elemental magic. Even a group of High-class Devils would be overwhelmed by a single drake. Let alone a peerage as inexperienced as the Gremory princess’s.

Nevertheless, Ichigo’s stare remained unflinching. "Bolt Drakes are a natural predator of the Infernity Bullfrog. They nests near their spawning pools. If you’d taken the time to scout the area properly, you would have found it rather easily instead of blindly stumbling into its nest.”

Rias opened her mouth, then shut it again. Her cheeks flushed with shame. “We… we had no way of knowing.”

“You had every way,” Ichigo corrected coldly. “That’s why you failed. Not because of the drake, but because you assumed the battlefield to remain the same once you engaged. Battle goes hand in hand with chaos, you should expect the unexpected. You have to think of possible contingencies in case anything goes wrong. Because, inevitably, things do go wrong.”

Silence fell. Mud and blood dripped from their battered bodies, all the while the swamp croaked and buzzed around them. And not one of them dared to protest.

Ichigo let the weight linger, then sighed. His tone softened, just a fraction. “Still, you did well, separating the Bullfrogs. It was a good idea to use illusion magic to lead them away from the pack, one at a time. And your teamwork in taking down an enemy stronger than you was well versed. Your synergy is much improved.” His gaze swept across them, steady but less harsh. “Take the lesson. If you can scout the terrain before you engage the enemy, always do so. And always assume there is a hidden danger lurking in a hostile environment.”

The young Devils bowed their heads, chastened but grateful.

“That being said, good job.” They looked at him in surprise, which, in fairness, was probably not unexpected as Ichigo hadn’t exactly been the kindest to them over the last few months. Bu the Intro to Psychology class he had taken in his freshman year of college had taught him that positive reinforcement after criticism was usually productive when trying to educate someone. “If you hadn’t run into the Bolt Drake, you would have succeeded. Which goes to show you’ve grown quite well as a peerage. You should be proud.”

Again, they looked at him bewildered, not expecting such kind words of encouragement. Man, he really left a bad impression on these kids, didn't he? Ah well, Ichigo could live with their resentment and silent curses. If he could send people to Hell, he could traumatize a few kids into growing up proper. After all, it worked for him, didn’t it?

“Rest well.”  

He was about to teleport them away when a sudden movement drew his attention. Rias’ Knight – what was his name again? Kiba? He stepped forward, knee deep in muck, as he bowed at a ninety-degree angle.

“Lord Ichigo,” the Knight said steadily, voice firm despite exhaustion but still tinged with a hint of nervousness. “I… I have a request, I would like to challenge you to a spar!”

For a heartbeat, the swamp seemed to hold its breath. The rest of Rias’ peerage gaped at the audacious kid, wide-eyed, as though he’d lost his mind.

Ichigo arched a brow. “Huh.”

The boy had guts.

-----

Kiba’s blonde hair hung before his eyes as he kept himself deep into the bow, his body trembling under the strain of his many wounds. His left knee flared with pain, a throbbing reminder of the monstrous force the drake had swept him aside with. Even more painful, his right wrist had swollen red and ugly, the bones beneath burning as they had been pulverized earlier when he went to block the pseudo-dragon’s crushing tail. Still, he held himself in the bow. His voice, his pride, his body: all were bent toward one reckless purpose.

Yet, the longer he stayed there, the more the enormity of his audacity pressed down on him. Daring to request something, let alone a spar, from a Crown Prince of Hell…

Worse, he felt the weight of the bewildered stares drilling into his back, his comrades’ disbelief, and their stark, naked fear. Yetstill, he kept his head bowed. Awaiting the Demon Lord’s response.

But it wasn’t Lord Ichigo who spoke first.

“Yuuto!”

The sharp admonishment of his name made him flinch. He looked up to see Lady Rias striding toward him, crimson hair whipping behind her like a banner of fury. Before he could explain, her hand clamped on the back of his head and forced him lower, pressing back into an even deeper bow. Then, to his horror and shame, she bent beside him, bowing just as low.

“Forgive him, Lord Ichigo,” Rias said, her voice tight with controlled desperation. “My Knight has overstepped himself. I beg your pardon for his brazenness.”

Humiliation twisted in Kiba’s gut, bitter and cutting. His recklessness had driven his master, his own sworn King, to demean herself. His chest tightened with self-loathing. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, he should have asked with more tact. He should have waited for a more opportune moment, but the fog of exhaustion had clouded his judgement.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was acting like Issei. How could he have forced her into another scenario where she was required to lower her head?

Lord Ichigo’s voice cut through the swamp air rather casually. “It’s fine,” he said with an indifferent wave.

At once, Lady Rias straightened, tugging Kiba up with her, though her hand still gripped his collar. When Kiba finally dared to lift his gaze, he met Lord Ichigo’s eyes.

Not the glowing infernal red that he remembered burned with the Sin’s rage. But instead, calm, human brown.

And yet, his stare pierced deeper all the more for it. Kiba’s breath hitched. It felt as though the Demon Lord’s gaze weighed his very soul, stripping him bare, down to some primal sense of self even he himself wasn't truly aware of.

“Why?” Lord Ichigo asked evenly.

Kiba opened his mouth, words fumbling past cracked lips. “I-I apologize, I meant no disrespe-”

The Crown Prince’s aura flickered, the weight of his presence falling heavy and foreboding. “Not what I asked.”

Kiba swallowed. His wrist throbbed. His knee ached. Other parts of his wounded body screamed under the pressure exerted by the Demon, but he forced himself to swallow and think past it all. “…Because… because I-I want to m-measure my-myself,” he said at last, the words trembling but true.

Rias gave an incredulous stare, before quickly turning back around towards their guardian. “Lord Ichigo, forgive him, he-”

The Crown Prince raised a hand, silencing her without a word. The dismissive gesture struck harder than any blow, and Kiba’s gut twisted tighter. Once again, his rashness had forced her into being demeaned.

“You don’t measure a candle by holding it up to the sun,” Lord Ichigo said bluntly. “You really wanna face a Satan? And the potential consequences that come with it?”

Before Kiba could answer, Rias seized his arm, horror etched across her face. “Yuuto, stop this! You don’t understand-you didn’t see what we saw! This isn’t anything like a Rating Game!”

His mind flashed back to the night where she and Lady Sona had recounted the day where they bore witness to a casual spar between Lord Ichigo and Lord Sirzechs; a spar that had laid waste to an entire planet apparently. A numbness prickled at the edge of his thoughts as he looked at her face fraught with worry. And yet… he clenched his fists, ignoring the flare of agony in his wrist.

“I do,” he said firmly, looking dead straight at the Demon Lord. “And my answer is yes.”

She recoiled from beside him, and the forming tears in his master’s green eyes nearly broke him. The hurt there, the betrayal; it dug deeper than any wound. He looked away, ashamed.

Behind her, Akeno stared at him, disturbed and concerned, “Yuuto…”

Koneko’s voice, soft as a ghost: “Senpai…”

Even Issei, nervous to his core, muttered, “Dude, he’s gonna kill you…”

The guilt nearly crushed him. But he didn’t waver. He wanted, no, he needed power. He needed it desperately if he wanted to keep his master and his friends safe. These grueling months in Infernity - he needed to know how far he had come. And how much further he had to go until he could stand up to titans like the Satans.

Lady Rias turned back toward Lord Ichigo, ready to argue, but he promptly swept his hand through the air. And in an instant, she and the others vanished, their protests cut short, leaving Kiba alone in the silent swamp.

As they stared at one another, and Kiba once more felt the horrid weight of the Prince without the emotional support of having his peerage with him. He couldn’t help but swallow nervously.

Lord Ichigo arched a brow at him. “You’re very good at making the people who care about you worry needlessly, aren't you?”

Kiba flinched as though struck, his guilt twisting deeper. He wanted to answer, to apologize again, but the words curdled in his throat. After all, the people who deserved that apology were no longer here.

Lord Ichigo’s hand moved again, and the world spun, everything twisting into a whirl of motion and he felt himself pressed from all directions. For a brief instant, colors smeared into one another, shadows spilling into light, air turning liquid, and then everything snapped back into place.

He staggered forward, trying to catch his balance.

His lungs filled with sharp, crisp air, potent with energy unlike anything he had ever breathed. The weight of it pressed down on his chest. Wherever Lord Ichigo had taken him, the magick in this place was so dense it seemed to pulse with every heartbeat of his. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the new world around him.

“Welcome to Iravex,” Lord Ichigo waved, as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

Kiba’s eyes went widened in recognition. He had studied the maps of Infernity as best he could during his months in Grevex, and the city's counterpart was arguably the most famous place in Infernity.

Iravex was the sky island that served as Lord Ichigo’s personal residence, the political seat of the Sin of Wrath. And at its center was a grand citadel where his highest vassals housed their offices and the most powerful Reavers awaited his commands. Grevex was called the magical heart of Infernity, but Iravex was the true capitol, the sovereign heart where dwelt Satan himself.

However, as Kiba looked around, he could see no great city nor demonic edifice.

Instead, all he saw was an endless forest of magical flora pulsing with ethereal energy. Great cherry blossoms, reaching high into the sky, glowed with an unearthly pink light. Their petals drifting like metal flakes through the air. Enormous ginkgo trees rose beside them, leaves shimmering gold as though hammered from the sun itself.

The sight was both alien and heartbreakingly familiar. His throat tightened. “It… it looks very pretty,” he said, unable to stop himself. It was the closest he could come to voicing the awe reflected in his eye. He was strikingly reminded of Japan and the wonderful time he had spent in Kuoh as he gazed at those trees.

“Thanks,” Ichigo replied neutrally, his hands folded into his pockets. “The trees were a gift from my wife.”

Kiba nearly tripped over his own feet. He stared, jaw slack. “Y-you’re married?” The words escaped before he could swallow them.

Lord Ichigo shrugged, not taking his appreciative gaze off of the mystical trees. “Not in the habit of advertising my private life, but yeah.”

As he processed the words, an errant thought struck him: this was the most casual and relaxed he’d ever seen the Crown Prince. And here Kiba was, having off-the-cuff small talk with the mythical being feared and reviled across the Earth as an embodiment of Evil… the same emodiment of Evil he had challenged to a spar.

Lucifer, I’m a moron.

Before he could say anything else, a soft blue circle shimmered a few paces away on the ground, and Lady Meril stepped forth, her presence crisp and cool against the dense magick. Stylish blue-hair caught the light of the blossoms as she bowed. “My Prince.” Then her sharp eyes turned to him, narrowing slightly. “Miss Rias’s Knight?” she asked, a hint of curiosity coloring her voice. Not that Kiba blamed her. He was starting to question his own presence here too…

Kiba opened his mouth, but Lord Ichigo cut him off with a lazy, “Yup,” before striding away.

The woman immediately fell in step behind him. And Kiba, awkwardly limping, forced himself to follow. “Kid did something remarkably stupid,” the Demon Lord said after a moment’s silence, his tone still maddeningly unconcerned.

Kiba’s stomach knotted. The lack of heat in Lord Ichigo’s voice didn’t make the well-deserved jab sting any less. He fidgeted, the shame pressing harder with every limp.

“Sir?” the woman asked quietly, glancing back at him.

“He challenged me to a spar.”

Lady Meril stopped dead in her tracks.

She turned towards him almost agonizingly slow, eyes blazing with disbelief. But then her beautiful face quickly morphed furious and venomous. Her demonic power erupted, an aura of bright blue cascading off her in dense waves, ripping into the thick magic of Iravex until it shook with the force of her rage.

Kiba stumbled back a step as the wave of power hit him. His heart stuttered. The sheer intensity of the she-Devil’s power dwarfed Lady Rias’ aura several times over to the extent Kiba believed that Lady Meril was close to crossing the threshold of Ultimate-class. Instinctually, he felt his Sacred Gear react, urging him to conjure forth a blade, though his trembling fingers knew full well it would do nothing.

“You dare?” she snarled, each word vibrating in the charged air. “You dare challenge our Prince? In his own realm?! You insignificant, arrogant, lowborn worm!”

Kiba’s knees threatened to buckle under the pressure. He could barely draw breath, every instinct screaming for him to turn and fleee.

And through it all, Lord Ichigo didn’t so much as glance at her, his hands remaining firmly in his pockets as he walked on. “Meril, that’s enough.”

Instantly, her aura abated.

And the silence that followed was deafening. Kiba risked a glance: her eyes still burned with fury, but Lord Ichigo’s command held it at bay. She cast him one last poisonous glare before resuming her place behind Ichigo. The message was clear: whatever neutral opinion she’d once held of him was now gone.

Fuck.

Another bridge burned by his recklessness.

They walked in silence after that, Kiba’s wounds throbbing with every step.

And as the minutes ticked by, anxiety gnawed uncomfortably warm in his chest. Because a sudden realization dawned on him through this little trek in the woods: Lord Ichigo had not agreed to his request.

For all he knew, he was being marched to his execution. Would he be fed to the monsters that cruelly served under the Lord Warth? Or instead, would he be cast into the depths of Hell, where he would spend the rest of eternity in torment?

As his broken knee flared hot in agony with each step, Kiba grimaced heavy. Lucifer, he really was an idiot. A massive, impulsive idiot that had given in to his reckless desires and emotions.

As they continued their walk through the magical woods, the wind picked up sharp and cold. Above them, the sky blackened as lightning arced jagged just over the trees and far too close for his comfort. The magic in the air sparked with electricity, and he could feel the hairs of his neck stand charged.

Iravex floated high in the skies of Infernity: so it was undoubtedly in the heart of this sudden thunderstorm.

“Guess Tiamat’s stretching her wings,” Lord Ichigo commented nonchalantly as he looked up at the churning, black clouds.

Kiba blinked in dawning horror.

Oh... right.

The strongest Dragon King in existence was Lord Ichigo’s familiar and (alleged) lover, meaning she probably roosted here in Iravex as well. Satans below, he was so out of his depth it wasn’t even funny.

The storm grew worse as the winds howled, but Lord Ichigo paid it no mind, leading them until the trees fell away into a wide clearing. And Kiba noted that the ground here was nothing but flat, black stone.

Lady Meril perked up as she looked about. “Sir, if I may? Why didn’t you teleport directly here instead of walking through the woods?”

Kiba and his throbbing knee wondered the same.

The Crown Prince shrugged. “Eh, kinda felt like being a dick. You know, make the moron with the busted knee walk on it for a mile or two; give him time to reflect on how monumentally stupid he is. Also, I like my garden.”

“The Madame has excellent taste,” Lady Meril responded smoothly.

“I know, right?” Lord Ichigo said with the first genuine smile Kiba had ever seen from him. “My wife’s awesome.”

Kiba forced his features to remain polite, but he couldn’t help but feel sour note of discontent internally. While he admitted had been incredibly rude in brazenly throwing a challenge in the Crown Prince's face… did Lord Ichigo really have to be so petty?

Lady Meril then glanced dismissively at him. “…he’s hardly in any condition to, well, do anything, sir.”

“Good point,” Lord Ichigo replied. And the Demon flicked his finger.

Kiba gasped as white-hot pain lanced through his body. He felt his bones crack and knit, strands of sinew painfully weave anew, and skin burn as it stretched and healed. He staggered, blinking down at himself: surprisngly, he felt whole, unbroken even as a dull ache throbbed through his whole being.

He blinked in amazement - the magical healing was significantly faster than Asia’s Twilight Healing… though a thousand times more unpleasant. Then again, Demonic Magic wasn’t exactly meant for soothing comfort.

“Well,” Ichigo said simply, his eyes now glinting with something dangerous, “now I won’t feel as bad when I beat you into the ground.”

Kiba’s throat went dry as he swallowed hard.

Oh boy.

-----

Ichigo strolled into the center of the rocky clearing, hands still tucked lazily into his jeans, his steps unhurried. The air hummed with the pressure of Iravex, the sky around them split by the deep grumble of Tiamat’s thunder. He tilted his head slightly toward Kiba, voice casual. “Well, whenever you’re ready, kid.”

Meril’s presence receded to the edge of the ring, her expression sharp, disapproval radiating in every line of her posture. Ichigo noted her reaction with a faint flicker of amusement. Not that he didn’t appreciate her deeply seated loyalty towards him, he did. Very much so. It was just funny to him that Meril was more upset over this whole ordeal than he was.

Seriously, if the kid had simply tackled on the words ‘at your leisure’ or ‘when you’re available’ and not have used the word ‘challenge’, it wouldn’t have come off as so rude and his King wouldn’t have been so frantic with terror.

A low-class reincarnated Devil directly challenging one of the Crown Princes of Hell? Ichigo was hardly a stickler for tradition and social norms, but even he had to admit that Kiba had been beyond stupid to phrase his request in such a way. Even if Ichigo could excuse him as being clearly exhausted and not in his right mind.

However, Grayfia-nee’s words still rang clear in his mind: he needed to play the part of mythical Dark Lord if he was going to assert himself and get everyone to stay out of his fucking business.

And he knew better than to question his former Queen’s wisdom.

His attention returned to Kiba as he beheld the young Devil’s Sacred Gear shine from within his soul, conjuring twin katanas in both hands that gleamed with both Holy and Demonic energies. The boy set himself, shoulders taut, gaze unwavering despite his obvious fatigue. Ichigo may have healed him physically, but the mental exhaustion was still there.

“You’re not going to summon your sword?” Kiba asked, his voice steady but lined with curiosity.

Ichigo regarded him with a look halfway between disbelief and laughter. From the sidelines, even Meril snorted derisively.

“Yeah fucking right,” Ichigo said dryly. “For starters, and no disrespect, but you’re nowhere near worthy of Zangetsu.” Ichigo already had enough trouble with his Soul-Sword, he could only imagine the nagging he’d have to go through if he used it to bully Low-class Devils. “And secondly, Zangetsu would reduce you to pile of cinders on sheer principle.”

His words had the intended effect, as Kiba’s jaw tightened, eyes flickering with something close to unease, but he nodded. “I had… hoped to test myself in a duel between swordsmen,” he admitted, voice low.

Ichigo shrugged without apology.

But then, much to his surprise, Kiba stabbed one of his swords into the ground. Again, Ichigo saw his Sacred Gear shine bright, no, brighter this time.

Ah, a Balance Breaker, he realized. He very rarely interacted with human Sacred Gear wielders. Outside of the Longinus possessors, none of them were worth his attention. Still, he could admire the discipline and experience needed to achieve a Balance Breaker.

Kiba’s power pulsed outward in a rush of white light, numerous radiant beams spearing into the ground. In an instant, the clearing transformed into a forest of steel, nearly one hundred swords jutting from the stone ground of the forest floor.

Ichigo regarded the transformed area, faintly impressed despite himself.

But then for a heartbeat, the sight tugged at an old memory: a similar forest of blades beneath the Sōkyoku Hill, and Yoruichi’s voice at his back as the impossible deadline of three days weighing down on his shoulders. As well as the slow realization that he was growing far more aware of Yoruichi with the passing of each hour.

Far above, lightning roared in fury and Ichigo had to suppress a chuckle. Nonetheless, nostalgia passed through him warmly.

“Man,” he muttered, almost to himself, “does this bring back memories.”

Kiba looked up, confusion etched into his face, but Ichigo shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “Never mind… just don’t go falling in love with Meril.”

His secretary nearly fell over as she exclaimed, “My-my lord!?”

Kiba fared little better as his cheeks and ears tinted red. “Wh-what?”

Chuckling to himself, Ichigo reached out and plucked one of the many swords from the ground, tested its weight, and gave it a light twirl. The Holy power within the hybrid sword briefly struggled against him, but he brutally suppressed it with ease. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said, turning towards the young Knight.

Kiba quickly recovered from his mortification and set his eyes determined; and then he swiftly surged forward, both blades flashing menacingly.

The clash rang sharp in the clearing, metal against metal, each strike delivered with precision and speed. Ichigo raised his borrowed sword at the necessary angles, blocking every cut with practiced ease. Though he didn’t employ any form of swordplay or technique, he quite literally just moved the sword with the bare minimum effort needed to block each strike. All the while, his other hand still comfortably in his pocket as both feet were rooted still, having not moved a single inch.

The tempo increased. Kiba’s strikes blurred into flurries, feints weaving into real cuts, all executed with the grace and proficiency he’d fully expect from someone trained by Souji.

And yet, Ichigo met every strike with lazy effort, belittling and dismissing Kiba’s dazzling and majestic sword arts into a futile endeavor.

“Not bad,” Ichigo said between impacts, tone calm. “You’re at the extreme ends of Mid-class in terms of speed. Heck, you’d outpace some lower end High-class Devils.”

Despite his complimentary words, frustration cracked across Kiba’s face. “You’re not taking me seriously,” he ground out.

Ichigo’s reply was blunt. “Kid, if I were, you’d have died a million times already.” Though he gave a quick shrug afterwards. “But sure. I’ll hit back.”

Their blades met again. This time, instead of absorbing the strike, Ichigo rolled his wrist and parried. And though it was little effort on his part, to a Devil of Kiba’s level, the level of strength was more than great enough to throw him off-balance.

His teenage foe’s footing broke as his weight pitched backward, carried by the momentum of Ichigo’s blow. Ichigo then slipped his other hand free of his pocket and, with a casual snap of motion, backhanded him across the face.

The blow echoed with a sharp crack.

And Kiba was flung across the clearing, tumbling over stone until he slid to a halt near the edge. As the Knight struggled to get up, Ichigo caught sight of blood flowing down a cut cheek, his left eye already beginning to swell. He was also quite sure that he had hit him hard enough to probably fracture his cheek.

“Come on,” Ichigo urged, egging the boy on. “I’ve got other things to do today.”

Kiba staggered upright, biting back a groan, but quickly steadied himself and hurled himself forward again, much to Ichigo’s approval.

His swords cut wide arcs, sharp and desperate. Ichigo blocked the first few with lazy precision before parrying once more. Off-balance again, Kiba barely had time to register before Ichigo’s foot slammed squarely into his abdomen.

Air burst from the boy's lungs with a broken cry. Kiba collapsed to his knees and his swords clattered from his hands as his body convulsed in violent coughs. After a few dry heaves, the boy then threw up onto the ground.

“Really?” Ichigo remarked, a hint of mocking cruelty being added to his voice. “Is this the measure you wanted to take? Is this what you’re wasting my time with? You've got to have more to show, no?”

As Kiba wiped his mouth with his sleeve, he looked up and Ichigo noted a hint of insolent anger glimmering in the Devil’s eyes.

There it is, Ichigo thought to himself.

The young Knight’s fingers fumbled for his swords, and gingerly, he used them as crutches, forcing himself upright on shaking legs. Very subtly, Ichigo allowed his Sin to rise to the surface, even as defiance lit Kiba's eyes and blood dripped from his lips. After taking a few steadying breaths, Ichigo felt him gather energy within his legs and Kiba leapt back a few paces, creating distance.

Again, Ichigo felt a sliver of nostalgia worm its way into his mind. An old but very prominent memory flashed through him, forcing him to subdue the twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

And yet, betraying his amusement, he fixed Kiba with stern gaze. “What are you doing?”

And even through his narrowed eyes and building anger, Kiba frowned, confused.

“Distance,” Ichigo clarified. “Why would you create distance between us? If we were at the same level, sure, distance could create a boundary of control and safety.” Instantly, Ichigo appeared before the young Devil, and Kiba’s eyes grew wide in terror at the sudden closeness of the Demon Lord. And before he could do anything, Ichigo’s fingers wrapped crushing around his throat. “But what control and safety do you have before me?” The Crown Prince said coldly.

Mercilessly, Ichigo flung Kiba behind him, making him fly fast and hard across the entire clearing until he crashed into one of Yasaka’s Ginko’s with a sickening crunch. Rather wisely, Meril moved several paces out of the way from where the young Devil landed at her feet.

Ichigo twirled the borrowed sword in his hand, his gaze impassive as he pushed out his Sin of Wrath further into reality. “Get up,” he said roughly. “We’re not done.”

And despite his own words, Ichigo didn’t wait for his opponent to get up himself. Instead, Ichigo’s fingers twitched, and in response, Kiba’s limbs jerked as if being pulled by invisible strings, and the young Devil found himself being forcefully put back on his feet.

Kiba managed a shuddering breath, settling himself as Ichigo’s magical hold loosened itself. He took a moment to gather himself, and Ichigo could see the boy steady the flow of Demonic energy within his body. And still trembling, Kiba renewed his assault.

Ichigo hummed with approval. At the very least, Kiba had fight in him. And he wasn’t giving up despite the disparity in their prowess having been made abundantly clear. Which was something Ichigo could respect.  

As the young Devil came once more against him, steel rang again and again as their swords collided. But Ichigo met every blow effortlessly, continuing to lazily shift his arm to block each and every single strike.

Minutes ticked by, and Kiba's Demonic energy was celarly beginning to strain as Ichigo felt each clash between them drain the boy's reserves. He was quickly approaching the limit of a Low-class Devil, paricularly one who had never fully comitted to increasing his stamina.

And as Kiba’s weariness began to show, Ichigo readily took advantage of the openings with his vastly superior speed and lashed out with his fist. And clash after clash, Ichigo jabbed at Kiba’s cheeks, his brow and jaws, pummeling the boy with several punches. And yet, each blow was shallow, deliberately pulled, inflicting little more than swelling bruises.

Ichigo wasn’t really interested in beating the kid black and blue, after all. No, he had a much deeper motivation than brutish violence.

And as Kiba’s face grew redder with each strike, blood mixing with sweat, and his lips splitting with his left eye puffing closed, Ichigo slowly pushed more and more of his Sin into the boy’s mind.

Each punch landed amplified Kiba’s sense of powerlessness, making him feel a greater sense of frustration. And for Devils, frustrations quickly gave way to resentment and anger. The more pain he felt and the more helpless Ichigo proved him to be, the more anger colored his mind. And slowly, every swing of his swords grew wilder and more frenzied.

Ichigo continued to press his Sin deeper, letting Wrath seep into the cracks of Kiba’s psyche. Easily, Souji’s polished teachings fell from the boy’s technique, and rage gave way to brutish and unrefined tactics

A minute passed by, within which several hundred exchanges happened, and Kiba raised both blades overhead, screaming in fury as he brought them down together.

Ichigo idly held up his katana horizontally, easily catching both blows.

As Kiba leaned in his full weight, trying to push down, Ichigo had to fight to not roll his eyes. Surely he hadn’t ensnared the boy’s mind to the point where he actually thought he could beat him in a contest to strength?

Ichigo slowly pushed both of Kiba’s blades to the side and then down, locking the tips of the swords against the earth. He pressed with a trivial amount of his strength, but more than enough that Kiba’s muscles quivered with futility. The young Devil strained, teeth gritted, yet his swords might as well have been buried under mountains for all that he struggled in vain.

Ichigo tilted his head, his voice calm. “Why haven’t you used any magic?”

Kiba glared up at him with some confusion, even as his breath came ragged. And this time, Ichigo did roll his eyes. With a casual flick of his finger, a wave of magic rippled outward, unseen but crushing, and Kiba was hurled in a violent telekinetic blast. He slammed onto the stone ground with a grunt, coughing as he tried to push himself up.

Ichigo asked again, his tone firmer. “Magic. Why haven’t you used any?”

Kiba coughed hard as he made to stand up. “I’m a Knight,” he heaved through laborious breaths, blood trickling from his mouth. “...not a Bishop.”

Ichigo stared at him disbelievingly. Really? That was his reason? He wondered if this was just Kiba’s faulty way of thinking or a prevalent idea within the younger generation. If the latter were true, he’d have to tell Ajuka he needed to seriously adjust the starter guide for the Evil Pieces.

“…You really are an idiot.”

He received a venomous glare in return, but Ichigo responded with another flick of his hand. Kiba let out a sudden cry as he was lifted off the ground and several feet into the air, suspended helplessly by Ichigo’s magic.

And then ruthlessly, Ichigo brought his hand down, slamming Kiba into the rock below. Once. Twice. A third time - each impact rattling the clearing with dull cracks of bone. Dust plumed, and Kiba’s body bounced limply before Ichigo telekinetically dragged him across the ground face-first, the stone scraping his skin bloody raw.

“Stop that!” Kiba shouted hoarsely from the ground, his voice breaking with anger.

Ichigo just shrugged. “Make me.”

-----

Every fiber of Kiba’s body screamed in agony. His bones ached, muscles burned, and every breath felt like a knife carving into his ribs. The dirt pressed hard into his face as the Demon Lord’s unseen magic pinned him to the stone floor, grinding him down as though the entire weight of Infernity itself had been dropped upon him.

Helpless.

The word clawed through his mind like a curse. An all-too-familiar emotion, disgustingly familiar.

The memory of Kokabiel’s overwhelming aura and endless legions came surging back; that horrid sensation of being nothing more than an insect beneath the Cadre’s wings. He recalled the crushing humiliation of Lady Rias’s engagement ceremony, where the presence of Lord Lucifer had unforgivingly silenced his oath to protect his King. And he remembered Riser’s mocking laughter during their Rating Game, the shameful sting of defeat still lingering cold even now.

And deeper… further back… the frigid, sterile dungeons and Valper Galilei’s demented torment.

Always powerless. Alway weak.

Always.

So.

Damn.

Helpless.

And like a black tide, hatred welled up inside of him. A deep abiding loathing from the deepest depths of his soul. Seething and black, a Devil’s sheer, unfiltered hatred. And all of it - all of it! – unfailingly and unapologetically directed at…

Kiba’s eyes jumped towards the Crown Prince and his pitiless gaze. His glare burned through sweat and pouring blood, but the Demon’s voice cut through with terrifying calm.
“You know Souji uses magic, right? He’s a gifted summoner in his own right.”

I will end you!

He snarled up at the Demon Lord, fury choking his throat. And suddenly, the crushing hold of magic dissipated.

Kiba’s lungs burned for air, but he forced himself upright in a single motion, rage driving him back into the cold comfort of combat, even as every broken bone screamed in agony. With reckless abandon, he hurled himself at the Crown Prince once more.

Every time his eyes locked with those calm, unyielding brown irises, he felt judged. He felt mocked. And above all else, he felt weak.

And with each glance into those infuriatingly passive eyes, he felt his seething rage spike. Gone were the years of honed technique and martial prowess. Instead, he swung wildly; he swung with brutality. Hacking and slashing like some savage with naught but a pair of heavy sticks.

And with each passing second, the senseless rage fully consumed his mind.

The lines of the forest began to blur, the roar of the thunder became a high-pitched ringing and even the Demon before him melted in a dark haze. Then came the red, pulsing like molten veins through the growing black. Gone were the brown eyes and orange hair. In its place was a writhing mass of shadow and fire, a formless horror that laughed maniacally.

I can sense your Anger

Kiba’s teeth gnashed as he struck again and again. “Shut up!” he screamed, voice cracking with fury.

The entity’s laughter rang even louder, mocking, cruel.

I can sense your Hate

“I said shut up!” Kiba yelled furiously, blood and sweat streaking down his swollen face. His swords swung harder, faster, passing pointlessly through the formless dark.

But the laughter grew, echoing in his mind until it was all he could hear. And in that moment, all the helpless memories came crashing back into him. His eyes stung, and he blinked away in his… rage?

When you attack, you Hate

“Shut up!” he screamed again, throat raw. “Shut up!” And why, why couldn’t he stop blinking so much?

When you protect, you Hate

“Enough! Just shut up already!” His arms fell heavy and his swords clattered to the ground, but still, Kiba continued to throw himself at the shadow.

Stop…

All you reflect is Hatred

An animalistic snarl on his lips as he bellowed defiantly, even as his vision clouded wet. “Just fucking shut up already!”

Just… please…

So Weak

So Helpless

What could you possibly Hate so much?

All those memories, and all that pain, and it all came back to that red hair and those radiant green eyes. And the continued inability to…

And finally, the dam broke.

“MYSELF!” he roared into the endless dark. “Don’t you get it! I failed! I failed her again and again! I couldn’t protect her with Riser! I couldn’t protect her against Kokabiel! I couldn’t do anything when she was cast out of her own house! I…”

And Kiba fell to his knees, the haunting confession driving all the energy out of him and leaving him breathless. “I failed,” he whispered to himself realization. “I swore… she... my everything... but I couldn’t… I just couldn’t…”

And he stayed there, surrounded by the pitiless dark. Drowning in thoughts of the one person who meant the world to him, and how he had so miserably failed her.

-----

Ichigo stood over the boy’s kneeling form, his brown gaze solemn behind his long strands of hair. Kiba’s head hung low, eyes glazed and unfocused. And he trembled faintly as the ghosts within his mind ehcoed through his body. It would pass, Ichigo knew. Given a few hours, the Knight would claw his way back out of his mindscape shaken, scarred, and hopefully stronger for it.

Was it cruel of him to manifest his demonic essence within the teenager's psyche? Yes, absolutely.

But it was equally necessary,

Devils weren’t human. Devils weren’t made out of elements from the Earth. Wrought instead from the original Lucifer’s dark machinations and arcane engineering, and ultimately, their fates were tied to Hell.

And for those chasing power like Kiba, they couldn’t work out their traumas with kind words and tea-time comforts.

That inherent corruption and the thirst for power, it rang true in his soul. And it could easily manifest and devour him, leaving him a mindless beast, a rampaging slave to his base urges. He had seen it first-hand, in those first few months under Sirzechs and Grayfia’s guidance, when he had sometimes hunted down powerful strays who had gone mad under their own power.

But Ichigo was broken from his thoughts as soft lights flickered around him, the field of swords beginning to fade as Kiba’s Sacred Gear finally slipped into dormancy. The clearing grew quieter, and Tiamat’s thunder rumbled distantly overhead. Ichigo let out a slow breath, turning his back on the broken boy.

“Meril,” he commanded softly.

His secretary gave a deft nod as her fingers dipped into the air, and she peeled back the fabric of space like a curtain to reveal a hidden pocket dimension. And standing frozen within, was a horror-stricken Rias Gremory.

Her hands clamped over her mouth, her eyes red and wet with flowing tears.

Ichigo looked at Rias expectantly. It had been as much a lesson for her as it had been for the catatonic boy behind him. And she stumbled forward as the pocket dimension dissolved, desperation and heartbreak equally mirrored in her expression.

“Yuuto!” she cried despondently, rushing to the boy’s side. She dropped to her knees and wrapped trembling arms around him, clinging to him and crying into his hair.

Ichigo watched in silence for a moment, feeling the faintest tug of sorrow in his chest. Not for the first time did he think to himself that she was just a teenage girl… but again, she was the future Pillar Gremory. She was Sirzechs' sister. And through the sheer chance of birth, Fate had delivered onto her vast luxury and crushing duty in equal measure.

He stepped closer, his voice low, almost kind. “The thing about people with tragic pasts, Gremory,” he said, “is that the tragedy doesn’t just get up and walk away. It lingers. It stays with them, even when they’re smiling.”

Rias looked up at him through streaming tears, her lips trembling. Ichigo laid a hand gently on her shoulder, steady and warm.

“You’ve got a lot of tragic pasts in your peerage,” he continued, “and being responsible for someone goes beyond feeding and housing them. It means helping them face the parts of themselves that’s eating away at them. And for you Devils, that can sometimes be literal.”

Her mouth opened as though to protest, but no words came. Only a nod, sharp and silent, her tears still falling. Ichigo accepted it. She understood.

And he hoped she would act on it.

Because her peerage really was a collection of broken pasts. And a Demon as powerful as him could easily sense the darkness gnawing at their souls.

A daughter burning with heartbreak, resentment and abandonment issues. A sister fearing her own power would lead her down a familiar path to madness. A devout soul betrayed by her own kindness, now lost in a world anathema to everything she had ever believed in.

A disillusioned paladin, finding her life of piety had been dedicated to a lie and now teetered on the cusp of nihility. A son, abused and reviled for a power he himself feared and could not dare to hope to control. And a boy, a normal boy (if a little too perverse), who gave his heart to what he thought was true love, only to be brutally murdered.

The last one was the most troubling of all. Because when the hosts of the Scaled Emperors lost themselves, cataclysm tended to follow.

He turned his attention back to Rias, holding back the deep sigh. Her peerage, for all the immense potential it held, was seeped in self-loathing and deprecation.

He gave her shoulder a steady squeeze. “He’ll wake in a few hours. I’ll send you both to the infirmary.”

She nodded once again, and her voice came out so small and vulnerable. “I… w-what do I do?”

Ichigo looked into her weeping eyes, knowing full well she was asking what she should say when her Knight woke up, how she should help him get through the revelation of this burning, damning obsession of his. And with firm resolution in his voice, he said, “Be a King.”

With a lone thought, space rippled, and both Rias and Kiba were gone, deposited into Iravex’s hospital. Ichigo pushed a mental note toward the head physician, commanding them to give the pair priority care.

Only then did he let out a sigh, the tension leaving his shoulders.

Meril approached from behind, her tone warm as she gave him a bow. “Thank you for your efforts, my Prince. To so artfully balance cruelty with kindness, I sincerely hope Miss Rias comes to appreciate your grace.”

From the moment he heard the boy’s challenge and saw his blatant disregard against his King’s wishes, Ichigo planned for all of this to transpire. Whereas the rest of her peerage were back in Grevex, Rias had been secretly placed in that hidden fold of space, where she had been made to witness the whole debacle. Her own Knight’s swift descent into an enraged insanity.

It was also the real reason he had chosen to walk through the woods instead of teleporting directly to this clearing, so he could mentally communicate his plans with Meril.

Ichigo ran a tired hand through his hair. This Dark Lord crap was mentally exhausting. “That’s why I accepted them into my care.”

She hesitated, then asked carefully, “And what of Miss Rias’s father? Will you show the Duke the same… kindness?”

Ichigo barked a short laugh. “Fuck no.”

Tiamat’s storm rumbled above, and he could only mentally send back his smile as he sensed her approval. Yeah, those ancient relics didn’t deserve any sort of kindness on his part. He was just going to flat out kick their asses.

“You’ve got everything prepared?”

“Of course, sir,” Meril responded sharply.

“Good,” Ichigo nodded. Since the summit was still a few days away and he now had the time, he could afford to move up that long overdue conversation with Duke Gremory and Duke Sitri.

Zangetsu thrummed viciously within his soul.

“Yeah, me too,” Ichigo hummed as he faded away.

-----

A/N: If the last chapter was about the complexties of family and budding fatherhood, this chapter is about the consequences of an inattentive parent and the crushing weight of being responsible for others. And a sharp tonal shift, indeed.

The thing I really wanted to do, with Rias, Sona and their peerages, was put Ichigo into the role of a mentor. Throughout Bleach, he was always a student, always being guided by older, wiser and most times, dishonest teachers. In DMAW, I get to turn him into the teacher. Ichigo knows a thing or two about tragedy and trauma. He also knows quite a bit about fighting inner monsters. He can now be the older, wiser and not-dishonest-but kind-of-an-asshole teacher.

This chapter also allowed me to highlight the alien horror that is the Sins. This is Ichigo utilizing Wrath in a very controlled and on a very minuscule scale. Imagine the Old Empire, imagine all Seven Crown Princes indulging and infecting the minds of billions upon billion of Devils. Small wonder their descendents are so unstable.

Anyways, Rias, Sona and their peerages will be shelved for the next few chapters. Ichigo now turns his full attention to the Pillars, asserting his dominance and forcefully extracting the respect he is due. And then the Summit, onto the world stage and what games OPHIS has in play.