Chapter 49: Stop Hitting Yourself

One of the downsides of being a Demon Lord was the sheer number of people who came looking for him, always wanting or needing something as part of his numerous responsibilities as a Crown Prince of Hell. And because of those rare occasions where his Reavers couldn’t scare off his potential visitors, Ichigo had created an office outside of his penthouse, though still within his personal fortress of Iravex.

Both to keep unwanted visitors out of his private space, and to keep Tiamat from angrily burning bumbling and intruding diplomats into a pile of cinders.

He already had enough ash and brimstone in his life, thank you very much.

And for this particular day, his office was perfectly quiet, save for the muted ticking of the longcase clock in the corner and the soft rasp of paper being turned. The twin moonlight of the Underworld streamed through the tall windows, catching the gilt edges of the legal tomes stacked along the wall.

For his part, Ichigo sat behind his desk, jacket slung over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled to the forearms as he scanned a bound dossier.

Across from him, Lady Sylvanna Valac leaned back in her seat, one leg crossed over the other, a thick sheaf of documents in hand. Even in the simple act of sitting, she carried herself like a queen - posture impeccable, movements deliberate, every turn of a page done with measured grace. Her gown was of some silky white fabric that caught the light like water, the deep neckline revealing the faint shimmer of a diamond pendant resting against her skin. And her long and heavy blonde hair woven into a loose braid that flowed over her shoulder.

As Sylvanna ran the Ministry of Law in his place, since Ichigo knew jack-shit about Devil law, she would set up meetings with him to report on the overall status of the ministry, while also bringing ongoing cases to help further his education. Dropping out of a medical program to become a demonic lawyer… sometimes the twists and turns of his life utterly baffled him.

“This particular dispute has been going for eight months,” she said, eyes flicking from the paper to him. “Lord Calvess, a reincarnated Baron claims the mineral vein runs beneath his fief. Lady Mirethe, a reincarnated viscountess, insists that the survey maps are wrong and that the vein crosses into her borders. Both are, predictably, threatening to ‘take the matter into their own hands’ if a judgment isn’t reached soon. As such, I thought it a wonderful learning opportunity in real estate law, my Prince.”

Ichigo grumbled, as he leaned over and digested his own copy of the court filings. “Matters in their own hands my ass; should I send some Reavers to discourage any potential conflicts?”

Sylvanna gave an approving smile. “An excellent idea, my Prince, but when trying to reign in tempered Lords, restraining their military is but one thing to consider. There are other hands you must tie.”

Ichigo grunted in understanding. “Assassination.”

She gave a single clap. “Very good, my Prince.”

“Yeah…” Ichigo scratched the back of his head. While his Reavers were good for frontal assaults and thuggish intimidation, subtlety was utterly lost on them. “So, I need to find a way to stop them from stabbing each other in back in the dead of night.”

“Or poisoning,” she intoned lightly, tapping the file. “One of Lord Calvess’ Bishops has a Sacred Gear with the powers of a Manticore, and I can say with confidence that not all Devils are not fully immune to the powerful venom of that beast.”

Ichigo didn’t dispute her words, the Valac clan were the preeminent poisoners of the Underworld after all. They had long possessed an inherent power over poisons and toxins of both magical and mundane nature. And Sylvanna was the most powerful of them all, staunchly sitting in the upper echelons of Ultimate-class.

“So,” he said, pondering over his possibilities. “If sending a private army only discourages them from acting openly, I guess I need to scare the crap out of them to the point of not acting at all.”

“Well said, my Prince.” And the curve of Sylvanna’s smile became just a hint more dangerous. Ichigo had to suppress a chuckle, Devils did so enjoy displays of power and authority.

“I guess,” he mused, “the best thing would be to summon them both and let them know that if they don’t patiently sit down and wait for the courts, I’ll personally have both of them punished harshly.”

“A marvelous decision, my Prince. Rule of fear is the proper way to uphold the law. But back to details of the case itself,” She set papers down and slid them across the desk, her fingers brushing his in the handover; a light touch that was quick enough to be considered accidental. “Please take note of the map and surveys submitted by both sides.”

Ichigo frowned as he flipped through the drawings, as well as the notes written in the margins. After a few minutes, he muttered, “They’re different.” And not by a little, the differences between the two maps were practically egregious.

“Quite,” she said concisely. “The maps are contradictory. The original pre-war charts provided by the Baron place the border along the Algireck Ridge. Meanwhile, the post-war surveys from the Viscountess show the ridge line shifted by several dozen miles. Either could be correct, depending on which map you choose to honor.”

Ichigo’s eyebrows rose incredulously. “The ridge moved? What, did it get up and walk-oh wait, pre-war and post-war?”

“Exactly.” She tilted her head, as she carefully moved her braid over her shoulder. “When the Civil War shattered much of the region’s original terrain, entire ranges collapsed. Some Houses redrew their borders accordingly. Others… conveniently forgot to update them.”

Ichigo tapped the table with a knuckle. “So, we’re basically deciding whether to honor the original pre-war terrain or not.”

Her mouth curved - not a smile exactly, but close. “An astute way to put it, my lord. The Ministry of Law is obligated to find an equitable solution… or, failing that, the one least likely to cause another generation of blood feuds. While it is good for the Satans to have their vassals in competition in one another, and thus preventing them from unifying against them, outright war and conflict weaken the whole of the Empire.”

He gave her a sardonic look. “You do know you’re one of said vassals, yeah?”

She gave him a saucy wink in return.

With a sigh, Ichigo leaned back in his chair and said, “And your opinion?”

“Calvess’ claim is weaker,” she said without hesitation, as she stood up and moved to the front of his desk, sitting on the edge and causing the fabric of her dress to hug her curves suggestively. She then gingerly pointed to marked places on both maps. “His deed lists the ridge as a fixed border, and the mineral rights as conditional to that demarcation. Mirethe’s survey was done by a reputable firm, and the ministry clerks have verified their neutrality.” She pushed a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and briefly his eyes were distracted just enough where his gaze fell on her pale neck. “I would rule in her favor but offer Calvess a limited extraction lease on the section that crosses the ridge. Enough to satisfy his ego, if not his coffers.”

Ichigo considered it, flipping the Viscountess’ map around so it faced him properly. “Both are subdued, but one gets richer, huh?”

Her lashes lowered slightly as she leaned forward. “At the very least, it would give them both a reason to tolerate one another. Nobles are far more predictable when their greed is fed in measured doses.”

He gave a quiet huff of amusement and said dryly, “Makes me wonder about your greed, Sylvanna. Half the time I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

Her eyes fell half-lidded as she stared at him from underneath her lashes, all the while her smile curved dangerous. “Oh, I am a woman of many wants, my Prince. Perhaps we can discuss them over dinner some time?”

Ichigo gave her a flat look before returning his gaze to the maps. He then pressed a button on his desk. “Meril, when’s my next free office hour?”

His secretary’s cool voice came out of the intercom. “You have an opening the day after tomorrow, sire.”

“Can you send a summons to Baron Calvess and Viscountess Mirethe for that time then?” Though he quickly added, “Make sure to let them know I’m in a bad mood.”

“As you command, my Prince,” Meril responded swiftly.

“Thanks, you’re the best.” And then he gathered all the papers with a twist of magic and handed them in Sylvanna’s direction. “And you can let the presiding judge know that they’re free to make whatever ruling they want and that they won’t be pressured.”

“As you wish.” She rose in one smooth motion, gathering the papers. Her perfume, something faintly floral with a darker spice beneath, brushed the air between them as she leaned just close enough to retrieve the dossier from his hands… and give him a generous view down her cleavage. “I’ll also have the documents for next month’s budget allocation prepared for your signature by tomorrow morning.”

He nodded, already reaching for the next folder on his desk. “Good. And Sylvanna-”

“Yes, my lord?”

His eyes flicked up just briefly. “Thanks.”

Her expression softened, but only for a fraction of a second before the mask of professionalism slid back into place. “Always, my lord.”

And with that, she swept from the room, though not without an extra sway in her hips. As the door closed behind her, Ichigo let out a snort and leaned back into his chair with a bemused expression. For all her regality and nobility, Sylvanna was a natural seductress. Honestly, if he weren’t so desensitized to being in the presence of preternatural beauty via Yasaka and Tiamat, he would have probably fallen for the ancient Devil a long time ago.

Shaking his head with a soft chuckle, Ichigo turned back to the folders on his desk. Onto the next thing…

-----

A Few Hours Later

Tiamat stirred, the slow, languid motion of a creature weighed down with soft comfort and deep content. One serpentine eye cracked open, a gleam of ocean-blue cut through their bedroom, and it met the harsh fiery glow of her beloved’s aura.

With some minor annoyance, her lone eye slid towards his form.

He sat cross-legged at her side, chest and arms bare so that she could appreciate the rippling muscles of his back. Though his posture was stiff as stone, and his Soul-Sword hovered in the air before him. Slaying Moon, her mind echoed with the name of his soul, and the fierce blade glowed with a dark, reddish-orange hue, its edges coiling with tendrils of malevolent power and bleeding a baleful demonic radiance that threaded into the unseen ebb of time and space. Each pulse of power warped the air with a heatless shimmer.

Tiamat’s nose gave the faintest scrunch, a low growl escaping her lips; half irritation at being roused, half arousal at the sight of his power. But she had grown to used to his naked presence in their shard bed, and right now, the call of dreams outweighed the carnal want of needing him pulsing deep inside of her.

She shut her eye again and with a great yawn, let sleep reclaim her.

-----

The air in his Inner World was always still in that strange, heavy way: like holding his breath before a deep, cold plunge.

His eyes fell to the sprawling city below, as it stretched impossibly far into the horizon. He absently recognized many of the buildings from various cities within Infernity. The tall, glass skyscrapers of Fellgrand. The ludicrous yet mystical towers of Grevex. The brutal and industrious complexes of Calgrizand.

All of it reflected the realm of Infernity; the part of the Underworld which was an extension of his will.

Ichigo stood atop the tallest one, arms folded loosely across his chest, eyes half-lidded as he listened for those subtle shifts inside his own being. Those small ripples in the currents of his soul that were both lightly elusive, yet acutely profound things. Some were born from his thoughts, others from instinct. A few, he suspected, weren’t even entirely his.

Every flicker, every shadow of change, he tried to catch and hold: to see what it meant, where it led, and whether it was him.

But the stillness of the moment and his deep concertation were broken by heavy and angry foot falls behind him.

“Get your ugly face out of my backyard,” said an irritated voice, dripping with disdain grouched.

Though he didn’t bother to turn around, Ichigo couldn’t help but drop his head and give a vexed sigh. Just once, just one time, he’d like to venture into his own Inner World without having to deal with his sadistic Soul-Sword. Seriously, what did it say about himself that he was so instantly annoyed by the reflection of his own soul? He was starting to think he needed therapy…

“We have the same face, idiot,” Ichigo said dryly. “And it’s my soul.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zangetsu came into view, his robe and long white hair billowing in a wind that Ichigo was quite sure was only blowing because Zangetsu willed it to make itself look cool. His Zanpakuto’s mouth set in that flat line of permanent disapproval. Without a word, he raised a hand and flipped Ichigo the middle finger.

Ichigo exhaled slowly. “Lovely.”

“Up yours too, sweetheart,” Zangetsu replied. “Now, unless you’re here to let me stab you, fuck off.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Shut up Zangetsu, otherwise I’ll boil you in minotaur shit back in the physical world.”

Zangetsu snorted, ignoring the threat completely. “The Hell ya even doing in here?”

Ichigo’s gaze drifted away again, back toward the unseen threads within himself. “One of the books Sirzechs gave me said that fully anchoring the self within the self is key to retaining ego and identity when unmoored from linear time.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Zangetsu rolled his eyes so hard Ichigo swore he could hear it. “Fucking Hell, ya still hung up on the same identity bullshit. ‘Who am I? What am I?’ All these years and ya still going on about self-discovery. You have got to be sorriest excuse for a Demon on this, or any other, plane of existence. Look at me! I’m Ichigo! Hell’s most introspective Demon Lord!”

Ichigo’s jaw flexed. He didn’t snap back, though mostly because he knew that it would only further bait Zangetsu into another slew of insults.

Nevertheless, he let the words hang there, turning it over in his mind.

Who was he, really? In not even thirty years of living, he’d been so many different things he’d nearly lost count. A stubborn high schooler who could talk to the dead. A substitute Shinigami, dragging around a sword so big it defied practicality. A Pawn to Lucifer himself. And last, but certainly not least; a Demon Lord, one of the Seven Deadly Sins that permeated the cosmos.

The city beneath his feet whispered all of it back to him.

He stepped to the edge of the spire, looking out over the skyline. The sprawling city of mismatched architecture, every building equally marked with supernatural and mundane purpose. And drowning the streets of the hodgepodge Infernity, the Sin of Wrath surged, like great currents beneath the sea. Rivers of red and black demonic energy coursed through the city’s streets, churning violently.

Far in the distance, beyond the last curve of rooftops, the vortex that was Hell churned, devouring and dragging the edges of numerous buildings yet never diminishing his Soul-scape.

And far above, away from the demonic metropolis and deeply entrenched baleful rage, his Inner World’s sky fell impossible.

But in truth, there was no actual sky. There was no sun, no empty blue, no drifting clouds.

Instead, an ocean stretched endlessly overhead, so clear that every ripple and wave shone like cut glass and glistened with an all too familiar sapphire glow. And far below the tide, standing so proud and majestic, was a single, colossal golden ginkgo tree, its leaves radiating warmth and sunlight, scattering it like starlight across the watery heavens. And beneath it’s great boughs, lay an old and familiar house with an attached clinic.

And it was him. All of it. Everything that he saw just reflected his own face back to him. That was the point, there was only him here.

And in that moment, something in him loosened.

Maybe Sirzechs’ book had overcomplicated it.. Or, as annoying as it was to admit, maybe Zangetsu was right with his particular brand of blunt vulgarity and he had overcomplicated it.

Ichigo already knew himself. After all, everything that was him was laid bare here. He’d been trying to brute-force his way into Timelessness, when all he really had to do was hold onto the things that made him… him. Not perfect things. Not even good things. Just his things. Now he just needed to figure out how.

A shadow fell over him.

“You’re overthinking it,” Zangetsu said, floating upside down over his head.

Ichigo glanced up at him.

“You always overthink it.”

And just like that, his epiphany was melted away.

Zangetsu drew his blade in one smooth motion, the edge cutting through air until it slid across the hardened skin of Ichigo’s neck. “Enough with the pensive woe-is-me bullshit. Let’s fight. Been too fucking long.”

Ichigo closed his eyes with a silent sigh.

The key to knowing yourself is also accepting your less desirable traits too. Those parts of yourself you don’t like, he thought angrily as he pinched the bridge of his nose. But why the fuck does my bad side have to be so fucking annoying?

“I can hear your thoughts, you fucking asshole,” Zangetsu said flatly.

“No shit Sherlock, you are me. Fuck, I can’t believe I’m arguing with myself.”

Ichigo called a copy of his zanpakutō into his hand and steel met steel with a dull, satisfying ring as he knocked Zangetsu’s sword away from his neck. “Fine. But we’re keeping it purely swordplay. My body’s not in a pocket dimension, so if we go all out, we’ll scorch all of Infernity and probably take half the Underworld with it.”

Zangetsu’s grin turned maniacal and filled with malice. “Sounds fun.”

Ichigo rose a single eyebrow. “Getting your ass kicked is fun? Great, now I have to wonder if I have masochistic streak.”

“Oh, fuck off, Ichigo!”  Zangetsu lunged, and Ichigo met him halfway, the clash of their blades sending steel ringing throughout Satan’s soul.

-----

Sona’s lungs burned as she ducked under another swipe from the Reaver Lord, the air splitting with the sound of its claws cutting through where her head had been a moment before. Her body ached from too many close calls and one too many that hadn’t been quite close enough. She was covered in jagged cuts along her arms and on her sides where the beast’s sheer brute strength had slipped past her watery defenses.

Around her, the chaos of battle raged. She caught flashes of her peerage in the periphery: Tsubaki’s shouts as she clashed enchanted steel against demonic flesh, the sharp cracks of Saji’s Absorption Line whips and the rumbling, flashes of magic as Reya tried to keep a Knight’s gaping maw at bay. Every one of them was fighting desperately just to stay alive.

But she could pay little more attention to her peerage as her own foe lunged again, its enormous bulk a blur despite its size. The ground shook with the impact of the Reaver Lord’s each step.

Its brutal fist tore through her magic and, before she could dodge, it landed squarely against her cheek. White-hot pain lanced through her face as she was hurled back. And Sona hit the ground hard, bouncing once before the dirt’s unforgiving surface stopped her momentum.

She let out a choked cough as she felt fresh blood drip down her chin, but she was given no time to even assess the full damage as fire blossomed in the corner of her eye, several orbs hurtling toward her in quick succession. She snapped a shield of dense, conjuring thick water into existence, steam hissing violently as the fireballs smashed against it. The barrier buckled under the heat but held… though barely.

And Sona was given no time to bask her quick thinking.

The Reaver Lord was already there again, claws hammering swiping down ferociously, forcing her to duck and weave and conjure magical barriers against its unending and tireless onslaught.

Each strike sent shocks down her arms as she forced her magic to redirect its blows, twisting and bending water into hardened walls and blades. But the monster was just a little too strong, just a little beyond her threshold to completely hold back. She gritted her teeth as its claws scored her side, another tearing across her thigh.

Her eyes were glued to the blur of those claws, watching the ripple of thick and powerful muscles to help gauge the direction of each powerful blow.

Alas, Sona failed to see the bony tail until it was already bound around her leg, its spur like protrusions digging into her flash. It yanked her leg high, and Sona hit the dirt before she could even fully register the loss of balance.

The back of her head hit the ground and her eyes watered as pain seared and her vision unfocused. But her sight righted itself just in time to see the massive foot raise over her and then came down in a brutal stomp.

Agony exploded in her chest as she heard - actually heard – her own bones crack. The world tilted, vision tunneling. She couldn’t even scream as air and blood were forced out of her throat and it spilled all over herself and the clawed foot.

Yet instinctively, her magic flared, being the only thing left between her and being pulped into the ground. As the Reaver Lord raised its foot again, a desperate idea flashed, and she pulled the atmosphere itself into a tight sphere between them.

The concussive blast went off like a thunderclap, the shockwave ripping them apart and hurling them in opposite directions.

She lay there for a heartbeat, gasping. If not for her Devil physiology and the magical nature trying to desperately knit her body back together, she would have died a dozen times in the last several hours.

But she had no time to dwell on such thoughts.

Sona forced herself upright, blood mixing heavy with saliva in her mouth as she spun a new arcane weave. Multiple magic circles flared before her, dark blue in color and  hissing as each built pressure. They flared for a second before launching a barrage of razor-precise blasts of water.

The Lord dodged and twisted, flying into the air with a horrid snarl - until suddenly, it stopped. Head tilted, gaze turned toward some far-off horizon.

Sona’s breath caught, even as her eyes narrowed in confusion. Because she could hear the slow stilling of battel through the ruinous city, meaning the other Reavers had paused too, their predatory attention drawn elsewhere.

But what could possibly distra -  and Sona’s eyes flew wide as the whole of Infernity seemed to shift out of place. The air churned, thick with raw malice and her entire being shook to the core and she swore she heard the ringing of maniacal laughter far off in the distance.

But delusion or no, Sona was all too familiar with Lord Ichigo’s baleful power.

-----

Mud clung to his boots like lead weights, and every muscle in his body burned.

Kiba’s breath came in quick, shallow bursts as he circled the massive, thrashing shape ahead. Eight now. They had hunted eight of the Infernity Bullfrogs down. Somehow.

The only reason they’d survived this long was a little luck and a lot ingenuity. He still wasn’t sure whose idea it had been to use illusions to peel one away from the herd, but it had worked, dragging individual beasts far enough from the others that they could surround it without the whole horde of demonic amphibians rushing in to crush them.

But it wasn’t just the frogs they had to worry about. The swamp was host to numerous other dangers; they nearly lost Asia to some slime-like creature that quite literally sprung out of the ground. Although Akeno’s girlish scream when they had encountered the near three-meter-long cockroach had been amusing.

But his thoughts were snapped back to the present as the monstrous bullfrog’s bright red throat ballooned as it croaked, its voice powerful enough to send a small shockwave in the air that pushed them all back. Even exhausted, it still moved with terrifying bursts of speed.

Koneko was the first to meet it head-on. She planted her feet in the muck and punched upward with a force that cracked bone and sent the hulking creature reeling. On wings above, his master and Akeno moved in perfect tandem, crimson and violet arcs of magic spiraling into heavy chains that dropped over the frog’s body.

“Now!” Lady Rias shouted.

Koneko seized the conjured chains and with teeth bared tight, she heaved with all her might. The links snapped taut, and the frog’s massive bulk tipped sideways, hitting the ground with a wet, shuddering impact that sent muddy water spraying in all directions.

Kiba didn’t wait. He was already moving, sword flashing as he rushed the exposed flank. Xenovia was right beside him with a personally smited Holy-Demonic greatsword cleaving through the air. Together, they hacked into the mucus-slick hide, searching for any weakness in the thick, rubbery flesh.

Behind them, over the squelch of their blades biting into meat, came the steady, mechanical growl of the Boosted Gear.

“Boost!”

Another strike.

“Boost!”

The words became a drumbeat, building to a crescendo.

Finally, their swords bit deep enough to draw a scream from the creature, a high-pitched, ear-splitting keening that made Kiba’s ears hurt.

That was when Issei roared past them in a crimson blur.

He launched himself straight into the gaping mouth, Booted Gear’s crimson fingers clenched tight and burning with dense Dragon-fire fist blazing.

“Red Dragon’s Fire Fist!” Issei cried, and the hit landed square against the vulnerable flesh of the upper part of the frog’s mouth. Instantly bone shattered and blasted away in a fiery explosion, and the rest of the Infernity Bullfrog went slack, collapsing into the swamp in a cloud of smoke and burnt flesh.

Nine, Kiba thought with an exhausted sigh. We’ve managed to kill nine.

But he barely had time to take another before the air changed swift.

And it wasn’t some gust of wind out of the winding maze of tress, but more like the entire swamp inhaled at once, dragging everything down to the ground. The constant background noise of dripping water, insect hum, and distant croaks faded into a perfect, suffocating silence.

And then he felt it.

A wretched weight falling heavy on his shoulders, sliding across his skin and into his very bones. The reek of malevolence was so thick it almost choked him. Even his sword felt heavier under it. And, oddly enough, he thought he could hear some lunatic laughing far off in the distance.

Beside him, Issei froze. He raised both hands as if warding off an accusation. “It wasn’t me this time, I swear!”

Though no one said anything as they looked grimly at one another. Yeah, they instantly recognized what had happened. There was only one being in all of Infernity whose sheer presence could grind the realm so.

The question was though: who in the Underworld was so stupid as to annoy Lord Ichigo?

-----

The corner of Meril’s eye twitched as she looked over the mess.

Four hulking common Reavers stood in the middle of the great hall, their clawed feet caked in mud and muck, tracking long, oozing streaks across the brand new carpets she’d had installed last week. It had taken her weeks to get Lord Ichigo’s permission to get rid of the old ones! And weeks more to find the perfect replacement that fit his aesthetic while matching the awe and gravitas of Iravex!

“How many times,” she said slowly, voice dripping venom, “have I told you stay out of the damn mud?”

The Reavers just stared at her, slack-jawed and uncomprehending. One blinked. Slowly.

Meril inhaled sharply, held it, then exhaled through her nose in a long, aggrieved sigh. “Fine… fine!”

With a flick of her wrist, a conjured torrent of water blasted into them, knocking the brutes flat and sending them spiraling like clumps of tumbleweed. They thrashed and floundered in the puddles, snarling in confusion momentarily. But then, as soon as the spell ended, one of them sat up and looked about confused. It looked down at the wet muddy carpets, picked up a fistful of runny sludge, and proceeded to slap it all over its closest brother.

Meril watched helplessly as the mud covered Reaver snarled and threw itself at the offender, starting a free-for-all brawl amongst the four monsters that shared a single brain-cell.

Her hands slowly clenching into tight fists, Meril ground out, “Get. Them. Out!”

The Reaver Knight escorting her let out a horrid hiss-like sound, causing the four rowdy Reavers to freeze in place, all the while a team of servants rushed in, casting quick cleaning spells to whisk away the mud and water before it could damage the carpet anymore.

And yet, as soon as everything became pristine again, the air in the citadel abruptly changed.

The servants froze mid-motion. The Knight beside her went stiff and the four common Reavers looked genuinely frightened.

The pressure of her master’s presence settled over Infernity like a thunderous storm.

Meril pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Again?” she bemoaned quietly. She had begged him countless times not to train out in the open, his sheer presence wreaked havoc amongst the general populace. And inevitably, the next morning, her desk and email would be flooded with complaints about Lord Ichigo’s reckless display of power, because, naturally, no one would dare complain directly to the Crown Prince himself.

Silently, her heart went out to all the denizens who had anxiety or were prone to panic attacks. At the very least, therapists will never be short of clients in Infernity.

Meril let out a deeply tired sigh.

-----

The duel began without fanfare, no explosive bursts of spiritual pressure, no great shockwaves tearing the landscape apart. Ichigo faced Zangetsu in perfect stillness, and then, faster than thought, steel met steel.

Unlike their battles during his teenage years, there was no wild struggle or desperate need to wrench control from the other. Rather, this was more akin to two predators circling in a narrow space, where instinct bled with intellect.

Zangetsu’s style was a blur of chaos, constantly shifting hands, stances, and footwork in an erratic rhythm that denied prediction. His swings came at strange angles, his grip shifting mid-strike, his momentum turning into feints that snapped back like a whip. Every movement radiated an aggressive, almost feral intent meant to wear down Ichigo with overwhelming ferocity.

By contrast, Ichigo moved like the tide with the full weight of the ocean behind him. Steady yet immensely powerful.

His two-handed grip and compact form spoke of discipline and lethal precision, each blow heavy, exact, and aimed to land on the head or torso, to ensure a killing blow. There was no trickery with fancy twirling and egregious movement meant to misdirect. Each strike and counterstrike were meant to turn his energy to one purpose: brutal murder. Swift, economic and marked with savage brutality.

He wouldn’t lie, even as Zangetsu’s wild laughter and cries echoed within his soul, Ichigo found himself smiling. He could never resist a good fight. And there few, so few swordsmen within the Underworld that could give him a decent match. Sadly, after he left Sirzechs’ peerage, his and Souji’s duels had become all too rare.

But when it came down to it – other than caving Sirzechs’ face in with his fists - there was no other violence that gave him greater joy than trading blows with Zangetsu. The irony that he loved fighting himself more than anything. Lucifer, maybe he really did need therapy after all?

“Overthinking again!” Zangetsu yelled psychotically as he lunged forth, blade flicking upward in a rising cut.

Ichigo grunted and stepped into the blow, angling his own sword down in a firm parry, steel sliding against steel with a sharp hiss, and he let the deflected strike carry past him before twisting his wrists to send a heavy, two-handed counter toward Zangetsu’s midsection.

His crazy Zanpakuto Spirit pivoted, catching the blow on the flat of his blade, then rolled his weapon into a backhand slash aimed for Ichigo’s temple. But Ichigo dipped his head, letting the cut skim over his hair, and immediately stamped forward, shoulder driving in to close the gap. He swung in a short, brutal arc aimed for the collarbone, only for Zangetsu to step inside his guard and switch hands mid-motion, reversing his grip to bring the point up toward Ichigo’s ribs.

Ichigo’s eyes narrowed, equally entertained and frustrated.

Ichigo rotated with the force of Zangetsu’s thrust, turning the attack aside with a hard sweep, then used the recoil to drive a vertical strike down toward the top of Zangetsu’s head. The Soul-Sword shifted to the side at the last instant, blade flashing in a low cut at Ichigo’s knee, forcing him to leap back.

They glared each other down, and with madness gleaming in eyes, Zangetsu threw his head back and let out a wild laugh. “Feels good, don’t it Ichigo? But it ain’t enough, it’ll never be enough, will it? When’s the last time we really let loose? We came close with the fucking asshat, oh so close.”

Ichigo twirled his sword in hand. “Not like I can go rampage whenever I feel like it.”

“Pfft, doesn’t fucking stop you getting all giddy at the thought though, does it? Poor little Ichigo, always having to hold back in a crappy little world made outta cardboard, always taking the high road for fear of gettin outta control! When ya gonna learn to indulge?”

Ichigo responded with a mocking grin. “Indulged plenty with Tiamat last night. But then, your dumbass wouldn’t know anything about that, being stuck here all by your poor, lonesome self. Do I need to find you a lady Zanpakuto friend?”

Zangetsu’s eyes widened in outrage, before quickly narrowing in rage. “Che!”

And they clashed all over again.

As the duel progressed, Ichigo’s focus deepened, and the air around him seemed to ripple. Almost unconsciously, he found himself slipping into the realm of Time, his mind widening into the branching pathways of possibility. Every strike Zangetsu could make bloomed in his vision, every dodge, every counterattack forming a web of futures. And he began to strike not at where Zangetsu was, but where he would be.

But then, in a single flicker, his blade cut nothing but air.

His eyes widened as he realized Zangetsu was now behind him, his own blade slashing toward Ichigo’s exposed flank.

Ichigo twisted hard, barely evading, but not enough to avoid the sting of steel along his side. A shallow cut, but a stark reminder that foresight was not omniscience.

Zangetsu smiled cruelly, voice low but cutting. “Idiot! Did ya forget I learn everything you do!”

Ichigo spat to the side, tightening his grip, and answered with a renewed viciousness.

Their duel sharpened, moving beyond the present: each clash echoing in dozens of parallel timelines. They fought across possibilities, each landing strikes in moments that would never happen, defending against blows that might have been. And even then, as Ichigo and his Soul dipped deeper into the Fourth World, he realized with awe it was still only a fraction of what True Immortals, those free of causality, could truly do.

Already his mind was struggling to keep up with the dozens of possibilities presented through his duel with Zangetsu, he could scarcely imagine what it would be like to see through infinite futures and could have been pasts.

He had merely dipped a lone toe into the impossibilities of Timelessness.

As their onslaught continued, Ichigo felt their speed accelerate until, to the naked eye, they seemed to stand utterly still. And he realized that they had moved beyond the relative relations of speed and time and had stepped outside the continuity of monolinearity.

But Zangetsu was seeing just as much as he was and neither could gain ground. Foresight met foresight, prediction canceled prediction. But then…

A sensation brushed Ichigo’s mind, alien and inexplicable but deeply visceral. He couldn’t describe it, but if all the possibilities of what ‘could be’ were like threads branching out from the current moment, then this was an unattached thread… something unfettered. Something that didn’t quite exist. And, oddly enough, it glimmered gold in his mind’s eye.

Instinctually, Ichigo’s mind reached to grab it and…

Ichigo blinked, both he and Zangetsu staring dumbly at each other, utterly baffled at what had just transpired. And simultaneously, they slowly looked down to see Ichigo holding his sword, it’s length deeply buried through Zangetsu’s heart.

Wait… what…?

They both looked utterly bewildered and -

Ichigo felt his soul lurch. His immense strength and near endless reserves of power slipped away, and his vision began to darken. His grip loosened as the golden thread faded from his mind, and then he was falling… ejected from his Inner World as consciousness fled.

-----

Tiamat stared inquisitively as her beloved jolted from his seated meditations, his infernal blade tumbled from its place in the air and landed softly onto the covers of their bed. He fell onto his back, barely managing to keep himself up on his elbows as he panted heavily. Her eyes widened slightly as, for the first time since she had truly known him, he looked weak, utterly drained of strength.

Immediate concern filled her, and she reached out with both her arms and her mind, bringing him into her embrace. As she carefully laid his head in her lap, she called out to him with worry. “Beloved?”

Brown eyes jumped to meet her gaze, and he nodded reassuringly, though still breathed heavy. “I’m fine,” he said between gasps of air, “I just…unholy crap, I feel so drained.”

Curious, she touched his mind and he readily allowed her access to his memories. But as she watched through them, her brows slowly climbed high with each passing second, astonishment morphing her expression.

She knew he was exceptional; she knew his most phenomenal gift was his near unprecedented ability to grow at an astounding rate. But this…? In less than two months of training and arduous exercise he had already come so far? When others would take centuries, or even more?

How frighting you are, my dearest beloved.

He regarded her with a questioning glance. No doubt reading the plain surprise on etched on her face. “I, uhh, guess you know what happened to me?”

She shook her head, equally exasperated and amused. “You willed Fate.”

He blinked up at her. “I what?”

Tenderly, Tiamat ran her fingers through his hair and soothingly rubbed his scalp. “You created a future that did not exist.”

His eyes widened and his mouth slowly fell into an O shape. Tiamat felt the corner of her lips flicker, he really was so adorable when he was surprised. She briefly leaned down, her white hair tickling the edges of his jaw as she gave him a quick kiss, and then murmured against his lips, “Most of the Supernatural call it a miracle, to will impossibility into reality. Consider what you’ve done a minor miracle, a small and insignificant thing when compared to the grander scope of what Time is capable of.”

He scowled in annoyance. “Gee, thanks.”

She smiled, bemused. “It is a great accomplishment on your part, beloved. You have progressed much faster than I had expected.”

“And the reason I feel so tired…? Those books didn’t mention anything about feeling like I ran a marathon.”

“That is because you have touched upon a power that their authors did not achieve,” she said, sitting back up while gently stroking his cheek. “It requires immense energy to create Time, even for such a small moment as you did. All the more difficult is it to alter the past, upending the entirety of the future. But those who sit in the Timelessness have a natural predisposition for such things, and divine energy inherently exists outside of Time, unlike your demonic prowess. As such, you exhausted yourself.”

“I get it,” he said quietly, closing his eyes and shifting his head comfortable in her lap. “And I suppose, even with that, there would be the competing wills of other divinities to nullify a future I could or would create?”

“Naturally,” she caressed his cheek. “Power is meaningless without will. When dealing with authorities that exceed the physical planes of reality, there is nothing more dangerous than a firm heart radiating conviction.”

He snorted and looked up at her with amusement. “I guess my kindergarten teacher was right. I just have to believe in myself to make all my dreams come true.”

“Wise words,” she replied as she lovingly brushed his hair from his brow. “Conviction and strength of will are the marks of true greatness.”

He closed his eyes again and let out a thoughtful hum. “…wanna get dinner?”

Tiamat laughed.

-----

Ichigo sat cross-legged on the grassy slope, one hand holding his bean burrito, the other bracing against the soft earth. The warm, savory scent curled up toward his face, mixing with the faint bite of spice from the sauce. The grilled chicken was perfectly tender, the rice soaking in the tangy heat until every bite was a small, satisfying explosion. Even here, in the sprawling chaos of the Underworld, the humble chicken endured, a universal constant among creatures who appreciated a good meal.

Far above, thick rain clouds gathered, and just barely, he could make out the vague silhouette of his Dragon King sailing through the clouds. When he asked her to dinner, he had imagined something more along the lines of sitting at a table with dish after dish brought out by a line of servants. Instead, Tiamat had opted for a hunt, saying it had been too long since she last tasted a fresh kill. Which was utterly ridiculous because Ichigo distinctively recalled her dropping some mangled carcass in the gardens in Iravex not too long ago.

That being said, he appreciated the outing. The land before him stretched for hundreds of miles, an ocean of grass rippling under a restless wind, the odd tree standing thick and high, sparkling with bolts of yellow electricity.

For all its vicious flora and fauna and countless way to get oneself killed, Infernity could be a beautiful place.  Which he supposed had more to do with his own personal preferences being imprinted onto the geography of the realm than nature taking its course.

Suddenly, without warning, Tiamat broke through the clouds, her sapphire encrusted form gleaming in the night sky; her wings tucked as she dove toward the horizon. He watched her shrink into the distance until a spray of dust rose far away. Moments later, she was climbing back into the sky again, and he could clearly make out something dangling from her jaws, something massive. The creature was big enough to be a house.

When she returned, Ichigo took in the familiar, grotesque silhouette: an Aym’s Chimera. The thing had a manlike face buried in metallic-blue fur with twisting ram like horns growing out the sides of head and face. It had the muscular forebody of a lion, lizardlike hind legs, and six serpentine tails, each tipped with venomous barbs.

They were one of the many weird things Grayfia-nee had made him memorize when he was under her tutelage. They were monstrous creations that the Demon Aym of the Seventy-Two Pillars had made eons ago. Over the millennia, that had spread all over the Underworld, hunting and depopulating entire regions of wildlife. Here in Infernity though, they were just another common beast that had the sad fate of being preyed upon by Infernity’s apex predator: his girlfriend.

She landed beside him, and Ichigo frowned as she kicked up a cloud of dust. He quickly moved to protect his burrito. How tragic would it be if he got dirt all over it? Tiamat may not have any scruples of eating off the ground, but Ichigo sure did. He didn’t have a Dragon’s blunt tastebuds nor an iron-clad stomach.

She dropped her prize with a heavy thud, then lay down beside it, her barbed tongue working with gruesome efficiency to strip away fur, scales, and hide. Bits of gore clung to her muzzle, and the air quickly filled with the coppery scent of blood.

Ichigo chewed thoughtfully, unbothered: he’d long grown used to seeing her rip through bodies. Not to mention how desensitized he’d become to gore after having personally toured through Hell. There really wasn’t anything that could scare him at this point as he’d literally seen the worst all of existence had to offer.

Nonetheless, Ichigo couldn’t help but drift back to his earlier thought of Tiamat being the apex predator of this realm. Suddenly, he imagined a film crew chasing her from the ground as she flew through the skies. A full-blown nature documentary in the making titled: “The Ancient Predator” - it could be educational thing for young Devils in schools. Maybe he could get Sera to executive produce it?

He snorted with some laughter as, in his mind, he could already hear the solemn narrator’s voice describing her “efficient predatory methods” and “uncompromising dominance in her territory.”

Entertained with own thoughts, Ichigo smiled absently in humor… right until Tiamat paused mid-feast to fix him with a flat, unimpressed look, muzzle caked with dripping blood and bits of torn flesh.

Whoops.

Pushing his amusement down and willing away any more errant thoughts, Ichigo wiped the last bit of sauce from his lip with his thumb, using his searing touch to burn his mouth clean. And after swallowing the last bite of his burrito, he glanced up at her, catching the glint of her eyes through the mess of gore.

“So,” he began casually, “what do you think about Sirzechs’ advice on expanding my peerage?”

Tiamat sunk her fangs into the carcass and shook her head, her powerful jaw and neck muscles tearing massive chunks of flesh. Thus, she answered him in his mind. “I would concur. An additional servant would prove useful in the coming conflicts.” She raised her head, allowing gravity to help her swallow whole the giant piece of unchewed meat. “It would also be wise of you to expand your influence. I would counsel you to expand your power base beyond your kingdom, and the greater Empire you share with your fell brethren.”

He nodded his head in understanding. Tiamat words conveyed a practical truth. Humbaba and Saviġuk were immensely powerful pieces, but they established no diplomatic ties nor gave him any additional reach outside of the Underworld. Ichigo had decided to take Grayfia’s words to heart, he really did need to play the part of Dark Lord.

Especially as the world grew more dangerous and contentious. He had to protect what was his.

Ichigo leaned back slightly, raising a brow. “Any idea what Evil Piece I should use next?”

Her gaze narrowed in amusement. “Why ask what you have already long considered and concluded, beloved?”

He raised an eyebrow as his mouth twisted wryly. “Maybe because I like talking to you and value your opinion, beloved?”

There was a pause in her scaled expression, but the warmth that answered him wasn’t in her eyes or face, but in the rush of emotions through their mental bond; a deep, rich wave of affection that flooded his chest with warmth.

“Love you too, beautiful,” he said with an indulgent smile.

“You do not lack brute force,” she thought after a moment. “Consider subtlety.”

“You mean an assassin? Or a spy?”

“Perhaps,” she nodded, “Or even a knowledgeable sorcerer. What magic you know is ill-suited for purposes beyond war. Having the subtler arcane arts at your disposal would be advantageous.”

Ichigo mulled it over, drumming his fingers against his knee. “Yeah, pretty much what I was thinking, then. A Bishop, or a Pawn. Someone who can move and do things unseen.”

He briefly scowled. One of the few disadvantages of being him was that Ichigo was damn near impossible not to notice. The sheer weight of Satan’s presence constantly exerted an unconscious pressure against localized reality. The moment he stepped into a dimension, most powerful beings would instantly sense him.

His thoughts wandered briefly. “For a Bishop, I suppose I could ask Mephistopheles for advice…” But the idea soured very quickly, and he shook his head. “No, never mind. He’d try to work a deal into it, and like Hell I’m about to owe the Demon of Bargains a favor.”

Tiamat’s eyes gleamed knowingly. “Wise.”

He exhaled, gaze drifting over the expansive plains. But then, another possibility occurred to him. “Huh… that could work. Guess I’ll need to make a trip to the Human World soon.”

And as soon as he said the words, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Brows furrowing, Ichigo fished it out, only to blink in mild surprise at the name flashing across the screen.

“Well,” he muttered, thumbing the message open, “looks like I’m going to the Human World sooner than I thought.”

Tiamat did not respond, instead, she tore the chimera’s liver out and slurped it down like Jello. Ichigo glanced up with his phone with a single brow raised before shaking his head. Yeah, this was one meeting he could leave her home for. Diplomatic; Tiamat was not.

-----

Vali stared at the divine Dragon swimming about the room: it was a fascinating thing, watching everything bend around the Infinite Ouroboros, refusing to touch the Void. Actually, not just fascinating, but mildly annoying as well. It hurt his eyes and brain trying to make sense of existence itself trying to escape the impossible Dragon’s touch.

*&$^%

Ah, hast thou sensed it, dear Albion? The Infernal Child grows ever more powerful.

How delightful.

And darling Tiamat, how magnificent that her tears have dried.

But, nay.

She doth have a story to finish. I shan’t allow it omitted. I suppose I shall nudge a few more tears from her lovely visage.

Do not deem me uncaring.

Tiamat knows a mother’s heart.

Yet her act is second. First, we shall play with the Sun and Moon. And what wonderous visions the Dead have spun: to reach Heaven by violence. Such grand theatre, oh Albion. But hark! A familiar face now enters the stage.

*&#$^!

Vali shook his head disoriented and blinked away the fog.

“Vali,” a deep voice rumbled within his mind.

“I’m okay,” he said to the ancient Dragon sealed within him, even as he put a hand to his head and the sharp ache in his temples.

That was another annoying thing.

Ophis didn’t always speak with a voice, nor did it always communicate telepathically with thoughts. Sometimes, it just battered cryptic knowings into a person’s very existence. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience, somewhat akin to having a spike sledgehammered into one’s brain. It was why the rest of Khaos Brigade had fled as soon as they received the Void’s blessing.

Well, that, and the sheer abject terror they all felt when facing an impossible beyond-dimensional eldritch horror.

But Vali had stayed in its presence, because unlike the rest of the tumultuous mess that was Khaos Brigade, Vali did not fear the Void. What was the point? He couldn’t stop Ophis any more than he could stop the sun from setting. From his perspective, fearing Ophis was just plain foolhardy. It will do what it wants, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.

At least, not yet…

-----

The sliding doors of the restaurant opened with a muted woosh, releasing a faint aroma of grilled fish, miso, and fresh tatami into the cool evening air. Ichigo stepped inside, pausing a moment to take in the subdued elegance. Paper lanterns glowed softly overhead, their warm light pooling onto polished wood floors. Low murmurs of conversation drifted between the few patrons seated at neatly arranged tables, each speaking in hushed, respectful tones.

A woman in a luxurious orange-and-red kimono approached, her posture impeccable. The maî·tre d'hôtel inclined her head in greeting. “Welcome, dear guest. May I have the name on your reservation, please?”

“Kurosaki,” Ichigo replied smoothly.

Her expression didn’t shift, but she gave a small bow and gestured for him to follow. She guided him through the narrow hallways, past sliding shoji screens, until they arrived at a private dining room. The faint sound of a shamisen somewhere in the distance accompanied the whisper of the door sliding open.

Ichigo stepped inside silently, removing his shoes before settling at the low table. Across from him sat an all too familiar figure.

The corners of his mouth lifted as he greeted warmly. “Long time no see, Rukia.”

Violet eyes smiled at him. “Long time indeed, fool.”