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Chapter Text

He rolled his pencil between his fingers. “So what are you, then?”

“Contractor,” she said, a hint of pride under the deadpan. “Freelance pest control for things that slip out of the Abyss. Try not to make more of them by cramming for math at 3 a.m., okay?”

Bell snorted. “No promises.”

Mors smirked, but her eyes drifted to the window, where dawn split the sky into peach and iron. She didn’t say it aloud, not to him, but the light made the hairs rise on her arms. The Abyss stirred on mornings like this.

In the Past… 

The Gremory Devil had discovered Mors hunting in her territory. Negotiations had failed.

Devil and Daemon clash in the air. The impact from their magics colliding sends a ripple of thunder throughout the forest.

The Pale one swings her scythe, but her slash misses the Devil, who twists away from her opponent as she descends down onto the forest ground.

Rias dives down, closer to the treetops than she would prefer, surveying for her opponent. It takes but a moment to notice the shimmer, then the flash of the sharpened end of a bone soaring right at her. There is barely enough time to maneuver out of the path of the weapon, and now even less so to notice the oncoming barrage of more and more bones.

She flies through the flurry of bones, destroying several with a blast of crimson-black magic. In a brief couple of second for respite, Rias glances down and takes notice at the ground. She veers down into the forest clearing, dodging past trees and branches to catch the perpetrator.

The wild energy indicative of the Power of Destruction tunneled through any tree and towards Mors. Right before impact, the Daemon creates several pieces of skeletal armor coated her chest and arms. The wave of energy wraps around her in an instant, before detonating like a bomb. The armor had done its job very well, all but not in protecting her eyes, however.

She's blinded. While she could afford a lost limb, these organs weren't something she could afford to lose. Clutching her scythe in one hand, a sword of bone forms into her hand as she swings wildly around the forest. In the meanwhile, she had directed all of her energy into healing her eyes, but in this frenzied state, the flow was not consistent, and it was taking longer than what should be expected.

Moments pass, and vision returns to her again. It's hazy and dull, not helped by how much energy she had now spent. Blinking a few more times, clarity is all there is as she leaps onto the top of a tree within a single bound. That's when she glances overhead and gets a look at the quickly ascending devil, back facing her.

Like a rocket, the Pale One races through the sky, propelled off a now shattered tree. She tears the Crimson Princess out of the sky, held on as they tumble closer and closer to the ground.

Rias charges up another blast, releasing a shockwave that sends both in the opposite directions. The Crimson Princess breaks her fall with another blast of destruction, softening the ground enough so that the impact would be all but a minor of inconveniences.

Mors, on the other hand, simply coated herself completely in armor as she slammed straight down onto the ground. The kick of dust was so immense is flew over the tree tops. Not even after the dust settles, another wave of destructive energy slams into her. An explosion sets off in the forest, clouding a small chunk of the area in dust.

Rias looks through the dusty visage, trying to locate her opponent. The blast wasn't enough to full on kill, not at least with the amount she's taken. But if her timing was right, she should have been hit right as her armor faded away. At the least, she'd be much weaker and unable to keep fighting, at best, being knocked out with a blown off limb. She waited and waited—only to be met with a punch to her side.

Her figure curves into the punch, being sent a fair distance away, bouncing off of a rock. While that goes on, Mors leaps into the air and comes right down, reaching out a hand to punch her down. She falls right after the descending Devil, striking again at the moment of impact, ricocheting her right into the air. Feet touch ground and Mors extends forward to slam wrap around her leg and toss her into a tree, just to be countered as Rias blasts the Limb into pieces.

She goes flying past some trees for a bit before catching herself mid-air. Descending back down into the soothing feeling a stream she'd fell into, clearly exhausted from the fight. A crash soon follows as the Daemon cuts through the some to confront her.

Or atleast what was left of it. While it shared in Rias' injuries, bruises and cuts all over, The Pale One carried not only a limp from her weakening of her bones, but her arm was also shredded and shriveled, missing the sword she had created.

Rias wiped whatever grime was on her face, wading through the cold water. Mors limps through the gravel, facing off on the other side.

"You're looking banged up." She taunted.

"Last chance. Turn back now, and let us do our duty." Rias wasn't joking around anymore. Her tone is stern and violent, clearly not willing to budge on any compromise short of Mors leaving with her life.

"Sorry, but I took the job already and I have yet to score my payday. And not like the job market is open right now." Smugly, Mors cracks her neck and beats on her leg to get it back in working order.

Rias sighs, before powering up with her raw intensity moving the water beneath her. Whatever leftover power she'd has would be used in the final round. All to determine what was superior.

Death. Or Destruction.

As the words "Wake up, Morty!" echoed in her ears, Mors slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, her senses jolted by the almost aggressive insistence in her younger brother's voice. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she turned her gaze towards the source of the disturbance—her red-haired brother, Bell, perched on the edge of her bed with his legs crossed.

"Bell, qué chingados..." she muttered groggily, her voice thick with exhaustion and a touch of annoyance. It was her default response, a reflexive habit picked up from her years of conversing in Spanish. However, her surprise was palpable as Bell, a few years her junior, scolded her with a wagging finger.

"Hey! No swearing," he admonished, his expression a mix of disappointment and playful reproach. In that moment, Mors realized that Bell understood her words, comprehending the Spanish language that she often used to vent her frustrations. A brief flash of embarrassment crossed her face, recognizing the frequency with which she must have unleashed a string of profanities in his presence.

Resigned to the fact that her brother wouldn't budge until she rose from her slumber, Mors summoned her remaining energy and pushed herself up from the comfort of her bed. Stretching her limbs and shaking off the remnants of sleep, she cast a weary gaze at Bell, his mischievous smile hinting at the adventure he had in mind for the day.

After stumbling her way to the bathroom and groggily brushing her teeth, Mors hastily descended the stairs to join her father for breakfast. As she reached the bottom, she was taken aback to find Azrael, the Angel of Death and Carrier of God, donning a pink apron. The sight was an amusing contrast to his overall appearance—pale-skinned, with dark, short hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He possessed a tall yet slender frame, his eyes so dark that their depths swallowed any trace of his pupils.

"Mornin', papa," Mors mumbled, still fighting off the remnants of sleep. On the other hand, Bell gracefully slid down the stairs with a practiced ease, finishing the descent with a not-so-graceful roll before offering their own greeting to their father.

Azrael's voice resonated through the room, a perfect embodiment of someone you'd expect to be the angel of Death—deep, cold, yet strangely soothing. It commanded attention without being forceful.

"Hey, guys. Nice to see you up to witness the sunrise. How was your sleep?" Azrael's question elicited a peculiar look from Mors, as if she found it amusing. She couldn't resist replying with a touch of sarcasm, "Oh, just perfect, flawless sleep!" The response earned her a bemused expression from Azrael, while Bell couldn't help but feel slightly perplexed by Mors' exaggerated answer.

"Mors," Azrael chuckled, "If you had a bad night's sleep, just say so. No need to try and imitate Bell, alright? We already have one of him, and that's plenty." His words prompted Mors to let out a resigned sigh, realizing her attempt at humor hadn't quite landed. She quickly inquired about breakfast.

Azrael passes the eldest sibling, Mors, a steaming cup of coffee, the aroma wafting up into her nostrils. She eagerly grasps the cup, feeling the warmth radiate through her hands, and takes a deep sip as if it were the elixir of life itself. Her eyes sparkle with a mixture of delight and caffeine-induced anticipation.

Amused by Mors' enthusiasm, Azrael chuckles, a deep rumble emanating from his chest. "Yeah, you're welcome," he says, his voice filled with paternal affection and a touch of amusement. He watches as Mors continues to savor the dark liquid, clearly relishing the revitalizing effect it has on her.

Mors briefly breaks her intense gaze on the cup to exchange a glance with her father, a silent moment of connection that speaks volumes. There is an unspoken understanding between them, a bond forged by shared experiences and the love of a parent and child.

Returning her attention to the coffee, Mors savors the last few sips before finally emptying the cup, her thirst quenched for the time being. She sets the now-empty vessel aside with a satisfied sigh, feeling the caffeine course through her veins, energizing her for the day ahead.

Meanwhile, Azrael turns his attention to Bell, the younger sibling. With a warm smile, he places a plate filled with toast, eggs, and crispy bacon in front of him. It's a typical breakfast, the kind that brings comfort and familiarity to the start of the day.

Bell's eyes light up with hunger as he gazes at the delicious spread before him. "Mhmm," he murmurs appreciatively, his stomach rumbling in response. "Thanks, Dad!" he exclaims, his gratitude evident in his voice as he eagerly picks up his utensils and dives into the meal, savoring each mouthful.

As his children enjoy their breakfast, Azrael moves back to the stove, his actions a testament to his love and care for his family. The sizzle of the cooking food fills the kitchen, a symphony of flavors and aromas that create a warm and inviting atmosphere

"Now, Kids. I needed to tell you something." Mors leaned in closely, while Bell continued chomping away at his meal, seemingly unfazed by the impending news. Azrael ignored Bell's eating habits and proceeded to explain. Leaning in, Mors followed closely, as did the black-haired angel.

"Our benefactor called me earlier this morning. He's off to Tokyo for a business trip, and he wanted you two to join him." Mors couldn't believe what she was hearing, and Bell stopped devouring his breakfast upon hearing the name.

"Mr. W called? How's he doing?!" Bell exclaimed with excitement, using a nickname that Mors found far from clever, but she couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. Azrael confirmed that Wyatt wanted them to accompany him to a business expo in Tokyo.

"So, we're going on a road trip!" Bell jumped up in the air, but Mors quickly restrained him with her arm.

"Calm down, bro," Mors said, releasing her hold on Bell and bringing him back to the ground. Azrael clarified that they would indeed be going to Tokyo, but it would be three days from that moment. In the meantime, Mors needed to inform Bell's teachers about his upcoming absence, and they both had to finish any pending work in Kuoh.

Bell and Mors were excited about the prospect of the trip, but Bell couldn't help but wonder if Azrael would join them. Azrael shook his head, explaining that the journey was for the three of them, and he had other responsibilities to attend to. He realized he was running late and advised them to start getting ready. Mors grabbed her car keys, and Bell, while still dragging his breakfast, followed her out.

As Azrael stood there alone, a mysterious presence seemed to loom over his mind. It questioned his decision to send the two young ones on this journey.

"Are you truly sure they are ready for this?" the voice asked.

Azrael looked down, contemplating the question. "Mors is… but Bell…"

The voice suggested letting others handle the situation, but Azrael's resolve was strong. "No! Those two are the joys of my life, and I've raised them for days like this. As a father, it's my duty to watch the fruits of my labor grow."

The enigmatic presence warned that time would tell, and Azrael responded, "Yes, unfortunately, it will. But faith carries the responsibility I have given them."

Chapter Text

Mors's eyes groggily stutter open as she rises from the ground, feeling the rough touch of grass beneath her fingers. Surrounding her is a lush environment, bursting with blades of grass and newly blossoming plants with hues she's never seen before. This place is unlike any field she's seen in Japan, Mexico, or even on the internet. Like they were from a different planet.

Unruffling her hair and brushing off dirt from her clothes, she stumbles through the clearing. This world looks so dreary. The mainly cloudy sky was blue but drained of any brightness. Every blade of grass was dry as each step sounded off with a crunch. Her breaths condensed into white clouds; it was cold, so cold that frostbite would take her very soon. But bizarrely, there wasn't even a hint of snowflake or ice layering the ground.

She reaches over the hill, looking down at a rippling pond. With a misplaced step, she tumbles down the hill. Her face gazes up at the sky, no longer adorned with its crown jewel. Despite the sunless day, she could still feel a warm shimmer radiating onto her body.

Each of her paced breaths sent out a cooled fog. Her eyes start to twitch in annoyance from the phantom heat, finally getting her to stand on her feet. Oncoming exhaustion wrecked her limbs with a pain she hadn't felt in a long time. Skin starts to become colder and colder with a gruesome blue hue.

The pain grew inside her, beating against her body like it was trying to tell her to give up and lay down on the ground. And finally, she gave in, embracing the pound with a wet splash as her body gave way to gravity. Her nearly lifeless body rested in the water for a while, to some, what seemed like hours, and to other, a moment. When the time had come, a strange force started to carry Mors' body towards the center of the pound. As it nears it, a shimmering door forms, which opens up and sends out a powerful gust of wind, disturbing the water into a furious splash but leaving the body undisturbed.

A skeletal hand extends forward from the gleaming door, steadily moving across the water. Just it passing by halted all life around it, forming floating icicles in the air, freezing the pound, rending the grass apart with each tremble of its rackety bones, and the clouds in the sky dissipated into nothing more than vapor, then smoke.

"Weak. You weren't capable of crossing the field… not when you're like this." Boney fingers wrap around the soaked corpse. Her body started to ashen, cracks forming on her skin, teeth withering and rattling, and her eyes fading out of her sockets, leaving only a void. "Coming here, willingly or not, was a poor decision. I find your current will lackluster, in combination with your pitiable vision. You shall return when your soul is ready and not any time sooner."

The arm pulls Mors' body back into the blackened nothingness. The shimmering door cracks into pieces, slipping back into the water. And within moments, everything returns to the way it was.

It would remain so until she returned.

Regardless, Mors starts to regain consciousness, her appearance returning back to its healthy glow. There was a sudden shift enveloping her senses. The lush garden, the empty world, and the voice that lingered in her dead mind started to fade away. In the blink of an eye, Mors finds herself standing on a familiar sidewalk right in front of Kuoh Academy. And in more shock, he awakened in a position as if she had just fallen asleep.

As Mors returns her focus to the present, she finds her younger brother, Bell, standing beside her. His familiar voice draws her attention, and she looks down to meet his gaze. Bell seems slightly concerned, wondering why Mors had remained silent for a few seconds longer than usual.

"Hey, Sis. Are you still there?" Bell asks with genuine care. "You weren't talking for like 5 seconds and your eyes were closed, is something wrong?"

Mors's mind briefly drifts back to what might as well have been her death. It had felt like much more than just five seconds in that mysterious realm. Her confusion lingers, but she quickly pushes it aside, not wanting to worry her younger sibling. And in hindsight, she hadn't gotten much sleep in a long while…that can't be good for the human-demonic brain. All kinds of illusions and stuff are prevalent without proper care in a regular human, so her being a particular case, things can be much more vivid. She thinks.

"Shoot, my bad dude," Mors replies, managing to keep her composure. "I guess I spaced out for a moment. These gears are still grinding, ya know. It's just that I... saw a squirrel and I guess I got Sciurophobia."

She gives Bell a reassuring smile, hoping he won't notice the lingering traces of bewilderment in her expression. To put his mind at ease, she affectionately kisses his forehead, a gesture that never fails to make him blush.

As Bell marches off to the front of the school, Mors watches him for a moment, grateful for his presence and the anchor he provides in her life. Despite the strange experience she just had, the love and responsibility she feels as an older sister remain constant in her world.

Each step was starting to get more painful, Mors beginning to remember the voice in her vision. How demeaning it was to her lifeless body, like she was speaking to something with no soul. Something that didn't see her as a person, or even as a Demon. She should be pushing this in the back of her mind, but every time she tried to forget, it would ram itself back into prominence.

Banging her hand against her noggin was the only thing that seemed to soothe the intrusive thoughts. Finally at peace for the briefest moment, all that came to mind was.

"Shit, I've got chores to do."

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, 5 minute ago…

Kiba walks out to the school courtyard, accompanied by Bell and Issei. He quickly spins around, looking to the both of them.

“Hmm… President said she would be here.” He wonders out loud. Issei is similarly perplexed, as Rias isn’t one to just not show up when she calls on people.

Bell, meanwhile, is looking up into the sky as he waits for anyone to say anything remotely important. He’s tapping his cheeks, mumbling some random noises. Whatever can just pass the time faster. Moments fly by, and before they know it, nothing happens.

“Where is she?” The swordsman paced back and forth, clearly concerned. His two allies are similarly stressed, more so for Kiba.

“You think something happened?” Bell asks. “Like, were they attacked by someone?”

Issei shakes his head at this. “No. Why would someone go after her when there are so many weaker devils in the vicinity?” Kiba, finally tired of waiting, walks off in the direction of the ORC schoolhouse. “You two, come on. Someone’s gotta be there, and we’ll get some answers.” Treading along, they reach the disheveled schoolhouse, and the door creaks open as the three boys enter.

“Hello?” Issei calls out. “President? Akeno? Anyone?” No response. They slide on through and start looking around. Kiba looks up at the upper two floors while Bell and Issei look on the ground.

“Wow, this place feels a lot worse than I remember it being,” the red-head commented. Issei can’t help but chuckle at this.

“Yeah, it’s called Victorian style. Personally, not a fan but―”

“No, not like that,” Bell interrupts, “Like, the rooms look way older, and there’s a huge build up on dust on everything!” Pausing for a moment, Issei then takes a closer look. Huge helpings of dust and grime had built up on the furniture. Much more than the normal for the schoolhouse’s interior. “That is… bizarre.” There’s a collection of footsteps and the two glance back. Issei runs past any chairs in the way while Bell unnecessarily hops over furniture. When they came by the stairwell, Kiba stood there. He had a sword in one hand and a look of concern on his face. “President’s Magic Circle… it’s gone.” These words sent panic through Issei, and Bell, while a little more confused, could tell this was serious.

“What do you mean it’s gone?” the brown-haired student perplexed. Kiba hops down onto the ground, rushing by the door.

“Something erased President’s Magic Circle. Someone’s on school’s ground, and they aren’t friendly. We need to get out of here.” He clamps her hand on the doorknob, and he opens it. However, there’s a shine coming from the door frame, causing Kiba to cover his eyes and the two other boys to immediately rush over to see what happened. However, When they arrive, their eyes are held wide up in shock.

The door led back into the school. But this wasn’t the normal Kuoh Academy. Instead, the room they walked into was dilapidated. Mold was growing from cracks and crevices, and weird greenish-black fluid seeped from the ceiling. Roots were embedded into the walls, but no plants could be seen linked to them. There was no light fixtures, and the light coming from the windows was low, and unnatural pure white like a sheet of paper. It looked like the room could come down upon them any second from now.


Taking a moment to collect their bearings, the boys walked into the room. Something or someone was messing with something. Whether it be reality or their minds was up for debate. But they couldn’t just stay in the old schoolhouse forever. Whatever effects were out in about in the school were slowly making its way into the schoolhouse. At this point, they had to bet that the thing that made this was deep within. Kiba told the two to get ready. Issei called out to his Boosted Gear, while Bell grabbed a nearby pipe. Not as impressive as the other two boys by a margin.

Kiba walked out first, followed by Bell and then Issei. “Stay close. And be on your guard.” They creeped through the lit room, each panel of the floors feeling wet and soft, as if water damage had been done here. As they got closer to the opposite end of the room, a foul stench emerged and grew stronger and stronger.

“Ugh. It’s awful in here.” The Boosted Gear user nearly retches as he picks up on the smell. Similarly, Bell was struggling to even keep his eyes open, or even walk without a wobble. Kiba didn’t seem to pick up on this, or just had enough fortitude to ignore the smell.

They finally reached the end of the room. Before them was door with wood rotted to the pointed where it was melting into the frame of the door. Kiba reached out for a handle, before stopping himself. Figuring that it probably wasn’t a good idea to touch this possibly toxic door, he took a swing of his blade and sliced into it. It split apart like it was a solid inspite of its slimy texture.

The next room was as big as a gymnasium. An otherworldly swamp had taken root, defying the laws of nature as humans know them. The air was thick with humidity, carrying the unmistakable scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation. Dim, flickering bioluminescent fungi clung to the walls, casting an eerie, greenish glow that illuminated the bizarre scene. Demonic flies, their wings buzzing with a malevolent energy, swarmed in dense, chaotic clusters. Their compound eyes gleamed with an crimson light as they darted through the air. There were small creatures with leather wings that couldn’t. Their wings were folded above them, giving them a tear-shape as they stood on two chicken-like legs. They had a large mouth filled with fangs and a long tongue.

At the center of this nightmarish swamp, shrouded in an ethereal mist, a colossal stone stood in the muck. Covered in moss that glowed a faint, ghostly green, the stone seemed ancient. Its surface was etched with cryptic runes, faintly luminescent and pulsating in eerie synch with the rest of this unholy place. The stone exuded an aura of dread and arcane power, power that blasted the boys in it as they bore witness to it. Both Kiba and Issei stood confidently through the blast of power, the former slightly struggling to stand. Bell, on the the other hand, was brought to his knees as the entire dark force of the stone was upon him. His body ached, but not out of pain, and not even fear. This was a new feeling, something completely foreign to the boy.

Moments pass, and the stone calms down, aura no longer pouring out and causing everyone lets out heavy gasps. Issei looks to his red-haired friend, who was still on one knee.

“Bell!” He cried out, “Are you ok?” He picks up the boy by the shoulder and brings him up to his feet. He had recovered quickly from the blast of aura, much to Issei’s relief. “Here, lemme help you out.” Issei reaches out his cladded arm, and a green glow radiates from the gem. Immediately, and aura envelops the red haired boy and Bell feels his body strengthen and recover. Soon enough, he’s back in action, and standing on his legs.

“Oh, thanks Issei! I could just about hug you!” He reaches out his arms but before that can continue, a loud booming voice rumbles throughout the gym.

“You have entered my domain. You are fools for doing so.”

A large mass falls down from the ceiling and onto the stone, but it didn’t crush it, only managing to shake it slightly. It’s bulging, warty skin glistened with a sickly green hue, as though it had been soaked in the sludge of a hellish swamp. Upon its misshapen head, two twisted, jagged horns jutted upward. The horns seemed to have been carved from the darkest obsidian, sharp enough to pierce the heart of any unfortunate soul that dared to approach. Each horn bore grotesque carvings, symbols etched into the very bone. The creature's limbs were grotesquely muscular, each webbed foot ending in talon-like claws, along with jagged, bony spines protruded along its spine.


In the presence of this demon frog, the very air grew heavy with malevolence, and the ground seemed to writhe in protest.

“Two Devils and a… human? I was expecting less, but you should not be any trouble.”

“Oh yeah?” Issei retorts. “What’s a bug eating monster like you got that makes you so impressive.” The Demon lets out a tumultuous laugh. The gym begins to shake and all the creatures form up around the stone. The three boys all get into a stance to ready for battle.

“Well then little devil. Allow me to show you.”

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The Next Day,

Bell’s eyes lingered on the clock on the classroom wall. It was 3:10 PM. 5 minutes until he could leave for home. No point in hiding how giddy he was at this thought.

He glanced back down to see the homeroom teacher reminding his students to turn in their work on the date, giving a particularly nasty look to the perverts huddled in the corner. The man finished his lecture and slinked back into his desk to grade all the papers given to him by exhausted high schoolers. This was an indication to his students that they may leave.

Many Students huddled out of the classroom in a single file line that split off the moment they were out in the school’s corridor. Bell was among them as he bounded down the hall and out of his class. With a few hops and a skip, he touched down on the courtyard with kick up of dust. Bell took in a big huff of air before exhaling. After taking in a few more breaths, he let out a hearty laugh. A laugh so spontaneous, plenty of students changed their paths to avoid the smiling classmate.

Moments later, he laid a bench. A Nintendo DS in hand playing one of the many Pokemon spinoffs. It wasn’t particularly fun as without a guide or access to the internet he was flying in blind and making mistake after mistake. But it was all he had to himself until his sister came to pick him up.

Game Over. Those words popped up on the screen for the millionth time this hour. Bell pulled his head back from the screen in disappointment. He quickly closes the console and slides it back into his backpack. When he brings his head back up, he’s greeted by a familiar face and voice.

“Hey. How’s the wound holding up?” Bell sits upright to allow for Issei to sit next to him.

“Oh. You don’t have to worry about it. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but you had a basketball sized hole in your stomach! And you just healed it like it was nothing.” Bell shakes his head in disagreement.

“Not nothing. I can’t heal by myself… atleast not yet. I think.”

The brown-haired boy is just more confused. Not yet? I think? What was going on?

“Look, Bell. You owe me an explanation. What’s going on?”

That last part brought him back to the first time he was in this situation. Trying to come up with an excuse as to why this fellow classmate could hurt monsters with just a shovel and sheer strength. He already used the “I know magic” excuse, so trying to use it again to explain his regeneration would certainly be called out. Not to mention, there were no magic seals during the process. All that was left was the truth.

“Alright. So, I’m part demon.”

“Oh, so you’re a Devil?”

“No, no. Demon, not Devil. They’re kinda like blobs of negative energy that pop out here and there. Like, that Frog we fought last night. Demons have this ability to heal their wounds by… uhm… well… I don’t really don’t know. I wasn’t told much else.”

Issei looked on with a mix of confusion and understanding. He understood about half of what he was saying but the gaps that were missing in his head had still went unfilled. But there wasn’t much use prodding since Bell had already given all he knew.

“Glad to see you’re ok. I was getting a bit worried something bad might’ve happened overnight. Anyways, what games did you have on your DS?”

Before the two boys could get to playing, they heard a voice call out for her brother.

“

”

Bell couldn’t quite get anything she said past his name. Issei could. Quite clearly too. He gave a friendly wave to the approaching woman.

She throws back a wave before directing her attention back onto her brother. Not entertained by the lack of response for the past minute, Mors gestures to the gate right behind her. It was time to go.

“Right. We have a trip in 2 days to Tokyo!”

This was new information to the devil, but it was something he could get behind. Might be a family thing or a business trip for his dad. Best not to pry. Especially with her around.

A quick glance over her shoulder causes Mors to reach into her bag and bring out an object wrapped in tinfoil. She lazily tossed the item over to Issei, who caught as a spontaneous reaction.

“Here. An Empalme. Think of it as a kind of Mexican sandwich. I kept it a little too long in the oven… but it adds to the crunchiness.”

It was a kind of peace offering, at least between Issei. She never paid much attention to him if she ever saw him, but from all the praise Bell kept piling onto him, this was a kid with a good heart. He had to if he could be around him.

With a goodbye wave, the two departed back for their home. They had some packing and training to start.

—------------------------

“What do you have in your hands?”

The King looks at her entering pawn from her desk. He still had the wrapped Empalme, even all the way back to the ORC meeting room. Other than pre-occupied Akeno, the two stood in a brief silence. Eventually, it breaks.

“This is an Empalme, President. It’s—”

“—Two tortillas covered in lard with beans and salsa between it. A kind of Mexican sandwich.”

Rias didn’t even look at the meal, just focusing on the heaps of paperwork she was shuffling through. There was an empty cup of coffee on the table. The insides were stained with a black ring after multiple pours. In the zone was the best way to describe the crimson-haired devil as she were right now. It was going to take something significant to knock her out of this trance.

“Did they open a diner nearby that sells this? Just asking in case I want to try it.”

“No. It was a gift, President. From Mors.”

Dead Quiet. Rias takes her eyes off her papers and looks dead at Iseei. Akeno, who was just deep in a good book, is also parroting her King’s sentiment. The pawn is clearly uncomfortable with the energy these two are generating right now.

The two exchange glances before Rias looks inquisitively at Issei.

“Do you want me to check for any toxins in the sandwich?”

“P-President!”

“She’s right. You don’t know what kind of tricks she maybe have snuck in there.” Akeno sarcastically chimes in.

“G-Guys! Why would she bother making food to poison me when she could easily kill me with her magic?”

“Why do snakes you poison? Makes the kill easier.”

What Akeno just said made absolutely no sense. From a biological perspective at least. He didn’t bother to correct her, though. The sentiment was all the same.

“I just don’t want you to get in the crossfire between me and her. It’s already rough to manage our clients when other people just keep leasing out services to monster hunters. Having to actually go and fight her to save your life would be… something else.”

Immediately, she realizes there might be some negative implications with what she’s saying. Embarrassment runs on her face as she goes to apologize.

“N-Not that your life wouldn’t be worth saving!”

Akeno chuckles at her president’s accidental wording. A comforting hand on the shoulder allows her to calm down from her embarrassment.

“I think he understands what you meant, President.”

“R-Right. Anyways, if anyone is going to put their life at risk in this conflict, it shall be me. Hand me the Empalme!”

A chunk of the sandwich is thrown into her hand and within seconds, she taking a bite. Akeno is immediately prepared to remove the sandwich from her president the moment anything seems off. Issei just looks a bit perplexed with how serious she’s treating this.

Chew. Chew. Chew. Rias moves over to a trash bin and spits out the chunk. Her queen and pawn move over to the side to see what went wrong.

“President! What happened? Was it poisoned!” Visible Concern stains Akeno’s face.

“N-No… it’s just overcooked. Too crunchy as well.”

Relief washes over them both of them. Rias returns to a more serious demeanor, asking Issei what he knows about Bell. He gives her what he was told.

“Demons… Well, thank you. You are dismissed.”

Once that door closes shut, Rias stands up and turns to her friend.

“Best to keep a close eye on him… If he’s as troublesome as his sister, things are going to get messy.” Rias commands.

“Understood. Shall I look into these Demons he speaks of?” Akeno replies.

“Hmm. Yes. I want to know what they really are, and what they can do. Don’t know if what Issei was told was the full side of the story.”

With a nod and a few steps, Akeno out of the room as well. The President of ORC decides she best finishes her work before making any real big decisions. She takes a glance at the discarded sandwich, clearly disgusted. She remembers at how crisp yet tasteless it was.

“Way too overcooked.”

—------------------------
“No, it wasn’t too bad. No one’s gonna choke on a sandwich.” The elder sister reprimanded her brother’s critique on cooking. She found it especially ironic coming from someone who couldn’t even make a PB&J without Emergency Services on speed dial.

“Devil do have extreme tastes. Something so… workedshopped might cause some sensors to ring through their head.”

Workedshopped? She would take the insult even further if it wasn’t for them being already up the stairs and in front of the door. Best save it for inside.

The two siblings stumble back into the familiar cramped apartment. The sound of bags falling to the floor reaches the ear of a familiar face.

Azrael is unmoving on the couch. A phone is gripped in his hand with a stone-cold hold. Immediately, the two rush over to their dad. Worry strikes their face as the man struggles to form words.

“Dad, what happened? Why do you look like that?” Bell asks.

“Did you miss a sale or something?” Mors tries to bring a sense of levity, but all manner of joking around was dropped the minute that her father looked up with strained eyes.

“Kids… Mr. White just called… there’s been an incident in Shibuya.”

Chapter Text

The crunching of gravel followed the two siblings as they stepped onto the field. One carried an oversized duffle bag cluttered with every step, while the other had nothing on them.

They stopped in their tracks, looking around to see if anyone was around. The coast was clear, and the elder instructed the other to sit down.

"Alright," Mors dramatically shouted as she tossed the bag onto the grass. Bell looked over right as it landed with a crunch on the ground. The rattling of various objects was clearly heard. Hopefully, none of them were active with any triggers or the like.

"So, we don't quite know whatcha powers do. But we do know you are awakening them. That means I gotta getcha ready for any future encounters with Demons."

She spoke with comical enthusiasm, enhanced by her accent. Reaching behind her back, she pulled out a clipboard and pen. While she began to write something down, she continued.

"To start, what can you tell me about Demons, hermano?"

"Well… they're big and scary." Bell was pondering about all he knew regarding Demons. Digging up past knowledge was no small task, especially regarding things he'd learned at the age of 12. Stutters and 'uhms' abound before he gets back on track. "They don't age, they run off of blood—"

Mors holds up her hand to stop him from continuing, a slight look of disappointment decorating her face.

"No. Demons don't run off of blood. They run off of emotions. Blood's just like a sort of dessert to them."

He raises his hand to ask a question, and Mors nods to allow him to speak.

"But what about me?"

"You technically don't run off of blood," she answers with a hint of unsureness. "Sure, it allows your healing factor to kick in and heal ya, but you don't need to consume it to survive. Heck, we don't even know how your healing factor works yet. It's just that blood seems to be the only way to rev it up." A quick scribble and she finishes with, "Plus, it's not perfect."

Bell looks down at the ground and remembers his injuries. The Frog's tongue had stabbed into his gut, and while it didn't do much damage, it still caused discomfort from time to time. Some slight scarring was left, but it still needed healing time.

"Just be lucky you have a healing factor of some kind. Not every Demon gets that luxury."

Bell blurted in confusion, "But I thought you said Demons could heal their wounds?"

The elder sibling looks down in astonishment. Sure, it had been four years since she had taught him this, but to think that he'd misremember things so badly is just incredible.

"Not all Demons have a healing factor. In fact, as a general rule of thumb, I'd say that a quarter of Demons have a healing factor of some kind. The rest just wing it. That's why you gotta either go for the head or center of mass." That was another markdown.

"You know what- forget about this." Mors tosses the clipboard onto the ground and just gives a smile. "Screw the written exam, let's just see your physicals!" She digs into the duffel bag before she brings out two boxing gloves. With a great effort, she chucks the big red gloves at Bell's head, him barely reacting to how much force was in that toss.

"Get ready. We're going to work on your CQC." In that same breath, a bone stretches out of her wrist. It extended out a good few feet before her hands clamped down and snapped. With the end sealing itself up, she wields her Bone Bo-Staff.

"Uhhh… Why do you get a weapon?" Bell chimes, and Mors chuckled, spinning the bone staff in a lazy arc. 

"Because this is evaluation, not charity. Once I see what you can really do, then we'll pick the right weapon for you." Her eyes narrowed as she caught the subtle sword grip in his posture. "Though… judging by that stance, maybe you already have one in mind."

Bell flexed his fingers inside the gloves, a faint muscle memory guiding the movement. "Maybe," he said, the ghost of a blade in the way he shifted his weight.

With a step, Mors approaches Bell in a really casual manner. The younger sibling panics and quickly wraps on the red gloves. He follows suit with a quick strut, building up enough momentum through his movement before reeling back and throwing a fast right hook. In that same vein, though, he feels a hard object press against the back of his neck.

"Hit."

Looks like this needs a little more pep. Bell circles around, dashing left and right. With each dash, he threw out multiple jabs, all of which were deflected by rapid strokes of the staff.

"Don't just throw an unnecessary amount of punches without any consideration." The tone was a mix of condescension and gentleness. Something Bell quickly picked up on. He reeled back, shifting as much power into his shoulder as possible, and slung a downward strike that was, once again, blocked. The first and Bo clashed for a brief moment before Mors broke it up and quickly delivered a punch to the gut. Bell was sent backward onto the ground with a bit of a nasty tumble.

"Hit." Mors looks on as Bell holds her stomach for a bit from the shock of the punch. "Are your legs still working?

Bell grips on the grass to level his legs. Pants were leaving his mouth to recover any few drops of stamina he might have gone. With some strain from aching muscles, he slowly rose up again as he dashed side to side, taking a leap into the air to slam his fists onto the ground. There's a slight kick up in dust from the impact, with Mors already away from the crater, her arm arched up to bring her staff down. At the same time, Bell is about to return the favor with a fast uppercut with all of the will he could muster in that fist. Just as his fist honed in with a few inches of her face, Bell felt the slow but firm prodding of a bone on his forehead.

"Hit. Strike Three. Yer out!" Bell exhales before plopping down on his butt. "Heya, you did 2.5 seconds better than last time. Stand proud."

"Is it even good enough? I can't even land a single hit on you, even after all this training. At this rate—"

Mors pats him on the shoulder and offers him a pat on the head. "Hey, you're not done yet. We can still go until the sun is down. You can do a lot in a couple of hours. Now, let's tango!"

And so, the two clash. Bell would keep trying and trying until he can finally land a hit. Even if it takes him all day to do so.

Shibuya Metro Station 

- Several Hours Ago – 

Two people, a man and a woman, maneuvered through the crowded platform. The downside to a metro station, even if it made getting around the country easy, was that everyone would be using it. Especially today. People were packed together like sardines, bumping into each other, excuses being slung around that they practically mixed into the air they breathed.

The couple was struggling to make any progress, a tide of bodies just knocking them back by feet. The horde wasn't giving them any leeway, to the point where even slight hesitation would fling them all the way back.

With as much force they could combine, the farthest they could make it was halfway across the platform, right by the bathroom. When they slipped out from the flood, they were panting and sighing from the exhaustion that was brought upon them. Shockingly, there was barely anyone walking in or out of the bathroom despite the onset of people walking by. The atmosphere was eerie, to say the least, but it didn't set off any alarms with the couple as they stood there to take a quick rest.

"There are so many people…how are we supposed to reach the train at this rate?" The man panted out as he slid down onto his butt. The girl, meanwhile, held her hands on her knees, trying to regain her breath.

"We can… do it… we have about… 10 minutes until the train arrives. Hold on… I need to… use… the restroom…"

"What?! Already?" Even through his exhaustion, he sounded slightly ticked off.

"Sorry… I shouldn't have drank that 4 Liter of soda on the way here." The girl gave a cute smile to try to calm his anger. It might as well have worked since, through the frustration, he just tells her to go and be quick about it. She slinked off into the ladies room to do her dirty work; this shouldn't take too long.

The man sat there for a couple minutes, even after gaining his breath back. He would patiently wait every minute for his darling to return, but even after a good 5 minutes, she hadn't come out of the bathroom. Was that soda really strong?

Just then, a horrible shriek rang out from within the crowd. The man's ears perked up as women sobbed in agony, shouting something along the lines of "My Son! No! Please, no!" That noise was enough to silence the murmurs of the passengers, with the flow of people eventually stopping and directly themselves to see what was going on.

The man was concerned as well, and he inched closer to the women's bathroom. He shouted for his honey to come out and said that there was an emergency. However, no response. Was she not able to hear anything? The shriek alone was enough to draw the attention of a crowd of people; no way she couldn't have heard that. He kept calling for her until he eventually mustered the might to walk into the room. He could get in trouble for this, but it was better to risk the wrath of the law to make sure she was safe.

He took a step into the bathroom, and nothing looked too off. Clean and well-kept, it was like it was brand new. Each inch just outlined how eerie it was, with no one else being there. Like the feeling of seeing a clean finished plate: Sure, it looked nice, but there was that feeling of false cleanliness.

He tried to call out again, but still no response. Eventually, he starts opening doors, trying to find where she is. The first door had nothing behind it. Now, the next one, he could see legs from the bottom of the stall. Same leggings she had worn today. Same shoes, too. Maybe she was asleep. But through all this noise? No, something's not right.

With a good dash in, he comes across her body, lying lifeless against one of the stall's walls while sitting on the toilet. Immediately, he rushes over to feel for a pulse. His fingers touch her cold, pale skin with blue veins and eyes whitened as if she had been strangled. From her mouth, a stream of near-pitch black blood leaks out onto the floor. It takes too long to feel the faintest pulse, and he fumbles with his hands to grab ahold of her body. Right as he picked her up, another shriek could be heard from outside. Then another. Then another. Then, 10 more.

Seconds later, when the man rushes outside the bathroom, a dozen bodies lay on the platform, in a similar condition to that of his girlfriend, some even paler, some with blood oozing out of their pores, and somewhere in a pool of a black liquid. Panic was ringing out, and the clattering footsteps of people scattering and bumping into each other overwhelmed every sensation.

Adrenaline kicked in as the man raced to the steps of the station to get to safety. It didn't matter if he bumped into someone or even stepped on someone by accident. All that was on his mind was getting her to a doctor. There was a chance she could be saved. There had to be. He could feel a pulse and everything. She must be alive. She must be alive. She must be… alive.

- Present Day –

Moonlight rains down on the blood-stained grass. The Horseman of Death stood over her brother. Bruises decorated his body. All that pain numbed his body, so much so that he was lying flat on his back facing the sky. Shredded muscles and fractured bones felt no different than the light breeze that brushed against his body.

Mors kneels down to face her barely conscious sibling. A head shake notes her disappointment. The bone staff retracts back into her body in an instant. She digs through the duffle bag, reaching for a blood bag. A finger pries his mouth open to accept the stream of blood. When it's done, it closes right back up with a distant gulping sound. Seconds later, Bell is sitting upright, bones still cracking in their incomplete state of healing.

She spins back to meet her brother with the goofiest smile she can concoct. It was like a duck with human teeth trying to smile. "A 5-second speed increase. Wonderful." She gives him a pat on his head. A smile gleams through before a grunt comes out to the counter. Mors immediately backs off to give her brother some breathing room.

"Yay…Puts me one step closer to being on your level." Bell doesn't even sound cheerful, just in pain. He'd just pushed himself to the limit, and even then, it wasn't enough to even graze his sister.

Mors picks him up, instructing him to wrap his arms around her waist. He, of course, obeys. His head pressed itself against her shoulder, and for the first time today, comfort ran through his body as if it were the blood in his veins. The ruffling of a duffle bag was followed by the crunch of the ground. All he could see before his eyes got heavy was a faint gleam akin to a smile before exhaustion took him over. The last thing he heard was:

"Hmm. Cute."

Chapter Text

Earlier…

Azrael's House.

In the middle of the night where only one member of the household bothered to sleep. The other two were huddled by the dusty counter that was decorated only by the phone lying on top. The air of the room was cold and silent, that being a given considering the two where more closely associated with death than any normal person should be.

"So… the trip is cancelled?" Mors' dull expression highlighted how shocking this news was to her. One minute, she's hyped to be visiting Tokyo. The next, that opportunity was blown into the wind.

"Yeah. Mr. W called in. Something has attacked the Shibuya Metro Station. We aren't sure what it is, but if it's Demon related, we best be prepared." Azrael says with gloomy eyes. Although, he almost always looked like that. The bags around his eyes were so entrenched in shadows. At times, it would hard to tell that he even had eyes from a distance.

Couldn't blame him for that appearance. He wasn't just a dad. Spending days swamped in paperwork between from all sides would take the sunshine out of anyone, even a creation of God. Not helped that he's not as strong as he used to be.

"Damn. Well, put me in coach. I'll have that POS in ribbons before you can stay pop tarts!" Her tone switched back to her standard goofy self rather quickly. Even though she did it often, it always struck a nerve with the people around her. Azrael included.

"No. That's not gonna work." He tried to correct his daughter's humor, to not much success.

"I mean, I know pop-tarts isn't that long of a word— "Mors had that instinctual need to respond back with humor at nearly every angle. She'd always quip back with some kind of snark or her attempt at humor. It wasn't because she was stupid, no. She was just really bad at keeping a serious tone. Might be because her brain's been knocked around her skull a good few dozen times.

"No, I mean, we don't know what's going on. We can't risk it, yet." Again, Azrael tried to get Mors back on track. His sternness was a lot harsher than usual. This was something he really wanted her to take seriously.

"Wait… Why? Not like it can kill me." Her eyes rolled in the belief that her dad would still be concerned about her health in any way.

She certainly wasn't.

"Ignoring that, you can very much have your butt kicked into next Tuesday… literally." The memories of Mors early on in her career flood into his mind as he continued, "I can't send you on a wild goose chase for something like this."

"Seriously?" Her tone is much more like the stereotypical teenage girl whining about being grounded. Even though she was older than she looked, she still acted like a kid.

"Not now. I'll have some informants looking for whatever is causing this. Now, freshen up and get ready. I've got some errands for you to run after."

Mors beams at the thought that she could kick some ass, even just a little bit, before the reveal; "We need some groceries for dinner for the rest of this week." Realizing that this night was going be dull had her slamming her head onto the counter. She rises back up, head clearly bruised from the impact. However, she doesn't even seem fazed at the injuries. Neither does Azrael. In fact, he was more worried she'd accidentally shatter the counter with a single head slam more than her being injured from the head banging. Thankfully, there wasn't a scratch on the thing.

It was made out of furnished oak. It stood out from most other things in their house, clear not only that it was the one piece of furniture that a guest could call "pretty", but also by the fact that it costs half as much as rent did. As another mark, this thing was a gift from Mr. W. as a token of gratitude. All that combined meant that damaging the counter would be more paperwork and an apology letter to a confused beneficiary.

Hearing a grateful sight from her dad, Mors retreats to the bathroom. She's a bit frustrated, but that wasn't something she could solve. Not this late especially. It was going to be a dull night of doing basic chores. Maybe if she was lucky, some shadows would be stupid enough to try and attack her. Wouldn't be fun, but it would be something at least.

"Well, I might just be shit out of luck, eh?" Even in private, she couldn't help but make a joke.

Terrible.

A voice! From where? Mors searches up and down the bathroom, but nothing came up. She gives a final careful glance for whatever intruder might be spying on her. Still no one. Might have been her brain making her hear things.

Again, all that rattling didn't help her much.

Present Day, 

Classes were out. They have been for a good hour or so. Leaving Bell all by himself at a street corner. But he didn't mind it. He had told his dad he'd be hanging around the town until the evening. Bell hadn't gotten used to being alone for a long time. Wednesdays always seemed like that.

Especially this Wednesday, since his friends weren't exactly available. Issei was preoccupied with 'devil businesses. Whatever that could mean was up to interpretation. Definitely something concerning Rias and her peerage. As for Matsuda and Motohama, he couldn't really tell if they were busy, or he just wasn't told that they were doing something that he didn't care too much for.

To tell the truth, Bell had always been the odd one out of the three. Even more than Issei. He was a loner, but rather from being a pervert, more so because he was… "weird". It was hard to explain for most kids around him, but Bell just had that sense of unease and puzzling behavior that most folks would find… odd. Unnerving smiles, dirty red hair (unlike Rias' gleaming crimson locks), eyes that looked like they were always in a frenzy. That didn't leave much to a judgmental crowd of highschoolers. Just left him with the other outcasts, and even by then, about 2/3rds of them didn't share the same interests. Really, only he and Issei connected as friends, Matsuda and Motohama just occasionally said hi and didn't find Bell too weird to hang out with.

But Bell didn't mind.

Glancing from side to side, he tried to see what was going on in the town. Kuoh had always been a rather quiet place. Not a lot of people walking about, or even cars on the road. No wonder so many Supernatural beings had been attracted to this place, no one could see what they were doing and if anyone tried to out them, who would believe them? Especially when they don't remember that person even existing in the first place.

There was always that sense of worry, especially about some Supernatural creature taking Bell by surprise as some unsuspecting innocent and trying to make him into a victim. Well, the biggest area of concern wasn't even Demons, nor even Rogue Devils. Even with a lack of Magic to call his own, he could still give those beings a run for their money with his innate strength.

No, it was the Fallen Angels he was worried about. They weren't all too intimidating, but the main source of concern was their Light Magic. Demons were more susceptible to Light Magic than even Devils. Simple Light Bullets could shred through them like butter. That meant Bell would be privy to this weakness as well. With the nature of their light magic being poisonous to Devils and Demons. Enough of it could even halt his already lesser healing factor. Thankfully, Rias had disposed of the main presence of Fallen within Kuoh, but there was always the chance that one random Fallen would single him out and all it would take is the right position to take his head off in a single spear.

Regardless, all that worry was pushed to the back of his mind as he heard the bouncing of a ball. He looked down to notice that a basketball had made its way to his foot, and he at once looked to find the owner. A few feet away from him, a tall guy, looking around that college age, in sweatpants that did not gel well with his jersey was making a gesture to Bell to toss his ball back.

On command, Bell reached down and tossed the ball in one swift motion. The ball races overhead and lands to the side of the man, right into a nearby wall before bouncing off in another direction. The man looks to his bouncing ball, before looking back with daggers in his eyes at Bell. He then moves to catch his bouncing ball.

Bell bows his head in disappointment. Must have put a little too much in that toss.

He goes back to smiling when someone in trouble catches his eye. A food cart was stuck in a pothole. It was decorated with all kinds of bags and pockets on top of its wooden exterior. Seeing a food cart in the bustling part of the town was rare. That was more for the cliffsides, apartments, or that one time in the forest. Still, even the irregularity of this wasn't enough to sway his resolve and he rushes off to help.

"Excuse me?" Bell starts off, confidence in his voice, "Sir, do you need help?"

From the carriage, pops up a man. Easily in his late 30's, rather short beard, many men tan skin than you'd usually see, and having all the clothing you'd see on a street vendor. "Oh. Hey, kid. Whatcha looking for?"

"Uhmmm… Need some help with your cart… being stuck…" His hair fuzzed up in worry as hesitantly asked. He looks up from his side, then back at Bell.

"Uhm, no! I'm good! Really, just… need… to…" He starts to strain himself as trying to lift the cart up, before a slight crack could be heard. He quickly let's go and starts to pat his back in pain. Oh, boy, this is going to be hard to watch. Bell starts to inch over to the back of the cart as the man tries to recover his strength.

Bell takes a close look; The back left wheel had gotten trapped in a small pothole, tilting the cart sideways. Not too bad. Gauging the size of the cart, it can't be any heavier than the groceries he brings back from his house, right?

Boy, was he wrong. This cart weighed almost as much as a car! What was in this thing? It was like it was filled with nothing but rocks and stones. Even as he lifted with his legs, it was taking much of his might to actually lift the thing out of the hole. Not to mention maneuvering a small wheel out of a tiny hole was much more complicated than he would have it be.

Minutes go by, and finally, Bell is able to lift the cart up and out of the hole. All it took was some sprained fingers and worn-out legs. Staggering legs weren't too much of a concern to the man as this random kid had just done something wonderful.

"Hahaha! Yes! Thanks kid!" The man spins around to see that Bell was clearly exhausted. Oh, that was unfortunate. However, he had the perfect solution! He reaches into the many bags and whips out a bottle of water. With a good toss, he chucks the thing at Bell, who catches even through his weakness.

"Try some! Its sparkling water keeps you refreshed. On the house!" In that same breath, the man is racing down the street, gone before Bell could say anything. Huh. Well, at least he was happy. Speaking of which, he looks down at the bottle he had gotten. Sparkling Water? Hadn't really heard of it.

He twists the cap open, a harsh fizz coming from the top. The boy starts to turn down the beverage and within seconds, he's done. He couldn't really tell if there was supposed to be a difference with the drink, other than tasting 'spicy'.

"At least I feel refreshed," Bell openly comments. He starts to look for a can to toss the bottle into, but right then, he gets a tap from behind. He spins around to meet an elderly lady with a worried look.

"E-Excuse me, young man… could you help me look for my son? I can't seem to f-find him…" Tears are nearly welling up in her eyes. Bell thinks of all the things that could be going on with this woman. People at this age don't think as clearly, and sometimes they just wander about, looking for someone.

The pleading of the old woman drew concern onto Bell's face, and he at once does his best to comfort the woman. He asks, "Ok. Can you tell me where you live?"

She points down the lane, starting to move towards the intersection. Bell follows behind, tucking his plastic bottle into his pockets. He'll throw the bottle away later.

STARS.

One step below the big dogs, they're an intelligence agency made to counter Supernatural Phenomena. The difference between them, and many other forces? They are closer to a scientific research institution rather than a full-on paramilitary force. Agents were more "find out how this thing works" rather than an "stop it". In fact, they were more concerned about learning how to use magic for human usage.

That didn't mean they didn't have agents that were combat ready. A small force of about 4 to 5 soldiers were ready, specializing in the response and countering of Demons, magical artifacts, and the occasional monster thrown in there.

All that being said, they weren't exactly all too special. At least by themselves. That's why they had to outsource their more "resourceful" help.

"Is the area clear?" A voice buzzed over the comms.

"Yes, the area is sealed off."

"Good. Commence Operations."

A van parked right outside of a clinic opens up as 5 people dressed in plumbing gear file out. They all huddled behind the front door, walking into the receptionist desk. The clinic is rather small, with no one in the longue, the place is a little disheveled and things are struggling to attempt to hold a sense of cleanliness. The lady at the desk looks at the 5.

"Oh… you must be the Plumbers."

"Yes. We heard you might be dealing with a possible faulty pipeline?" The 'plumber in front asks and the receptionist nods.

"All of our staff is saying that they can't open the door to the gas room because whenever they touch the nob, there's a 'weird feeling'. And we can't pick up on anything. It's down the hall and to the left." She points to the foremost hall and the pattering of boots is quickly followed.

Down the hall, the group enters into the gas room. The room is rusting, dilapidated, with a black fluid seeping through the walls. 3 of the 'plumbers' stand outside as two more enter.

Once through the door, one of them digs into a duffel bag they were carrying. 1 of them get into much more tactical gear, body armor, helmets and guns of the sorts. Suited up, they get to secure the area.

Placing down several tether-like devices that they configure with a tablet.

"Pseudo-Barrier set. Initializing…" A few swipes of the tablet later, the tethers glow and a grey veil rises up in front of the door. "Pseudo-Barrier complete. Standing by. Agent M, it's your turn."

The final person, still in their plumber disguise, takes her cap off and reveals Mors' brown hair. With a stretch, she cracks her joints into action. And with a twirl of her hand, she extends forth her bone-scythe.

"Alright." As she starts to walk down the hall, before doing an instant 180 turn. "What demon are looking for again?"

Just then, multiple blood red spines jut underneath the floor, stabbing right into Mors. It stabs right into her foot, causing her to wince slightly.

"Oh yeah… The Leech D-Demon… I'm positive of it…" Still making bad puns in situations like these. She quickly whips out a sidearm from her holster, before firing it straight down. The blood spike is destroyed within an instant, as well as there know being a softball sized hole in the floor.

"Agent M!" one of her allies called out, to which Mors spins around and gives a dumb look.

"What, you gonna call me a troubleshooter or something?" She gives a hearty laugh, unaware of all the blood spikes rushing towards her.

Behind you. 

She redirects her attention to the oncoming projectiles, twirling her scythe in one-hand as she shatters them. Though, one does graze the side of her waist.

You haven't given yourself armor. Idiot. 

"I don't need armor for this chump." Mors comments to the voice. She could manage something like this in her sleep. It's just hard juggling shooting and scythe twirling all at the same time. More and more spikes come towards her, really testing her skill with her signature weapon. More and more grazes on her skin are made before eventually, a spike finally pierces her shoulder.

You don't need armor for this-what did you say? Oh right! Chump? 

Sarcasm wasn't on the docket, it was now. All the worse when the spike began to melt into a liquid. It was then telekinetically lifted back to its source, taking a good amount of Mors' blood.

A growl from the shadow lingers on the word Demon. It soon lumbers out with a wet jiggle, standing before her. It was a giant leech, it's front dotted with smaller rows of teeth. It had pairs of arms across its sides, as well as some legs to support its weight.

"Ugh… Not enough to leech off of human blood, you're starting to leech off their looks." She rebukes, greatly angering the demon.

The demons' rushes offer to get closer to Mors, tripping over its newly acquired limbs like it was a newborn. When he was 5 feet from her, it started to roar.

Mors just looks off the side, seeing the agents, some gawking at their words, one even recording what it's saying, others in a ready stance, prepared to shoot on command. She looks back to the Leech Demons, all to be met with a continuous stream of wordless roars. It howls in fury, pulls itself back, and roars. On its second roar, she's had enough.

She quickly whips out her gun and fires a round into its face. A small explosion goes with the bullet, shredding through half of the demon's face, leaving behind a melty, gooey blackness that leaks onto the ground.

The X1 Explosive Hand Cannon. Loaded with specialized explosive rounds having a high-explosive filler with a yield of «1 kT, further amplified with all sorts of magic, especially ones that were runic in nature. Perfect for tearing through demons.

Furious at this, the creature extends for its many hands. They give a reddish glow; the same hue is soon present in the black fluids seeping through the walls. With a flick of her wrist, torrents of blood spill out.

The Horseman of Death swiftly dodges the barrage of blood, shooting several out of the sky and reflecting even more with her Scythe. Fortunately, all the attention was away from the other agent, meaning she could give it a little more juice.

She landed on her feet, ignoring the pain from the minor cuts from miniscule shards imbedding themselves into her muscles. The moment she takes a break to rest, pints of blood start to flow towards the Demons. They seep into the wet skin and begin to meld into the flesh.

The lumbering monster gets on all its limbs and gallops like a frenzied horse. 4 more shots ring out, all blasting off an assortment of limbs but that wasn't enough to even stop its momentum. It took one final leap and dove down, maw agape and teeth chattering like jackhammers.

In the nick of time, Mors catches both ends of the creature's mouth before it chomps down. Its lower half is brough down by gravity, while its upper half presses down and down in an attempt to split her in two.

Mors, meanwhile, tried her best to resist the press of the jaws. With her gun and scythe discarded, her hands wrapped in a layer of bone-like armor to stop the teeth from ripping through her flesh like butter. Every moment she resisted, the ground beneath her started to crack into a crater. Her eyes pointed down at the ground as she tried her best to keep focused, up until for the briefest moment, her gaze turned up to look into the monster's throat, to be met with a flash of blood raining down onto her.

All she could do was reinforce her head in her bone armor as a torrent of blood pierces through her uninjured shoulder. Pain rings out as she can feel her blood start to be sucked out faster and fast, that pain soon fading as she's losing more and more blood.

Realizing she can't afford to lose any more blood; she decides that it's time to wrap it up. Her hand clamped down on the jaws as hard as she could, crushing the chunk of flesh she was latching onto. With one heave, she hoists the Leech up into the air, sending all of it high up for a little bit before slamming it back down with an even greater force.

The Demon wriggled in her grasp, soon feeling the weight of her foot nearly crushing whatever bones could have been in there. Mors uses her free hand to summon back her scythe, drawing close to her shoulder and in flash, swiping it across the creature's length, splitting it in two.

The wet sloshes of blood dripped out of the carcass as it crumbled into a dark mush that soon dissipated. Around Mors, the pipe room reverts back to its less worn-down state, the darkened liquid going the way of its progenitor.

"Wow…" the agent comments in awe. They had never seen Mors in action like this, the closest being all the field reports and drone footage they're captured, but to see it in person was something else. Just that raw strength to split a monster like that with only one slice was nothing short of remarkable.

"T-That Demon… It was odd…" Mors stammers out, still standing where she had defeated her foe.

"Yes." The Agent added, "It was mindless, but it had a good grasp of Chaos Magic… and it was mutating… that is odd… unless that's a thing Demons can do, right?" The agent waits for a response, but one never comes. In fact, she would have to wait a little longer, since Mors was pretty anemic statue.

Mission Complete… with 'minimal losses.

Azrael always said, be careful around strangers. Of course, that wisdom wasn't unfounded, but Bell always seemed to disregard this fact whenever it came to helping people in need.

If Bell had listened to his dad, he wouldn't be in this predicament.

The old lady had taken him to a disheveled warehouse, and that didn't seem to strike him as odd. Maybe she was confused and didn't know what was or where was where. The same could not be said when seconds after entering, Bell felt a sharp pain from behind his back a red spear-like object had stabbed him.

When he spun back around, the old lady he was trying to help was gone. From her body sprung out a mass of leeches taking on a variety of forms. Apparently, it was hungry and to it, Bell was just a simple person to snack on.

Bell tried fighting back, he really did. But raw brute strength wasn't enough for something that wielded blood as if it was a second limb. Minutes of being slashed and stabbed was enough to take out even his tenacity, as his body gave way and collapsed.

The demon didn't even bother treating the body with respect, discarding him like a trash bag into a dumpster, saving him as a little treat for later.

Was this his fate? Slowly bleeding out to death in a dumpster, eventually becoming nothing more but food? This wasn't what Bell wanted. This isn't how he wanted to go out. Not doing anything, not leaving his mark on the world, not even unlocking his powers. This can't be it… can it?

Dad always asked me… what did I want to do with my life? What would I do to give myself meaning? 

All I ever wanted to do was help people. I wanted to help carry the crosses for those who could not. I was meant to protect those who cannot protect themselves… 

I'm sorry Dad… Mors… Issei… I tried to fight… but it wasn't enough… 

I couldn't even save that woman from becoming a vessel to some monster… 

No… I refuse. I can't just leave this world without even leaving my mark! I can't just be worthless! What would people think of me? I still have so much to do!

Come on, get up! 

Get up! 

GET UP!

As the Demon starts to feast on the leftover remains of the elderly woman's disguise, it hears a rumbling coming from the dumpster. It looks back up, like a bird looking at its next meal.

The metal box shakes for a little bit, the left-side cover eventually lifting up. Out crawls that boy. Oh, he must've underestimated this one. All it took last time was a little bit of force to drain that woman. Must have not been enough to kill that boy. Still... he's bleeding out, even if it's much slower than that of the typical human, and at this rate, he's got at least a minute and a half before he's back on the menu.

I'm not just going to die in the dumpster. If I'm going to die… 

Bell steps forward, eyes glowing in red-hot determination. The Leeches soon start to slowly march closer and closer, ready to snuff this light once and for all.

Then at least let me die… a hero! 

Chapter Text

An abandoned warehouse, the best place to hide evidence. No one but the stupidest of people would ever come wandering into a place like this. And those who did would bear witness to the most horrific creature imaginable sink its fangs into their bare flesh for what lies beneath. Today, however, one explorer was stupid enough to walk into the den of a monster. And now, he stood in dried puddles of blood.

The Leech Demon, a being of gore made from the freshest horror one could ever imagine, impended upon Bell with all of its ferocity. The Leech Demon lurches towards the boy on all four of its limbs. The ground beneath them was a mix of dried up blood from victims long past churned with slight fragments of viscera.

Slowly, its upper jaw raised itself high while its lower one went slack. The display was complemented by the sound of flesh tearing apart until there was a loud crack. And in a flash, the creature's neck extended forward and swung out in a horizontal slash. The boy was sent flying into a pile of wooden crates, only leaving sawdust and splinters under him. Whatever bits and pieces were left over started to grate against his clothes and skin. Cuts. Bruises. They were irritating painful.

But they weren't enough.

Feet were planted down first, lifting his scarred frame from its resting place into an upright stance. The residual grogginess from blood loss had not been washed away quite yet, putting his perception of the world around him into question. Like a grey haze that stained his eyes.

The whiz of a striking tail makes him glance up and flip backwards out of the attack. The accompanying shockwave knocked his body into a violent tumble off to the side. Not even a second later, the Demon pressed its hand down on his back with pressure so great that is drew out the precious liquid.

Another good stomp just in case, and it backed up a little to ensure that it would be able to drain whatever faint life was left. Its still gaping maw started to draw in all the blood in the area, from the miniature red sea it had made to little remaining fragments that remained in the old lady. She had served her role well, but as with all things, it must come to an end soon. The decomposing woman would not be a suitable disguise for too long, with repeated entry and modification to her innards distorting her frame more and more. It'd have to move onto the next prey, preferably younger and much more athletic. Something that could give a little trouble to much bigger prey, much heartier and much more filling.

The old lady… she's in danger… Bell thought to himself. His heart started to beat faster, less in rage but more in determination. Muscles started to contract to move and extended his arm up to try and gain some balance. Cuts and tears had greatly damaged their integrity, with more and more pain filtering onto Bell's brain to try and get him to stop for even a moment. That wouldn't be enough.

All the red fluids flowed back into the Demon; all but the boy's. A few ounces of blood had been absorbed, sure, but much of it simply floated upwards as if the flow of gravity had been reversed yet were never pulled into the maw. Like it was trying to defy its magic…

I need to worry then… I need to care about that… I almost… almost…

The familiar rise and descent of the stomping foot was halted by the push of an hand. In moments, surprise ran through the demon's body as it felt the boy slowly and steadily start to overpower the pressure of the stomp. He started to stand up, one leg heaving itself through the stained blood and the other following.

I have to keep him in the warehouse… I have to beat him right here and right now. To keep her safe…

Another arm clutches the Demon's legs, clutching it tight with each finger clasping down straight into the jelly-like skin. He staggers back to pull on the wrist of the demon, the first tug stretching the skin apart like melted cheese, the second split into the muscle underneath, and the third one severed hand from limb.

Tendrils of red jettison out of the Demon's back as it roars in fury. They rain down upon him like bloody raindrops as Bell tries to navigate away from the attacks. Two spears pierce him, one through his arm and one through his hand and he's sent right back into the dumpster that he had arisen from. No time is wasted with Demon pouring out a torrent of blood. Extending out a facsimile of a hand that glows with a red aura, the large stain erupts into a massive fist. It slammed its arm onto the ground and the blobs followed suit… only to be shattered in an instant.

Terror was all that it felt as out from the trash, Bell stood. Covered in his own blood but his skin had a much healthier hue, as well as his demeanor being much lighter than before. As he walked towards the beast, a glow radiates from his hand, surging with energy continuously to a drumming beat.

"Prepare to face the might of…" Bell pauses for a little bit, trying to think of a name for himself. A lot of thoughts raced through his refreshed mind, yet its not long after that he gives up and says, "Me!"

Quickly looking around, the Demon looks towards the old woman, life slowly fainting from the deprivation of blood. It needed leverage over this human. Threaten him with the life of another. A common human trait, commonly seen with humans with smaller humans. Before the hand could even wrap its fingers around her waist, Bell quickly rockets over and delivers a strike onto the hand, caving it inwards. A roar bellows out as Bell scoops up the woman and leaps high onto a nearby ledge. He gently sets her down, feeling a faint but steady heartbeat the entire time. She still lived, but just by a strained thread. He had to finish this quickly was all on his mind as he lept back down.

Now panicking, the Leech demon raises both of its hands and spawns out bloodied slime blobs. However, the summons were melting right after they had just formed, clearly from the strain their master was experiencing and how hard it was to even maintain magic at its understanding. That wouldn't be helped by how much pressure was being put upon the monster. It couldn't keep its composure for long, blobs falling apart and melting at the moment of birth on worsened its mental state far beyond repair.

It instructed its mini-army to attack, with Bell quickly dashing through them. The glowing hand of power slammed into the first blob, getting lodged deep within the blob. Struggling to pull it out, Bell takes notice of the blood thing swinging a tendril at him. He manages to rip his arm out in time, flipping backwards as the tendrils slices through its ally instead. Right behind the creature, Bell cuffed his fist into its back. The wound isn't deep enough to bisect it, only enough to send it stagger. A side kick is all it takes to send it onto the ground, with it slowly starting to build itself back up from the puddle.

A chunk of blood whizzes by his head, followed by a swarm of them. Tries his best to repel the onslaught away, breaking several that got near him. Every now and then, one would get to close or slash at him, making him wince in pain. He couldn't lie, he could really go for a weapon right now instead of punching. Mors and Azrael did train Bell to be able to swing a scythe, but he was far from a master at it. His technique was pitiful in comparison to his sister's. But being able to slice these things into puddles of red would be much preferable to whatever this is. He would have to make do with the tool he was given.

The Leech Demon finally runs out of projectiles, and Bell took this as his chance. He rushed towards the thing, through each blood blob. The first one, he got his fist stuck in again, pulling with even more force that split the blood monster into twos and onto the floor. The next three were similarly hard, going for a diving thrust with the first one, followed up by a beheading. Then, repeatedly jabs  into the just of the next one, causing it fall to pieces more and more. The third one had him bring his fist down on its head, splitting it apart.

There were still several ahead, and Bell kept pushing. Weirdly, while his technique never changed, Bell could feel it get easier and easier to hack away at the blobs. His hand never got caught in their bodies after a while, punching through them like a hammer through a wall. Even more uniquely, they never regenerated after he destroyed them. A strong enough hit was enough to cause these things to liquify and be rendered useless.

As he approached the Daemon, it got desperate. It started throwing chunks of itself at Bell. The first cluster clung on with its suckers, trying to drain his blood again, but Bell swatted them aside. He would be faced with the next cluster, with him simply slicing the leeches into nothing but goop.

Bell's punch connected with the Leech Demon's hide. The impact should have bounced off—the thing was armored, durable, built to withstand damage.

Instead, it *screamed*.

Not from pain. From something else. The creature recoiled like Bell's strike had burned deeper than it should have, like it had touched something inside the monster that recognized what it had done—draining that old woman, using her as bait, hurting innocents.

Bell felt it too. A flicker of... satisfaction? Rightness?

His aura glowed brighter, and for just a moment, he *knew*: This thing deserved what was coming.

"Guilty," Bell whispered without meaning to as the punch lands, bizarrely splitting it in half.

The Demon's body falls down and onto the ground. Bell stands over the severed halves, looking down at the meatly remains with a twinge of disgust. But also… intrigue. Every blood blob pooled together then evaporated in an instant, fading away into magical particles. They're blackened, but they carry a little gleam Bell looks on at the spectacle of magical energy floating high up into the air. That brief distraction almost made him forget the old lady, with an immediate surge shocking him back into realization.

Taking her from her resting place, he lift her onto his back. In a dash and a flash, he rushes off to the nearest direction of a hospital. He tried to be as gentle as he can while going as fast as he can, with drips and leaks of blood staining his already bloodied clothes. It would be hard to explain what happened.

But that wouldn't stop him.

-------

The Lin Residence

Azrael sits at a table, tapping his finger in a worried motion. Those two hadn't come home yet. Mors would still be at STARS being debriefed on her mission. But him… Normally, Bell would have shown up after his typical walk around the town. But to be gone 2 hours longer than usual… the sun was nearly down. The Angel was considering spreading his wings to go looking for his son.

Just then, the ringing of the house phone shook the house for just a few seconds before Azrael dashes over to pick it up.

"Lin residence. Mr. A speaking." He listens for a little bit to the voice on the opposite end of the line. And in an instant, dread runs into his spine as he heard these words;

"Your son has checked into the hospital, sir."

-----

Doors slam open as Mors rushes into the waiting room. She's covered in bandages, as a sort of precaution to her damaged body still being in a state of disarray. At the front desk, she slams her hands down, asking, "Where's Bell Lin?" The lady at the front desk was a bit worried at the sight of a tall bandaged woman asking to find a person, with the only thing she was told to do was to wait and she would send for him.

Slowly, Mors inched herself back, closer to a chair behind her as her legs give way and she falls back. Waiting sucked. That's all that could race through mind. Concern was there too, but frustration was king among kings. Even in this chair that'd be too small even for that midget, all that negativity boiled until…

Her father walked through the door to the ER. On her feet, Mors starts to bombard him with question after question. He didn't answer a single one of them, all but the single ask,

"Where was Bell?"

Behind him, Bell walked forward. Slightly bruised and some patches on his skin, but otherwise safe. Immediately, Mors goes to chastise him for getting into a fight, getting himself hurt and making her worry, but she didn't even utter a noise before the raise of her father's hand told her everything that she needed. A heavy sigh was all that she could muster before resigning herself outside.

Several grueling minutes of time seeming to halt passed, the two walked out of the hospital. In the parking lot, Mors' bone-themed motorcycle quietly sat, with room for two.

"You two go home. I have to finish some paperwork." Bell was the first to move to the vehicle, but as Mors was about to follow, she felt a hand grasp her shoulder, Azrael finishing with, "Mors. Please don't be hard on your brother. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Those words would be burned into her psyche as she sped off in the night.

From the road, to the steps, to the front door. Not a single word was uttered between the two siblings. Not until Bell reached the front door of his room. The two exchanged glances, eyes like a new born pup gazing at its worn and tired elder. There was pause, before Bell slipped into the room and the door was closed shut.

Leaving Mors waiting for Azrael to come home. The couch would be her only friend until then. Even that voice she'd been hearing from recently would not make a singular peep to even poke fun at her or insult her. No, what remained quiet. Silence wanted company, and she would that until the warm smile of her dad walked back into her life, with some drinks in tow.

"What happened?" Mors, asked.

A big long sip from the fruit-flavored beverage yielded the answer. "An old lady was being used by a Daemon to kill people. Used her as a meat suit to lure people. Bell was to be its latest victim. He said he defeated it… and now that old lady is hospitalized."

"Will she… be ok?"

"A wiping of the mind, and some months in rehab should mend some of what is broken."

"And him?"

The worst part. No answer. Her father just kept drinking until he was done, and went back for another, only this time, handing it over. It was orange flavor, not her favorite but it wasn't half bad. She slowly took the drink from his hand and started to sip it.

"Mors. Take Bell to Stars tomorrow. We're going to get to the bottom of what he can do."

And so, with that declaration. The two drank the night away with sugar-filled pop drinks. Maybe to take the worry out of their minds. Maybe to just have a minute to themselves. Only they would know.

Chapter Text

The Occult Research Club's interior always stunned Bell with how nice it looked. It was like a small cathedral, with all the Victorian-like architecture and designs. That lent credence to the overall spaciousness, with every step feeling more and more like walking on air than ground.

The awe of it all wasn't enough to take his attention away from his goal. It was quite early in the morning, and on a weekend no more. To put it bluntly, it would be a miracle for more "normal" people to be awake at the crack of dawn.

With that in mind, Bell did the impossible as he took a step to those beautiful, wooden doors. In order to be granted access, he gave the good ole, 'the shave and a haircut, two bits". That wasn't necessary but it always gave it away that it was him on the other side.

Fluttering of bat wings could be heard, and the is door is opened by a more unfamiliar face. A brown-haired woman, with hair shaped like a bat in a red dress greets him with a smile and a bow, which Bell quickly returns in tow.

In the middle of the room, Rias is playing a game of chess, her opponent being the ever-vigilant Student Council President, Sona. While he's been more acquainted with her crimson haired counterpart, Bell knew Sona quite well. Whenever she got the chance, she asked him to join her Peerage as her pawn, an offer Bell almost always took before his sensibility kicks in and forces him to deny her. That being said, she did find use in having him clean up around the school and take care of some more physical work.

"Hi there, Ms. President." Rias and Sona quickly spins around to see Bell slowly scooting over to the two girls. Sona just returns to the game, but Rias gives a smile and a wave before returning to the game.

Bell waits for them to finish the game, but his patience start to run thin pretty soon, and he pops back in. "Uhm, Ms. President? I need to talk about something.."

"Hold on there, Bell. I'm in the middle of a good round." She says, moving her knight to the appropriate position, hoping Sona doesn't notice. However, her train of though would be shortly interrupted when Bell slowly pokes at shoulder. Rias quickly spins around, looking agitated at her club member.

"What! What is it?" She's a lot more agitated at Bell's insistence, something he didn't quite see from her much. He almost shrunk down to the size of an ant from the sterness. But nevertheless, Bell still mustered to strength to spout out,

"It's about my lineage… or what I am exactly… you see—"

"You're a demon, yes, yes. I already know." Rias calms down a bit, clearly more interested in getting back to her chess board more than continuing the conversation. However, Bell was more stunned at the fact that she was treating this like a casual event more than a grand reveal. How long had she know? Ever since he'd joined the occult research club, any mention of what he was always blanketed with, "I don't know." It's what his sister told him to share since Demons don't exactly have good press with Devils or the like. He'd had to make sure not tell any Devil what he was. Except for Issei a few days ago. While he was slow to the guess, it didn't take much for Bell to finally realize what was going on. At the fault of his own incompetence and a mixture of inexperience, the 'secret' had been let out, and now, the consequences of his poorly planned out actions were soon to befall him.

"Are you going to… kick me out of the club?" Bell timidly asks, and to her shock, Rias looks befuddled at what Bell was possibly suggesting.

"What do you mean? I'm not going to kick you out. You're welcome to stay in the club if you feel like it."

"B-But… Demons and Devils don't get along and—" His voice is quickly drowned out by the sudden accompanying noise of Sona's voice, like a cold river forming into a stream, making the room feel even colder than usual.

"Devils don't even get along with each other most of the time. It's not in Rias' nature to kick someone out for what they are instead of who."

Bell quickly leans over to glance at Sona's spectacled face. "What about you? Are you fine with me?" Sona pauses for a moment, looking over all her available options to move before redirecting her focus to her friend's guest.

"I can't have you in my peerage… but I won't have you ostracized by the class or by anyone else whenever I can." That was good to know, and with all that in mind, Bell could finally relax without the worry that he'd become a loner so soon. And with a stumble and a tumble, he was guided out of the room with no further delay.

When the door slammed shut, the crimson haired devil sat back down to analyze her opponents move, but not before reflecting on an extra piece of commentary.

"Bell seems different. Much stronger too. You think that he's one of them?"

"That girl from a year ago… I saw her when we found a Toad Demon on school grounds. If she's being honest and they are related, they isn't a doubt in my mind that he's a Horseman of the Apocalypse."

Finishing off that sentence, the room goes silent for a little bit. The gravity of the situation quickly dawns on Sona, but Rias holds on to a little sense of tranquility.

"What do we do then?" Sona asks.

"Issei trusts Bell, and I know he's a good kid. I have no doubt in my mind that he wants to do some good in the world. But his sister… she's reckless, violent, and like a roach. I'd rather avoid a confrontation with her, for her own sake. For now, we'd best keep our hands free. She has to yet challenge our territory and she seems preoccupied."

"And Bell?"

"As long as Issei is close by, I'll know when to act." Just as she says this, Sona queens her pawn, telling her friend to make her next move carefully. With not much else on the board, Rias thinks and thinks about what to do. Any move to close the king would force the Queen to act, but not acting away would give it plenty of time to move in and force a checkmate. She'd need to stall and stall until she could get the chance, if she ever does.

"I think you should forfeit, I have more pieces that you and--"

"No, I've got this." Confidence shimmered through as her rook was placed right inbetween her knight… before Sona immediately took it.

"Wanna try that again?"

"…I'll find a way."

------

Bell woke up to the shine of an overhead light, brighter than even the sun. All that instant stimuli shocked his brain into activity , taking notice that he's on a hospital bed. He glances over to his side, finding that Mors was sat comfortably in a metal folding chair.

"Mors…" Bell murmurs, being met with a smile from his sister. Before any formalities could be exchanged, the door to the room is opened by a nurse.

"Ah, you're awake, Mr. Lin," she commented. "Mr. M. wants to start the testing phase of your abilities. Please follow me to the Danger Chamber." Her gaze briefly turns to The Horseman of Death. "That includes you, Ms. Lin."

Bell slowly creeps out of bed, struggling to stand as his legs were like jelly, wobbling his way out. His fortitude waned ever so slightly until a familiar hand wraps his arm around her shoulder and guided him out.

The STARS building was quite advanced by human standards. Bell had familiarity with the architecture of Devils being more evocative of the Victorian Era out of choice, so it was not in his mind that STARS would be a lot more technologically practical. From the very brief glimpses he could capture, the walls were a darkened grey with bolts running across, the only shine being various computer monitors that listed off all sort of diagnostics. Doors of a similar composition to the walls dotted along the hallways. Even if he didn't understand them completely, he atleast knew why Devils had such lavished, if a bit dated furniture: things get dreary when you're so advanced.

Finally, they came to the Danger Chamber, finding a blank white void right behind the metal door. The two walked in, Bell asking, "W-Where is the danger?" Mors gives a look that said, 'Why did you have to ask that?'.

"I'm glad you asked, my darkness-derived visitant!" A booming, garbled voice rings out from within the room. The two start searching for the source of the voice, but there was nothing.

"Wait a minute, is that—" Mors get cut off by the Nurse right behind her.

"Mr. M. The Lights."

"Oh yeah! Lights!!!" There's nothing for a few seconds. "Are you kidding… LIGHTS!!!!"

On command, the white void is replaced by a workshop dotted with various scientists working on an assortment of projects; lasers that can drill through rocks, automated transmutation spells to convert simple minerals into more precious materials, and bullets being manufactured with all kinds of spells engraved onto them-something Mors took much interest in.

"W-What was that?" asks Bell, who is quickly answered by Mors.

"Apparently some kind of dimensional tech or something, I don't know, I didn't pay attention to most of those explanations." She laughs at the end of her remark, taking joy in her obliviousness.

All the way in the center of the room, a workbench adorned with various doll-like parts and gears are laid about being tinkered with by a man with a onyx black hair with faint streaks of white scattered amongst, all complimented by the classic glasses. He takes a moment to look up at his guest, amethyst purple eyes gleaming into their souls.

"Welcome, to the STARS R&D Department! We love casting spells, conjuring up tools and weapons with all sort of alchemical sciences, and discover how to kill a variety of ghouls and monsters. Mors, what brings you to our lab of magic that is also science, or science that is also magic—Oh, you brought a guest with you!" The man vanishes in a puff of smoke—which spreads to the unfortunate visitors turned victims—right as he appears behind Bell, shocking the boy as he jumps high into the air.

Now that Bell got a closer look at him, he could noticed how tall and slim this man was; he was just a few inches short of matching his sister's height but even with the perspective of being a shorter boy, his height was impressive.

What wasn't as impressive was how nosey he was getting, leaning closer to Bell's eye level. He was analyzing as many aspects as he could without actually touching him. He respected people's personal space to the bare minimum and didn't want to be weird about it…that and Mors could probably shatter his arm before he could even lay a finger.

"Hmm. Bell, I presume! Excellent to meet you! I've heard from someone special that you're one of the Horseguys of the End Times, right?" He posits in the weirdest way he could, annoying everyone but Bell. To be fair, if he did, that'd be the Pot calling the Kettle Black. Instead, he extends his hand forwards for a handshake, giving his typical greeting.

"Uhh. Hello, I'm Bell! And you are?" His open hand was not returned with a shake but rather instead a slap and a crazed laugh, which Bell quickly matches with a genuine laugh that slowly crept into being more nervous as time went on. A minute of laughing broke Mors' silence as she gets right into it.

"Dude. I know your head is probably a circus of math and stuff, but could you take a quick intermission and tell him your name?" She asked in an semi sarcastic tone.

"Right. I am Myrddin! Descendant of the Great Wizard Merlin, creator of magic! Well, not really creating it, just simplifying he process in order for humans to actually be able to use it without exploding or sacrifices. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Bell. So, what are you two here for?"

The Nurse from earlier chimes in, "They were wondering if they could run some test using the Danger Chamber."

"Ah! I get to use the Danger Chamber! And my Trans-dimensional Interface and Dimensional Exploration Tech too! In such a such span too! Wonder what that could lead to…" Jumping up and down like a kid that found candy, quickly tossing the Nurse a device that she wraps around her wrist as she enters the room, with Bell asking,

"Trans-dimensional Interface and Dimensional Exploration Tech?"

"It's the device I just used to layer my lab ontop of the Danger Chamber! But anywho! Onto the testing!" He spins around, summoning a sigil right in front of his face to announce to the lab,"Gentlemen & Ladies, start those computers!" Many agents start to pull up computer monitors, but the rest of the preparation to use the Danger Chamber was cut off by the returning brightness of the white void, this time with the Nurse disappearing too.

"Now then, what are testing for today?"

"Bell's powers. He said he's recently awakened them but he doesn't quite know what they do or how to use them. He's basically fishing without a fishing line," Mors muses on that last "joke", to which she is entertained by Myrddin with a chuckle.

Right on cue, a machine pops into existence, like one of those "Test your strength" carnival games. Bell is a bit shaken at how sudden it is, but is still amused with how quaint it was. Cocking his hand back, a strike is delivered straight onto the bag device. The counter spins like a casino slot machine, landing on 0.5.

"Oh! Not that strong, eh?" The voice jeered and Bell started to get frustrated. He throws two more punches in quick succession, but the counter only rises to 0.7.

"What is going on?" Bell is a lot more worried with how weak his strikes seem to be weaker.

"Maybe you're punching too lightly." His sister's jokes were not welcomed at a time like this.

"Here, perhaps your powers are little more reactive than active." Myrrdin observation led him to ask, "Mors, shoot your brother."

Immediately, Bell starts to panic. What kind of ask was that, and from his sister no less? That request would have sent Bell up to Myrrdin and smack him if he could. The red haired boy quickly turns to his sister, who started to slowly load her revolver. He barely had time to even protest her actions until the cylinder locked in place and all he could hear was a bang.

He could barely catch a glimpse of the bullet right as it was fired. As he went to catch the blur, another bang went off, sending another grey rocket right at him. There was no time to even catch one, let alone both, and all he could feel was the pain of two chunks of metal slamming into his stomach.

Now, thanks to Bell's durability in conjunction with Mors resorting to a lesser caliber than usual, the only physical wound left were some bruises that even a regular person would heal in time. Not the pain, oh did it sting, sending Bell rolling on the ground, clenching his stomach in an attempt to find relief.

Mors didn't seem all too phased. Honestly, she's hit him with worse before. "Stop wriggling so much. You're starting to look like an Earthworm." That sentiment got Bell on his feet again, in record time, ready to prove her wrong.

Her emptied chamber said otherwise.

On the bright side, atleast he didn't writhe as much from the next few bullets.

"Hey, are we done here, or do you want me to finish turning my brother into a pinata?" Despite the sarcastic tone, Bell knew that his sister was taking some fun in this. While he was glad that she was having fun, he wasn't a fan of 6 bruises on his stomach and chest.

"Try one more time, then we will conclude the test."

Once more, the reloaded gun took aim, and sparks flew along with bullets. Bell looked onward, and started to notice that those bullets were moving slower. Not slow enough to for him to entirely perceive them, and one struck him dead center on his chest.

But after that… the bullets began to slow again. To the point where Bell could actually see each of them. They were still moving, but they were less like watching cars race down a highway, more like watching a cyclist going on a casual bike stroll.

This phenomena… Bell had heard of something like this. That adrenaline can drive your senses into overdrive, to the point were someone's reaction and awareness makes the world around them look frozen. That could be going on…

However, he looked over to his sister holstering her revolver like time hadn't stopped for her. That was strange… but Mors could already move faster than he could think, so that wasn't unusual. It only became so when Bell at step around the bullet, and it still stood in place. And what truly baffled him, is when he reached out and grabbed the bullet. It felt metallic, hot, and with a simple squeeze, it bent into itself.

This was no mere illusion. He went to grab the next coming bullet, briefly slipping out of his hand, before he successfully grasps it at the last second, right in time to notice the next one closing in on his arm. Also tricky, but still a success. And the final one he could see clearest and had the easiest time catching.

"Dang, Bell. Looks like you got… uh… Hey, Pointdexter, what was that just now?" Mors looks up, Bell still processing that his sister just shot several bullets at him.

"We're wondering what's going on too, cause what was that?"

Bell looks stunned at what just happened. That display of power… how did he do that? All he could really feel was a minor feeling in the back of his head. What was going on?

"Ah, you're confused, aren't ya?" Mors points out, snapping Bell out of it.

"Yeah… I… I don't…" His hands as trembling a little from the sudden confusion, then are met by the gentle touch of another.

"Here, let me help." Those were the words he really needed to hear right now.

The two were seated across from each other, the elder sibling cross legged and the youngest positioned in a long sit. In front of them, multiple objects are strewn about. Soda cans, newspapers, cardboard boxes. All things that were easily disposable.

"That power within you? It's a type of magic," Mors begins, "It's gone by many names, but we call it—"

"I call it." The head researcher's voice boomed over her. A growl and grimace later, she continues.

"We call it Chaos Magic. Created from your life energy. Every Demon has access to some kind of Chaos Magic. Mine, for example." A slit open on her palm, she digs through the wound, and out pulls a sharpened bone blade that she breaks off with a nasty crack sound. "Has to do with Death… or Bones, in this case."

She motions over to the assortment of items. Bell is still confused on what to do.

"Remember how you felt when I fired a round at you? Draw on that feeling. Try to remember how you felt in that moment. How every second went by as you saw that hunk of metal approach your body."

And so, he closed his eyes. Nothing but silence. And a nagging feeling in his head. When Bell reopened his eyes, he was confronted with his sister, who pointing a gun right as his head.

"Mors, what are you doing?" Bell asks, perplexed, but Mors is even more confused.

"

" He quickly picks up on her, inquisition, right as she tells hm to close his eyes again.

"Okay, but don't point a gun at me again… please."

"No promises."

Again, he returns to silence and black. All there was to it… until a pain strikes his head, but unlike the previous one, he could feel this on his forehead. He had just been flicked on the forehead. He covers his forehead, trying to soothe the pain. Meanwhile, Mors just snickers at his misfortune.

"So it was the gun…." Mors comments. She aims it again at him, but Bell quickly gets up and notices what she's doing. She sets it aside and starts to wonder what exactly is going on with Bell.

"Lights!!!" They're suddenly back in the R&D Department, to an intrigued Myrddin. He starts to ramble on and on about all the possible power Bell has, how much potential it has, and what it could be, and he hasn't even gotten started on analyzing. While he's talking, he pokes a syringe into Bell's skin while he didn't notice, until Myrddin showed him his blood.

"I'll get on the analysis! And you," he points at Mors, "Remember to come back later so I can do an evaluation on both of your abilities. And remember to get your licenses in the meanwhile!" He quickly pushes them both out of the room, and slams it shut to finally indulge in his favorite past time.

"He was weird… And what about License?" Mors is pondering on the Magician's final remarks, before she starts to remember! Bell's hunting license! He can't get become a full on STARS operative if he isn't approved to hunt monsters. Demons might be fair game but too many monsters are protected to risk it.

"Look, if we rush over there, we can make it to a department in time!"

And just like that, Bell is whisked away to another adventure…

---

Meanwhile…

Over the sunny clouds of the Japanese skyline, a man sips on a bottle of cheap wine he was drinking, sleeping in an even cheaper hotel. He wasn't exactly stacked on resources, at least when it came to more material things, but that didn't matter right now.

From the shimmer of the clouds, there was a silhouette only he could see, one resembling a kind of insect, only much more massive. It quickly sped over to the man's current location and landed with an audible thud.

At a much closer look, the giant insect resembled a mosquito with all its worse traits enhanced to make it look horrifying to any human eye that would gaze upon it for a minute too long.

But to this man, it was just a simple lackey. Not even wasting time to look back, he asks, "How many?"

The monsters staggers in place for a little bit, anxious to give an answer. Again, the man asks, "How many?" The mosquito's wings twitched against each other as the suspense was draining what "life" was in there. Finally, the Demon blurted out, "25, sir. But only 5 were fully drained…"

The man takes another sip from his drink, but he doesn't even get through a couple gulps before setting it back down. Finally, he stands up, walks over to the much more massive beast, right as it bowed right before him.

"Since the Leech Demon isn't with you, I assume that he has been taken out but those two. I'll need to wait to confirm that. All of this has been so sour, and the wine isn't even the topic. At this rate, collecting enough resources will simply not be good enough without a backing force."

He whips out a marker, and starts to draw on the dirtied carpet several arcane symbols in the form of a magic circle. He starts to dig into his bag for several candles, sacred dirt, and a vial of his own blood. The mosquito tries to snatch the vial but a simple fire parlor trick wards him off.

With all his equipment set up, he begins to ritual. Before beginning the séance, he tells the Mosquito Demon to keep a watch for any uninvited guests, and just this one time, let his instinct act as his GPS.

Whatever poor folk down the hall would be worried about his neighbor and come check. They'd knock to find nothing, and just go back to their rooms. But by the time they start to relax in the comfort of their rented out space, they would be unaware of the slow decay of their bodies, as their skin grows paler and their bodies weaken. What could be considered fever, something that would simply pass was just an opportunity.

An opportunity for a hungry Demon to feast.

--

A DMV. Not the most exciting place to be at. But, they took the trip all the way from Japan to America—even though it was via their dad's magic circle—so they were going to need to get used to some things quickly. Like how they switched from a nice summer day to a pretty cold night. Or how scary America looks at night. All those things mixed together to make this a very uncomfortable experience, even for Mors.

They walk inside to be met with the dreary look of the typical DMV, plain interior decorated with yellowing walls, and smells that no one should ever have to experience.

"Geez, no wonder driving sucks over here if this is where you have to get your license." Mors chuckles at her own joke, to which Bell also laughs, even while stuck in a compromised position like he was a bag of luggage.

The tall lady strides over to the a disheveled receptionist, who was typing away at her computer.

"Hello…" Mors starts.

"Ma'am, please take a number and wait for your turn." She doesn't even look at her for the slightest second. The younger sibling glances back to see, no one was here. It was pretty late at night, and by the look of things, it probably should have been closed.

"Alright, alright, What did Dad say…" Mors starts to remember what he said, scratching her chin over and over again. Then comes her lightbulb moment! "Ah, I'm here to meet the Woodsman."

The lady looks up at a smiling Mors. Her pupils dot back and forth from the receptionist and Bell. She reaches under her desk, and presses a button. On que, the windows of the building are dotted with Magic Circles, spells of concealment.

"Name." She asks.

"Mors Lin, and this is my brother, Bell Lin. I wanted to get him his monster hunting license." The lady types away at her computer, searching for the last name Lin. She found it, but not anything good.

"Looks like you need it too. Your license expired a week ago. Good you caught this early on."

Mors is flabbergasted, taken aback, and confused. That can't be right. She got her license 4 years ago, and Monster Hunting Licenses expire within… 4 years. All 2 of her braincells finally fired in realization.

Soon, the lady stands up and directs the two over to an old, greasy door.

"Inside. Your test will be taken in there." Mors scoots over with a good shuffle and so, opening the door, and waving goodbye. The lady looks on, chuckling, "Oh, they are going to be eaten alive."

A Few Hours, Later…

Bell and Mors are standing by the receptionist desk, clearly exhausted and worn out. Having to go through various physical tests, and even a surprise quiz. Now, they're waiting on their results.

"Mr. Bell… you got a 85/120 on your physical test. Pretty average for someone of your capabilities. Your pop quiz score was a 35/50." She hands him the result of his paper, followed by his license. Looking over the slip of plastic, it detailed his date of birth, his sex, his height, weight, all of that stuff. There were some things he didn't get but he'd leave the explaining to people who actually knew their stuff.

Safe to say, Bell was over the moon, bouncing around in joy at finally having something that made him feel special, in his own weird way. As for his sister, she was not so joyous.

The receptionist didn't even bother to even list out her scores, just handing the results to her. For the physical trial, she scored a 100/120. Expected. What was not expected was her quiz score. Mors had wound up scoring 20/50, the bare minimum score required to pass the exam. And a lot of those points came from Mors technically being right on her answers, not actually giving the correct one.

Mors eyes go blank in shock and embarrassment. Not the brightest tool in the shed was a term she would wear with confidence, but looking back, it seems more like a chain of shame to show off that she really was just an over glorified bag of bones.

The eldest sibling just clutches her brother's shoulder and walked with her head held down in shame. She soon exited the building, only to remember that she had no way to get back home without her Dad's magic, something that was left behind in Japan.

The dial of her phone trying to reach international water, and the still joyous murmurs from Bell would be the only distractions that would even shake whatever she was feeling.

"Looks like no one will ever call me a head-hunter, eh?"

Silence. Cold dead silence. Not even the crickets entertained that remark.

"Interesting, it seems that instead of your cringe being unable to be observed in a vacuum, you create the vacuum, Mors." The voice in her head taunted and true to her word, a cringe-inducing smile would be the only thing to fill this emptiness.

Chapter Text

Late at night,

"Come on! How long is it going to take?" One boy asks, waiting beside his crouched partner. His accomplice is fidgeting with a door knob, using an assortment of tools and trinkets to break the lock.

"You can't rush art, dude. Lockpicking takes time and effort!" The other boy replies.

"Time we don't have much of, so crank up that effort!" Through his frustration, he shoves a few metal objects into the keyhole. A click finally notes their success with the break-in, the head honcho opens the door and begins the sneak in. He pops his head in, telling his accomplice, "Keep a look out. It's going to take me a couple of minutes to pull up our grades and tweak them a little more favorably."

"What do I do if someone comes by?" He asks, and is met with a simple, "Act drunk." A gentle slam is all his friend is left with, making him nervous… And right on time, the shine of a flashlight burns into his eyes.

"Hey! Why are you here late at night?" It's a security guard, obviously not interested in whatever the break-in about to say.

"Oh… I'm… uhhh… just here… to… relax… yah know… just here to… relaaaaaaaxxxxx…" He's trying to slur his words to an exaggerated level, something that the security guard clearly picks up on.

"Sure. Sure. Who's inside the lab?" The boy starts to panic, sweat running down his back as all kind of excuses run through his mind.

"Well, uhh… well, uhh… You see… Well… There's no one—" Before he even finishes his sentence, there's a loud scream coming from the inside the lab. The security guard quickly rush in, opening the door to find the accomplice panicking at the sight of a professor, covered in blood with multiple stab wounds in his chest and torso as he lay there on the floor.

"I-I don't…" Before he could even utter another word, the security guard rushes in and looks at the body. Dead, and it seems that he's been dead for a long while now. Forget these delinquents, he's going to need to write up a much more gruesome report tomorrow.

---

"The victim is Yanai Shinsui, a 35-year-old biology professor at Shoji University. He was found by a couple of students trying to break into his office, as well as a security guard."

At the crack of dawn, police tape covered the hallway leading up to the now crime scene. Inside, a couple of detectives look at the lab, noting how messy it looked, with all kinds of shattered glass and broken wood. At the center, the outline of the victim remained, the body being hauled off for further analysis.

"Apparently, they found 12 stab wounds to the chest and stomach. Funny, considering he'd be dead after the first 3. This guy really wanted him dead." One of the detective notes, as the other scribbles down on a notepad.

"Huh, you're telling me. Think this has to do with those disappearances a few days back?" The older detective looks down at the stained chair, following the trail of blood that lead to the outline. Looks like the professor had enough energy to crawl for a little bit before dying. But with no weapon to be found and being stabbed that many times in different places? This was a weird one. Usually, murderers this dramatic didn't have a thought in their head to hide the murder weapon.

"No… this is something different." The old man replies.

Just outside, a crowd of students formed, with gossip about who killed the professor and why spreading like wildfire. Two police officers are trying to control the crowd, but then, a van drives on onto the parking lot, with several men in suits and darkened shades filing out and marching towards the scene.

"Halt, this is a crime scene!" One of the officers hold out their hand, but the men still march on forward. Again, the police officer demands, "You're not allowed here. This is police jurisdiction!"

One of the men whips out a badge, and holds it out in front of the officer. "We're authorized by the Public Security Intelligence Agency. This is now under our jurisdiction." The officers look dumbfounded at how high profile this simple murder seems to be, but before any more questions could be asked, the men in suits simply make their way past him and inside the building.

Meanwhile, the detectives are preoccupied with all the evidence before them. So preoccupied that it takes the loud marching of feet. When the two spin around, around 6 men are standing at the entrance of the room.

"H-Hey! What are you doing here?" The younger detective asks but again, the men in black simply bring out their Identification.

"This is no longer your case. This is ours. Please leave the area before we are forced to be more direct." The two detectives look dumbfounded at the sudden news. In any other situation, fists would be flying, but a 6 on 2 with guys as mysterious as this was certainly not ideal. With a mumble, and a grumble, the 2 take their leave.

When they take a step out of the room, the agents get to work. The pull out various hand-held devices, and start scanning, taking pictures, along with storing and recording evidence. Whatever they couldn't deduce here would be sent back to the lab.

And boy, was there a lot they couldn't deduce.

---

STAR's Main Facility, Intel Division.

For a Team dedicated to analyzing and utilizing information, it was quite an empty and silent place. One corner, someone was looking at a computer with an intensity that couldn't be matched even by the most dedicated of hackers, and on the other, someone was spending all day long organizing physical information and paperwork with the same ease as if they were breathing.

At the head of it all, Mr. Malone. That's what he was called, even by his closest friends. To be honest, no one but the top dogs actually knew who this man was. All they knew was he'd always wear sunglasses, chewing some kind of gum, and if you needed to know something, chances are, he'd have an answer.

Of course, he had to get his information from somewhere, and now, he was looking over the outline from the crime from just a couple of hours ago.

"By the looks of it, Mr. Shinsui must've dated the wrong kind of gal. Hehe." He jests.

"The medical team is currently trying to secure Mr. Shinsui's body from the morgue. Hopefully, the police won't interfere at this point," a voice from beside him adds on, "As far as out field agents could tell, no magical foul play could be traced, and the killer must have escaped using the skylight."

Malone takes a closer look at the photos, images of broken floorboards, chairs, and the aforementioned opened skylight were nicely laid out. "From all my days of gathering dirt, things are never as clear as you want it to be. Plus, no human just breaks several pieces of wood at random then makes a clean exit 10 meters into the air. Maybe it's a vampire… In any case, have Mors on standby in case."

"You mean Agent D?" Malone quickly turns around and looks choked at the mention at that codename. He takes out a stick of gum and plops it into his mouth without a second of delay, chewing loudly.

"Remind me to give her a better codename after this." He sarcastically notes. "By the way, what's up with the new kid on the block… what's his name?"

---

"Bell." Azrael is standing, or accurately floating, on air with his 2 faded-white wings carrying him. Meanwhile, his son is standing in front of a pitching machine with a sea of tennis balls surrounding him. "I think that's enough."

"No!" Bell shouts, "I gotta figure out how my power works or else I won't be able to go out on missions with sis'!" In spite of his courageous attitude, he's covered in bruises and has got a black eye to boot. For a good 30 minutes, he's pelted himself with tennis balls, convinced that his power has something to do with pain, or some kind of super strength. Myrddin was taking too long to analyze his blood, so he took things into his own hands.

At school, he asked Issei to repeatedly punch him. He said no several times, but after repeatedly begging and pleading to the point where tears were coming out, Issei relented. After a couple of good boosts, the Boosted Gear wielder socked Bell in the face the first time. No reaction. Neither did the next 10 tries yield results before his friend refused to keep hitting him.

Then there was Koneko. She said no the first time, then the second ask, Bell got gut-checked straight into a wall. Still nothing. Even through a barrage of punches did Bell only find himself aching in pain. Like Issei before her, she lost interest and just stopped hitting him, saying, "If you want to hurt yourself so bad, throw yourself off a building."

Soon after considering, then ruling out that idea, he approached Akeno to see if she could help. Bell could swear that she wasn't doing this to help him activate his abilities since she spent a lot more time electrocuting him, and she did it the moment he even asked. In fact, it took Rias and Kiba popping in to get her to stop, all to her (and Bell's) disappointment. Bell then asked Kiba to stab him, to which Rias sat him down and asked, "Are you doing ok?".

An explanation and dismissal from school later, here Bell is, still trying see what makes him tick. Still unsuccessful and with his father's supervision, it seemed like he was going to get anywhere this time.

"One more volley! I can't end on an loss!" Bell rushes over to turn on the machine again, but the flick of the switch didn't bring the engine to life. No, the device had been killed by Azrael, finally on the ground and holding the plug to the pitching machine. "Aw man," the boy proclaimed.

"Bell, have you thought for a moment and thought out, what you can do, and not kept yourself busy with how you can do it?" The dark-haired Angel asked.

"Noooooo." That honest answer didn't seem to leave its mark with Bell, Azrael just simply looking down at him like a dog that tore through his homework.

"Wow, you are too much like your sister. Did she ever teach you how to control your Magic? Like, how she did and stuff?"

"Nope." Another look of frustration aside, Azrael decides that NOW would be a good time to give his son some basic pointers in using magic.

"Sit down. Papa's going to need to give you a lesson on how to magic." The red-haired boy follows his dad's instructions, sitting cris-crossed and jittering in place as he awaited his instructions. "Magic is like, walking, Bell. You don't know how to do it because you haven't realized what it is. Babies learn to walk when they imitate what they see. You haven't seen Mors use Magic much, and therefore you don't have a good grasp at how it functions. Here."

Azrael holds out his hand, and particles of energy cluster into palm before forming into a glowing white sphere of energy. "See what I do here. Don't worry about the mechanics just yet, try and just focus on replicating what I'm doing on a visual level."

And so, Bell holds out his hand and starts to focus on making a ball of energy of his own. With a little strain, nothing happens. He starts to try harder, focusing on the idea of making 'a ball of energy'. Some veins pop out of his head but to no avail.

"Bell, don't try so hard." Azrael comments on his technique, but Bell ignores it, still focusing on making that Ball of energy. He keeps pouring more and more effort into his work, but nothing could seemingly amount from it. Every time he seems to have caught onto something, it was just an off feeling.

"Bell…" Azrael taps his shoulder, but again, his son tries harder, gripping his hand like that is a missing component in order to making this work. Another hand reaches out and grabs his, shaking him to stop. "You're doing it wrong."

"What am I doing wrong?" Bell asks.

"You're trying." Azrael retorts. "If all you do is try, you don't believe you can succeed." His son is clearly lost at the understanding of the metaphor, so Azrael decides to go deeper into putting the understanding right in front of his son.

"When I make this sphere of energy, I'm not trying to make. It's either I make the sphere or I don't make the sphere. If I try to make the sphere, the idea of making is flooded with belief that I can't make it, and therefore, I don't make the sphere. Magic is a lot like that. You need to have the mentality that you can do something presented in front of you, otherwise, you'll end up clouding the process it takes to generate energy and/or magic. That's what trips up a lot of people."

"So… I need to just make a sphere, and then I will!" Bell finally gets it, he thinks. No, he does. He holds out his hand again, and this time, he starts to believe that he can make that sphere. He starts to think up all the dimensions of the sphere, the coloring, everything. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks… and nothing emerges. Bell puts his hand back, looking disappointed. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Hmm. Either you're ability is distinct enough that generating and creating magical constructs is not possible, or Chaos Energy operates differently than most kinds of magics. I doubt it considering that's what Mor's was taught, but Demons are a weird bunch, so you never know." Azrael extends his hand out and brings his son up to his feet. "Magic isn't easy for everyone. It can take people years to learn basic spells… though those are rare occasions… Don't beat yourself up." From outside, the intercom blares.

"Can Bell Lin and Mr. Azrael please report to the White Room. Bell Lin and Mr. Azrael!" That's them. Time to get things up and going, maybe with an added ride on the back.

-----------

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Mors stands in front of an observatory, which was remodeled to look like an mansion. A rather unkept one too, with all the vines and cracks that covered the building. She thought it was ugly, regardless of it being a literal animal house.

The door opens up and the owner of the house steps out. He's dressed in a fancy green suit, adorned with all kinds of jewelry and animal pins. The shimmer of the jewelry nearly blind her and Mors tries to steer clear metal pieces.

"Are you Professor Mélange?" She asks, and the man nods. "I'm here to talk about your associate, Professor Shinsui. Mind if I come in?"

"Y-Yes. Please, make yourself at home." That was supposed to be homely, but she knew that the second that she touched a couch, all kinds of bugs would fester in her clothes, and she doesn't have the time to clean out her Hunting Fit. She stands in the center of the man's 'living room', whipping out a notebook to record any kind of information he could give her.

"We were just working with a formula to help the metabolism of an animal. It wasn't anything serious. Just making insects eat more and rats burn fat faster." Mr. mélange was in tears at the memory of his colleague flooded back in. "We wanted to move onto bigger animals, seeing how successful small animals were. We were just waiting for a budget increase, but the University kept denying us."

"And? You think you may have pissed off an member of the board, or maybe one of your associates was a Dr. Dolittle to the point where he would sneak in and kill Mr. Shinsui?" Mors prods and Mr. Mélange starts to deny the question.

"No, no! Everyone who knew about the experiment wanted it to succeed! Even most of the College board. I wouldn't think that a single person would want to see us fail, let alone kill us!" He's clearly stressed, and Mors picks up on that note. That wasn't enough. She had no leads, no one that seemingly wanted him or Shinsui dead. But STARS wouldn't just send her in to deal with any regular ole' homicide. There had to be something supernatural. She started to get up and move, looking around the withered home. Some of the plant life from outside was starting to seep into the home. It was a little obscuring, but the discoloration in one of the bunches of weed caught her eye.

"Hey, Professor of the Jungle. Have you told me about everything you know?" The professor gives a nod, and so Mos reaches into the bundle of overgrowth. It felt disgusting and like several thorns were adorning its inside. She tugs her hand back, break up several branches to reveal a piece of paper. "Then please explain this."

Mr. Mélange looks stunned at her revelation, noting that, "I've never seen that book before." He stands up and looks at the Agent, but Mors follows in suit, backing away from the Professor. She started to gleam through the notes, it being clear that this was written by Shinsui. A lot of the formulas and research was not legible to her. "Please, I don't know what that is."

"It belonged to your dear old friend. Tell me, did he ever slide you some bucks under the counter to hide some of his personal stuff?"

"No, I swear I don't know!" Slowly, Mors approaches him.

"There's some really interesting stuff in here. I don't want to fridge you man, but you got to give me something. Why would your buddy hide something from even you?" Mors is just a foot away from the professor.

With sweat beads running down his face, Mr. Mélange begins to crack, trying to remember any stray piece of data. "W-Well… uhhh… The Salad Bar!"

"Are you calling me fat?"

"No! The Salad Bar is a place teacher's and professors hang out after school. One day, when we were hanging out, a guy with a white flower on his suit talked to us about funding our project, but we declined. I didn't make much of it. Here, I'll give you the address." He scribbles down some numbers, and even a code to enter the place. Mors looks through the paper, eyeing the man one last time before nodding and heading out.

The professor lets out one last sigh of relief, but right as he does. "Hey, smile!" There's a flash, and a few seconds later, Mr. Mélange is in his living room, confused why the clock went from 12:30 to 12:40. Must've napped. Must've been a deep one too, since he swore he just heard a van peeling off into the distance. He's got to sleep eating before sleeping.

------

At the salad bar, 

 Certainly wasn't a salad bar. Just like any old bar. Rusty and Simple, but homely in a way to accompany the drunkest of men. Might be the daylight lighting changing things. All kinds of teachers and overworked victims of the Japanese schooling system go to drink their woes away and make mistakes away from the eyes of the school board.

Mors didn't really get it. Drinking. Like, dad told her that people do it for the sensation being drunk bestows, but all signs pointed to that level of intoxication just being more stressful than relaxing. But she wasn't here to drink. Ok, that's a lie. She blew a couple of bucks on iced tea.

Still, an Agent had to accompany her since she still wasn't of legal drinking age, at least in Japan. The woman in the suit was asking the bartender some questions regarding the "man with the white rose".

"That guy?" the bartender scoffs, "He's a pretty odd fellow. Comes in here in the afternoon to talk with a bunch of Professors. Doesn't even drink anything but a cold glass of water. Not even with a lime or anything."

"Right. Do you happen to know if he drove a car? Or if he lives around here?" The man starts to think, trying to remember any details about the supposed man. Snapping his fingers a couple of times, he dawns on the thought, "I remember that he came in a small limo a couple of times. Same license plate too. 99 25-21. White Carriage of sorts."

The agent scribbles down all this information, nodding her head to the beat of words. Afterwords, she thanks him for everything he's given her. Trailing from behind, Mors puts down 3 1k Yen bills on the counter.

"Keep the change, my good sir." She comments, sipping on her 3rd ice tea as she ducks back into the van. The agent starts typing the license plate into a small computer, uploading it to the Intel Team so they can hone on where that limo could be. All the while, a particularly noisy sipping sent glances behind her, the culprit failing to hide her crimes.

------

 Lunch Break. 

The Father and Son duo are spending some of their free time eating their sandwiches. Tuna and PBJ respectively. Bell was a messy eater, but he could tell his dad was step away from looking like he's about the rip into his meal like a wild animal. He's seen his dad cook many times, not actually eating said food. Why was that?

That thought was quickly abandoned as the boy starts to think. Does he actually have powers? Maybe the Horseman of War just lacked anything big but super strength. That's fine! Totally. Just being strong wasn't the worst thing… he could still be of help! Maybe some more training and trying to get some bulk in his step would be beneficial.

Still would be lacking compared to Mors, Issei, Kiba, hell, even Koneko could do more than him and she just hits hard. That could just be how the cookie crumbles. Some people are just not cut out for the intense stuff! Yeah…

Azrael looks up at Bell and his slow, careful bites. "Not as messy as usual, eh?"

Bell gives faint chuckle, not even noticing what he's doing. He picks up the pace to enjoy the creamy goodness of the jelly-butter combination. In the second of him finishing, he gets back up and starts to walk away. Immediately, his dad calls out, "Where are you going?"

"Back to the white room." Bell states, "Mr. Myrddin still has test to run, right?" Bell gives a smile, disappearing in a flash. His father stops himself short from pursuit, sitting down to finish his sandwich. Though, each bite is much uneasier than usual, and even after finishing each chew, genuine minutes would pass before he took another.

Even after filling his stomach with food, worry left an empty hole that could not as easily be filled.

"Bell… please…"

------

Outside a small house, 

Mors takes note of the white limo outside, matching license plate and carriage description. Took a good while to track this down. She knocks at the door, and guessing that no one's going to bother to answer, she busts the door down. Her gun is taken out of its holster and raised up as she scans the inside of each room. It looked like the typical house, albeit just small, until she comes across the kitchen.

All kinds of tubes, beakers, and chemicals were spread about. Looks like they forgot to clean up before they left. She slowly wades through all kinds of glass and containers, all of them empty. That led to her shattering several of them with even her most gentle step, before she said, screw it and just walked normally.

A filtering system was set up, most of its contents empty except for the finished product: a blue vial, and right beside that a book she picks up, its pages filled with similar formulas that Mors saw in the paper from the Professor's house. Right as she starts to read.

THUD. 

A large sound comes from the roof, catching her attention. Quickly pointing her gun into the air, taking a few seconds to steady and letting off several rounds, going "BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!" until she's out of bullets. Silence.

Mors spins her gun around for a bit, proudly holstering it as she proclaims, "Bullseye." Immediately afterwards, a giant monster hand breaks through the roof and grabs her head. She's flung out of the roof and into the air, taking a few moments to tumble in the air right as the monster swoops in and starts tussling with her in the air.

The shadowy, bat-like mass starts to bite at her chest, her arm barely managing to protect her. She fires off several rounds into the monster's chest, to which they have no effect. Fangs sink into the her arm, forcing her to let go of her gun.

The monster threw her high into the air, and right as gravity pulls her back down, the monster descends like a torpedo. With a moment of recovery, Mors leaps forward, decking the bat monster in the face. It goes crashes into the ground, whereas Mors crashes right back into the house.

"Alright, let's get this started!" Mors hypes herself to go after the bat monster, but is stopped seconds later when sonic wave crashes into the house, causing the entire thing to collapse on top of her. In the distance, the bat monster violently coughs before taking flight away from the destruction.

The agent runs over to the rubble, looking for any trace of Mors, right as the Horseman pops her head out of the debris, covered in dust, hair frizzled and looking worse. "Seems like all that evidence was destroyed…" The agent unfortunately remarks.

"Yeah… except for this." Mors whips out the notebook she pocketed from earlier. Quickly, she gleams through the book, trying to find who exactly could be at fault. Nothing but math she doesn't get. "Only thing I understand, a name: Felix Trenton. Conservationist. Call up some of the guys… uhhh.."

"Lisa." The agent replies. "You didn't know my name?"

"Hey, in my defense, I'm not good with names."

------

 "Mr. Trenton, we have you here, listed as a provider of 'resources'. Who are you handing these resources to?"

"I'm a provider of many exotic things, sir. You have to be more specific." The blonde conservationist jokes.

The interrogator stands up, pulling out the receipts for various purchases of all kinds of animals, as well as the piece of paper with the listed formulas. "This! You were working with someone to experiment on these poor animals. Who is it? We already have you stuck in here, might as well take who you're working with down with you."

The man simply looks up at the interrogator, giving a douchey smile. That nearly earned him a punch to the face, but the interrogator pulls back and leaves the room. Outside, Mors, Mr. Malone and few members of the Intel Team wait for the summary.

"Well, he isn't budging. Very soon, we're going to have to wipe his mind and hand him over to the authorities. But we still haven't gotten a name or so much as a place from him."

"We're doing our best to track all his online messages. But whoever he was talking with is good at scrubbing their current whereabouts." Mr. Malone comments. "At the very least, we have an idea of what killed Mr. Shinsui. That bat-thing Agent M fought. The lab found out his wounds contained traces of Bat DNA, and there's a motive. We'll keep you updated on what else we can find."

With that, the group disperses. Mors strolls off to find her family, quickly coming across and bruised and dust covered Bell. She voices her worry, "Yo, Bell. You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." He looks a bit dreary, and Mors asks if he's sure, but he responds in a much louder voice, "I'm good. You don't need to worry." Right as he walks off. Then she's left alone, concerned and tired, slight pain kicking occasionally from her injuries. But even that didn't blind her worry.

"Oh no."

------

 The Bat Monster flies down through an open hole, crawling to its master. A man draped in ragged clothing turns around, petting the creature and throws it a sliver of fresh meat to snack on.

"The evidence is disposed of, and those vermin are off my trail. My plans can come to fruition at long last. For too long, mankind has remained the dominant species of this planet, and all their sickening wastefulness and disregard for everything, even themselves!"

He moves to a fridge, filled with dozens of those blue vials from before. Filling a syringe with the serum, he stalks over to a cages with an assortment of animals, ranging from lions, tigers, and bears. The needle slides into the skin of one of the monsters, causing them slight pain. Not as bad as the oncoming agony they would feel with their metamorphosis. Bones crack, muscles expand, and bodies are altered to the point where the animals are barely recognizable. To most people, this is a horrible sight, to this maniac, it was a sign of a resounding success.

"But now, with this mutagenic formula, I'll take these apex predators and place them on the top of the totem, me at the helm! This world shall be mine!"

Chapter Text

So, I'm going to ask you a quick question.

Theres a lot to give Bell access to and I can't quite hone in on what exactly I should give him for his toolkit.

Currently, I'm floating ideas from Nuclear Manipulation, Kinetic Manipulation, or Reactive Adaptation.

Vote Here:
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSebB2JV_GST0JyNbymXgKqTQeJl3sGgzKARZby3A0ATE0fRZw/viewform?usp=pp_url&entry.594300417=Whatever

https://strawpoll.com/kogjRR28qg6

Good look voting!

Chapter Text

The school bell rang, and Bell darted through the front gates, his bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder. The sky above was a vivid orange, streaked with fading light as the day gave way to dusk. It was his favorite time of day; the world seemed quieter, softer, as if holding its breath. Bell's mind was elsewhere, replaying the english lecture he'd barely understood. He was just so hyper fixated on getting his powers to work, he didn't even notice the shadow that loomed over him, quickly snatching him up. Right on time to, as Issei just so happened to walk out the school doors on that exact moment.

Faster than he could think, Bell is slammed onto the roof top of a nearby building. He jumps up, trying to search for whatever did this to him.

"You." Bell quickly turns around, and notices a figure, clad in silver armor standing before him. Well not quite standing, moreso floating… somehow. "Your powers… they are not of this world, are they?"

Bell pipes up, "N-No… I don't think so…"

"Then you do not belong here." Bell is hit with an invisible force of sorts that sends him flying into the building's ledge. He tries to work off the pain and then he notices that his clothes are a little signed. And they would be so again as the next blast sends him flying off the ledge, before the figure catches him by the neck. It jostles his body and head like they were going to snap off and in the next moment, Bell is thrown high into the air, nearly coming back down before being shot straight back up with another blast of that energy.

As he's going up and up through the sky, he looks down at the town below him, noting how beautiful it looks from this position. To which he's so rudely interrupted by slamming into a piece of metal overhead, and when he falls back down, he hits another piece of metal below. Soon, he's encased in a box made of metal, unaware of what's actually happening.

There's an odd tingling in his brain, and around him, he starts to see faint sparkle of electricity all over the box, right before focusing to one point and launching straight at him. Right as the idea of moving crosses Bell's mind, he's launched out of the box and straight into a pole on the ground.

He tries to shake off the buzzing in his head. "Ugh, and where's a phone when you need it." And just to his luck, a payphone is nearby. Even more to his luck, he's got a few spare coins on him.

A routine check-up. Never actually made sense why she needed to participate in this. Mors was never sick a day in her life; anything broken, she could fix within a couple of hours. It just seems kind of dumb to try. Nothing would ever change with her.

"Yeah, but you're employed with us, and it's standard to make sure everyone of our employees is in perfect health." Joyce retorts as she scans through Mor's biometrics. Joyce was the head of the medical staff, bearing black, short hair, pale skin to match her doctor's outfit, and near pitch black eyes; almost looking like a porcelain doll. Mors was always spooked by her, not just her appearance, but in her cold, near robotic tone of voice and motions. It was all just unsettling to her, and she's seen geese eat people!

"Maybe I should go back to Bounty Hunting; didn't need to get a needle in my body or worry about all kinds of 'collateral' damages." Mors quips back at the head doctor.

"We do pay you more," Joyce starts, placing her tablet to the side, putting on the typical hospital gloves, "and that 'collateral' would not be an issue if you stopped swinging around monsters around the place. You keep damaging walls, floors, doors…" She starts trail off, being faced by her patient's hand.

"Hey, when the world stops making monsters so fun to throw around, then you'll see an decrease in spending." She laughs, to which Joyce quickly pricks her skin to collect a sample of her blood. "Ow! No warning?!"

"Bleeding is not a concern when dealing with you. Like you said, you can fix any part of you that's broken."

"Is that… sarcasm? Or hyper-literalism?"

"That's not a word." The blood drawing is finally finished, pulling it free. She looks closely at her crimson-red fluid, sliding it over to the analysis machine. "Give it a few minutes. In the meanwhile, I'll ask you some questions." In her hands, a suddenly  appearing clipboard listing off all the standards questions. "What brings you in today?"

"My job told me to be here."

"Do you have a family history of allergies?"

"Not even sure I can even catch any sicknesses."

"What prescription medications, over-the-counter medications, vitamins, and supplements do you take? Which ones have you been on in the past?"

"Gummy Bears, Flinstone Vitamins, and Cilantro."

"Have you served in the military?"

"Uhhh… Uhhhh…" Mors is tripped up on this. She knows she hasn't… so then why is she getting this feeling like she has… "No, no I haven't."

"Do you use any kind of tobacco, illicit drugs or alcohol?"

"What are you, a narc?"

"Yes or no?"

"No. Even if I did, my dad would obliterate me the moment he sees the slightest hints of drug usage. Can't even sneak a candy bar in, It's like Angels have a supernatural sense to pick up any nonsense."

"Potentially. Are you sexually active?"

"Yes," Grey eyes and black eyes lock with each other for the briefest moments, "Yes, you should strike it as no."

A beeping sound indicates the analysis of the blood is complete. Joyce moves over to collect the sample, scrolling through the screen to see any indication of disease or sickness. As to be expected.

"Well then, Agent M, you're not infected with anything notable. Now, we'll finish off with a supernatural object finder." She whips out a metal-detector like device.

"Huh, that's new." Mors comments.

"Protocol, we've been finding out that a lot of supernatural forces have been using magitech, and of all people, you take too many hits to not have something in your body." She holds the device up, it makes a few blinking noises, and Joyce looks up and down at Mors' body. The scan moves up and down to finish the process. "So, have been in a some kind of criminal organization? A group of people that'd force you to install some kind of piece of bio-hardware in your body?"

"What? No!" Mors exclaims, "Where's this coming from?!"

"Because you have a piece of bio-hardware in your body." She hands the scanner to her patient, showing a weird chip lodged inside her neck. "What do you think it is? A bomb? A mind-control device? Maybe a toxin." Joyce begins to bring out a minor surgery kit. "Do you think you can survive a hole in your neck?"

"Depends on the size of the hole… what are you…?"  A hand grasps at the back of her head as Joyce preps to remove it.

"Well, reinforce your spine and skull." Joyce pulls out a baton, removing its top as it projects a magic circle infront of her. "Your pain tolerance is high enough to where anesthesia is not necessary, unless you think you need it."

"Eh, I've been through worse." That's a lie, this was mad uncomfortable. And it might take like forever to accomplish, "So, how long is this going to take."

"We're done." Joyce announces, pulling out the piece of hardware out of her body. She drops it on a nearby bowl, blood dripping from the chip. All precautions were removed, and right as Joyce spins around to patch up Mors' wound, it had regenerated already. Right, it does that. "I'd give it a day or so to see the effects of the removal of the chip. I'll talk to the R&D Department to see what this was supposed to do. Just wait here for about… well, we'll see." Joyce slides out of the room, leaving Mors alone to just sit and wonder, but not for long as her phone rings.

"Hey, Bell? What's up? Damn, why is it so loud there? How many feet in the air?! Who has you? Look, where do you think you're heading? Alright, just hang on!" Rising up on her feet, she stumbles for a bit, feeling a little light headed. She shakes the feeling off and dashes out the medical room, down the hallway and outside to her bike, before zooming off, bathed in the evening sunset.

From the top of the building, two figures look on.

"She might throw this this experiment off."

"No worries. It's not just him we're testing, it's the both of them."

"Have you made sure the stadium is abandoned?"

"Of course, we'll have a team on standby incase the fight goes out of bounds."

"Excellent…"

Bell goes flying down face first into the fake grass below. The impact made from the toss formed a crater no bigger than a truck, but it hurt just as much as being hit by one. But what choice did he have, not while he's being chased by—

A piece of metal goes flying into his face, knocking him on his back as he writhed in agony from what might be a fractured skull. Even through the pain, he's still able to gleam at the figure who was doing this; a person  in suit made of various pieces of metal stood floating on a platform made of some kind of metal, about half the length of a car. Several smaller pieces came from with and lowered themselves, making a staircase to allow them to descend onto the stadium's field.

"I'm impressed. That metal would have torn a regular man's head off, certainly, you're much more powerful than you lead on."

Bell is panicking, trying to scoot back in a frantic manner, "What are you even doing to me? Why are you attacking me?!" He exclaimed.

"Your power," the metallic staircase all surround the figure, "it's not meant to be in the world."

The red-haired boy replied with, "How is that my fault? I didn't choose to be brought into existence? I'm here with as much will as you or anybody else?" The figure sighs at his remark.

"You know very little, do you? Even if it's not your fault," the metallic clumps are coalesce into a cube, before splintering out into smaller cubes no bigger than an apple. "I cannot allow it to persist uncontrolled." The cubes fire out at subsonic speeds. All Bell can do is cover his body for protection as the cubes reach their mark, followed by a big kick up of dust.

Through his panic, Bell looks up and notices no cube shaped holes in his body, nor is he dead. Because in front of him, Mors stands there, covered in fractured skeletal armor, which managed to resist the impact of the cubes just enough.

"Dang, must've been slacking on my milk consumption." She glances back at him, "Are you alright, Bell?" The bone plates shed off her into smaller pieces, "You're not badly hurt, are you?"

Though stunned, Bell quickly replies. "No, but, who is that?"

Mors looks onward to the iron-clad figure, "No idea. Maybe some kind of magician trying to prove himself. Doesn't matter, this'll be a piece of cake." The ghostly skeleton arm appears behind her, reaching into her back, beginning to press into her spine and tear a chunk out. Mors grimaces in pain, nearly causing her to kneel before she regains her footing. That hurt more than usual… Mors thinks, grabbing the piece of bone out of her summon's grasps before shaping it to her usual scythe.

"What about me? What do I do?" Bell asks, before being grabbed by the skeleton arm, and being tossed high into the air over the stadium's walls. Knowing her brother, that should be lightwork for him to survive a throw like that.

The figure takes notes of Bell's location, right before holding his hand out to catch 3 bullets from hitting his face. He notes Mors giving a mischievous look, forming a crushing motion to smush the bullets into paste.

"Alright, Bullets aren't going to work." She comments, holstering her side arm before two-handing her scythe. As she does, the cubes from his earlier attack quickly charge at her, one smashing into the side of her chest, the other breaks a knee. The rest are repelled with the twirl of her scythe, slicing them into many smaller pieces, and Mors dashes at the figure.

A downward slice gets caught as several rods emerge from the figure's helmet, deflecting the scythe into the ground right as they deliver a liver punch into Mors. She pulls away, and the figure goes in for punch to the jaw, with it connecting. Two more punches to the chest were blocked, and she yanks the figure closer to deliver and knee kick, the first dents the armor but the second is stopped as her knee is skewered on spikes made from the armor.

Mors winces, regaining her composure to notice him convert a cube in their hand into a circular saw; The bastard must've summoned the one's I didn't slice back into his hand! She thought, coating her hands in bone to catch the blade, right as it started to rotate and sparks flew. Her free hand would also be coated in bone to deliver a punch into their elbow, causing them to drop their weapon. Mors delivers a chop to their neck, wrapping her elbow around the back of it and moving into a throw, sending them tumbling.

With her retrieved scythe, she removes the bladed length, treating more like a bat and begins to slam it onto the armor. The figure stops the blunt weapon from continuing to blemish its glimmering suit and moves their legs up around her neck, reversing the grab so that she's the one on the floor. Raising their foot up, the shoe is shaped to be spherical and starts kicking into her ribs, cracking several with each stomp.

They feel a sharp blade pierce into their leg, making them recoil before Mors slams her arm into their knees, almost causing them to hit the ground had they not saved themselves with a flat platform made from their saw.

Back on her feet, she uses her scythe to aim for the joints in the arm, slashing away at any possible weakeness to the suit. In response, the figure shapes their platform into a bladed spear, countering her slices until they lock blades. The figures leans in as Mors' scythe starts to crack, confusing her, which the figure pushes her back, doing a 360 turn to horizontally slash at the scythe and Mors' face.

She careens into the ground, body aching from all the wounds she's just gathered. All she managed to do was form a face mask on the right side of her face, leaving her left side exposed, to which the figure managed to slice into her eye, blinding her. This doesn't make sense… these wounds should've healed by now! What's happening with me… She struggles back onto her feet, one-handing her scythe in an attempt to nurse her eye wound.

"Come on. Even you must know when you're beaten." The figure remarks as it approaches her. It whips the weapons to the side of her mouth, causing her to stagger for a bit, and Mors tries to retaliate with blow from her scythe, but the figure deflects it with his other hand. She keeps throwing out attacks, even though her body is exhausted and not operating at her normal functioning rate, and all of them were repelled, ending it off with a kick to the gut.

Her breathing is intense, even coughing in an attempt to balance out her breathing, but the figure looms over her with not much else to say. Gritting her teeth, she goes go for a two handed swing to his neck, but is stopped mere inches from the neck. She lets go of the scythe, causing it to disintegrate all her arms go slack. She looks down into her stomach to notice a rod had impaled her, made from the spare one he was keeping in reserve.

The figure pulled the weapon out of her, making her collapse onto her knees coughing in pain. They look down, electrical sparks whirring around their face in a bright display…

Outside the Stadium, Bell is trying his best to call his dad, but just his luck, this phone booth isn't working. Some kind of electrical malfunction by the looks of it. Doesn't even make sense because—

His trail of thought would be cut off by a flash of light in the sky, followed by thunder, falls down upon the stadium. Worry overtakes him, and he exits the booth, leaping into the air to climb back into the stadium.

Moments later, he reaches the top of the walls, to which he looks on in horror. There was a much better crater that took up a good portion of the field, in the center, Mors lied there, smoking coming off of her body. The Figure was simply floating there, observing his work.

Not even thinking, Bell leaps down and runs to his sister, reaching down to feel a heartbeat. She has one, but it's slow. The panic that briefly filled his mind turns into rage as he glances at the figure floating before him.

"You did this to my sister!" The figure looks down at him with disinterest. "You'll pay for this!" This feeling… Bell clenches his fist. This feeling I've got… I haven't felt like this before… For the first time in my life… Bell walks closer and closer to the figure. …I want to kill a human. "Get ready!"

The figure holds out his hand, and in a second, a flash of light emerge, condensed down into a bolt of lightning. In an instant, the bolt was just inches away from ripping off Bell's head. And in the next, it struck the bleachers.

Bell was stunned that he could do that… was he lightning fast… that can't be right? He'd get a chance to answer that as he felt a fuzzy feeling across his body, as if all the hairs on his body were standing up simultaneously. With one conscious action, Bell moved to the left and just in the moment, another bolt of lightning whizzes by. Quickly closing the distance between them, he throws two jabs straight at the figure's face, both being easily blocked. He keeps swinging over and over, each successive hit being weaved through as the figure escapes the upcoming  combo.

The crackle of electricity is followed by a punch to the face, staggering Bell, allowing the figure to grab him by the waist and slam him down. Right then, Bell positions his feet to the figure's chest and kicks him back, slightly denting the armor. Catching themselves with poles embedded into the ground, sheets of metal are violently shot out. He deflects each one of them, though it does severely bruises his palms. And once more, the crackle of electricity can be heard. Flash, and crash, a bolt is fired towards his chest.

Here it comes! Bell extends his arm forward, catching the blast of electrical power before shunting it into the ground, still continuing his charge. A flurry of punches were thrown, a few striking on their mark, right as one is directed into its target's stomach. Bell deploys a grapple, wrapping him into a body slam.

The figure magnetically repels itself back and up into the air, holding its finger up as all the metal it had deployed combines into a sphere and fires out into a volley of smaller bullets being sent at top speeds. Bell is pelted by the fierce metal rain, each impact bruising or cutting into his skin.

Come on! You gottta keep going! Keep going! Bell's mind races as the sphere reforms, readying for another attack. As the next wave of metal shards hurtles toward him, Bell runs to the side to evade… but a chunk of metal embeds into his knee. Crashing into the ground, Bell is powerless to stop the stray hunks of metal surrounding him.

Lifting the prison into the air, Bell feels the metal walls press in, trying to crush him. Pain shoots through his body, but his mind screams back: This isn't the end. Mors is counting on me.

With a roar, Bell lets his strength surge. The metal bars groan and twist under his grip. A red-hot glow spreads across his back as he pushes outward, and the prison begins to buckle.

He holds his hands out firmly in front of him, blocking the incoming shards with sheer durability. Each strike rattles his hands, sparks flying where metal meets skin, but he holds without shifting or responding—pure defense.

The figure above stirs, fingers twitching. Pieces of rebar, broken pipes, and scraps of metal lift from the floor, twisting unnaturally in the air. Bell braces, planting his feet as jagged shards slam against his body, rattling it violently.

Electric currents crackle along the attacker's arms, lifting more debris. Bell staggers, his muscles screaming under the constant strain. Sparks arc where the flying metal strikes.

The figure steps closer, eyes glinting through a visor. "You rely on defense alone, boy. Let's see how long you last."

Sheets of metal swirl around Bell, spinning like a deadly carousel. Rebar twists toward him, wires coil and snap, all under the unseen hand of the attacker's power. Bell lets himself  take every strike, arms shaking.

Bell forces himself forward, creating a small opening. The attacker snarls, lifting a pile of scrap into a whirling cyclone. Bell steps through, approaching closer and closer, startling the figure. 

Finally, the figure hovers above the chaos, electric arcs crackling along their fingers. "Persistent," the voice hisses. "But you cannot control the chaos."

Bell swings his hand forward—not to attack, just to carve out space—and the attacker recoils slightly.

The figure straightens, and for the first time speaks clearly: "I am Gauss." A pulse of electromagnetic energy radiates from him, lifting the last scraps of metal around the rooftop. Then he vanishes into the shadows, leaving only the faint hum of residual current in the air.

Bell's chest heaves, but he barely pauses. His eyes scan for Mors, still gravely injured. Exhaustion tugs at him, forcing him to let go of the last of his power and surge forward.

Above, a spotlight cut through the smoke and chaos. A helicopter hovered, agents filing out, attending to the wounded. Mr. Malone, cigarette in hand, muttered in frustration, "God damn it. Just what have we gotten ourselves into?"

Bell's vision blurred as he collapsed. When he opened his eyes, harsh lights filled the room. He was in a hospital bed. His first thought went to Mors, then to his father standing nearby. Myrddin sat with a tablet in hand, flicking it on. A shadowed figure appeared on the screen, voice distorted.

"Bell Lin," the figure said, "We need to talk."

Chapter Text

The school bell rang. Bell slipped through the gate, bag bouncing on one shoulder. Dusk stretched orange streaks across the sky. He liked this hour. Quieter. Softer. A pause before night.

His mind was still on the English lecture he barely understood. Power practice kept intruding. Could he trigger it again? Maybe if—

A shadow dropped over him. Cold fingers clamped his jacket. Air tore past his ears.

SLAM. Bell hit a rooftop hard enough to see sparks behind his eyelids. He staggered upright, chest heaving.

"You."

A figure in silver armor hovered before him. Not standing. Floating. "Your powers," the voice echoed inside the helmet, "are not of this world."

Bell's heart stuttered. "N-No… I don't think so…"

"Then you do not belong here."

The invisible hit came like a freight train. Bell skidded across gravel, ribs screaming. Pain flared—normal pain. No power yet. He tried to rise, but another force hurled him over the ledge. A shock of air stole his breath before a second blast caught him mid-fall, spiking him skyward like a toy.

As he tumbled higher, the town spread beneath him in miniature. Beautiful. Almost peaceful. Why now? The thought cut off when his back smashed against a suspended slab of metal. Then another. Walls of steel folded around him, locking into a box.

A static buzz crawled across his skull. Sparks danced along the cage seams, converging to a single bright point. The moment he willed himself to move, the point exploded. Lightning spat him downward. He struck a pole hard enough to rattle his teeth.

Still no surge. Just the dull strength of a trained body and stubborn lungs. He gritted his jaw. Come on, do something.

He tries to shake off the buzzing in his head. "Ugh, and where's a phone when you need it." And just to his luck, a payphone is nearby. Even more to his luck, he's got a few spare coins on him.

A routine check-up. Never actually made sense why she needed to participate in this. Mors was never sick a day in her life; anything broken, she could fix within a couple of hours. It just seems kind of dumb to try. Nothing would ever change with her.

"Yeah, but you're employed with us, and it's standard to make sure everyone of our employees is in perfect health." Joyce retorts as she scans through Mor's biometrics. Joyce was the head of the medical staff, bearing black, short hair, pale skin to match her doctor's outfit, and near pitch black eyes; almost looking like a porcelain doll. Mors was always spooked by her, not just her appearance, but in her cold, near robotic tone of voice and motions. It was all just unsettling to her, and she's seen geese eat people!

"Maybe I should go back to Bounty Hunting; didn't need to get a needle in my body or worry about all kinds of 'collateral' damages." Mors quips back at the head doctor.

"We do pay you more," Joyce starts, placing her tablet to the side, putting on the typical hospital gloves, "and that 'collateral' would not be an issue if you stopped swinging around monsters around the place. You keep damaging walls, floors, doors…" She starts trail off, being faced by her patient's hand.

"Hey, when the world stops making monsters so fun to throw around, then you'll see an decrease in spending." She laughs, to which Joyce quickly pricks her skin to collect a sample of her blood. "Ow! No warning?!"

"Bleeding is not a concern when dealing with you. Like you said, you can fix any part of you that's broken."

"Is that… sarcasm? Or hyper-literalism?"

"That's not a word." The blood drawing is finally finished, pulling it free. She looks closely at her crimson-red fluid, sliding it over to the analysis machine. "Give it a few minutes. In the meanwhile, I'll ask you some questions." In her hands, a suddenly  appearing clipboard listing off all the standards questions. "What brings you in today?"

"My job told me to be here."

"Do you have a family history of allergies?"

"Not even sure I can even catch any sicknesses."

"What prescription medications, over-the-counter medications, vitamins, and supplements do you take? Which ones have you been on in the past?"

"Gummy Bears, Flinstone Vitamins, and Cilantro."

"Have you served in the military?"

"Uhhh… Uhhhh…" Mors is tripped up on this. She knows she hasn't… so then why is she getting this feeling like she has… "No, no I haven't."

"Do you use any kind of tobacco, illicit drugs or alcohol?"

"What are you, a narc?"

"Yes or no?"

"No. Even if I did, my dad would obliterate me the moment he sees the slightest hints of drug usage. Can't even sneak a candy bar in, It's like Angels have a supernatural sense to pick up any nonsense."

"Potentially. Are you sexually active?"

"Yes," Grey eyes and black eyes lock with each other for the briefest moments, "Yes, you should strike it as no."

A beeping sound indicates the analysis of the blood is complete. Joyce moves over to collect the sample, scrolling through the screen to see any indication of disease or sickness. As to be expected.

"Well then, Agent M, you're not infected with anything notable. Now, we'll finish off with a supernatural object finder." She whips out a metal-detector like device.

"Huh, that's new." Mors comments.

"Protocol, we've been finding out that a lot of supernatural forces have been using magitech, and of all people, you take too many hits to not have something in your body." She holds the device up, it makes a few blinking noises, and Joyce looks up and down at Mors' body. The scan moves up and down to finish the process. "So, have been in a some kind of criminal organization? A group of people that'd force you to install some kind of piece of bio-hardware in your body?"

"What? No!" Mors exclaims, "Where's this coming from?!"

"Because you have a piece of bio-hardware in your body." She hands the scanner to her patient, showing a weird chip lodged inside her neck. "What do you think it is? A bomb? A mind-control device? Maybe a toxin." Joyce begins to bring out a minor surgery kit. "Do you think you can survive a hole in your neck?"

"Depends on the size of the hole… what are you…?"  A hand grasps at the back of her head as Joyce preps to remove it.

"Well, reinforce your spine and skull." Joyce pulls out a baton, removing its top as it projects a magic circle infront of her. "Your pain tolerance is high enough to where anesthesia is not necessary, unless you think you need it."

"Eh, I've been through worse." That's a lie, this was mad uncomfortable. And it might take like forever to accomplish, "So, how long is this going to take."

"We're done." Joyce announces, pulling out the piece of hardware out of her body. She drops it on a nearby bowl, blood dripping from the chip. All precautions were removed, and right as Joyce spins around to patch up Mors' wound, it had regenerated already. Right, it does that. "I'd give it a day or so to see the effects of the removal of the chip. I'll talk to the R&D Department to see what this was supposed to do. Just wait here for about… well, we'll see." Joyce slides out of the room, leaving Mors alone to just sit and wonder, but not for long as her phone rings.

"Hey, Bell? What's up? Damn, why is it so loud there? How many feet in the air?! Who has you? Look, where do you think you're heading? Alright, just hang on!" Rising up on her feet, she stumbles for a bit, feeling a little light headed. She shakes the feeling off and dashes out the medical room, down the hallway and outside to her bike, before zooming off, bathed in the evening sunset.

From the top of the building, two figures look on.

"She might throw this this experiment off."

"No worries. It's not just him we're testing, it's the both of them."

"Have you made sure the stadium is abandoned?"

"Of course, we'll have a team on standby incase the fight goes out of bounds."

"Excellent…"

Bell goes flying down face first into the fake grass below. The impact made from the toss formed a crater no bigger than a truck, but it hurt just as much as being hit by one. But what choice did he have, not while he's being chased by—

A piece of metal goes flying into his face, knocking him on his back as he writhed in agony from what might be a fractured skull. Even through the pain, he's still able to gleam at the figure who was doing this; a person  in suit made of various pieces of metal stood floating on a platform made of some kind of metal, about half the length of a car. Several smaller pieces came from with and lowered themselves, making a staircase to allow them to descend onto the stadium's field.

"I'm impressed. That metal would have torn a regular man's head off, certainly, you're much more powerful than you lead on."

Bell is panicking, trying to scoot back in a frantic manner, "What are you even doing to me? Why are you attacking me?!" He exclaimed.

"Your power," the metallic staircase all surround the figure, "it's not meant to be in the world."

The red-haired boy replied with, "How is that my fault? I didn't choose to be brought into existence? I'm here with as much will as you or anybody else?" The figure sighs at his remark.

"You know very little, do you? Even if it's not your fault," the metallic clumps are coalesce into a cube, before splintering out into smaller cubes no bigger than an apple. "I cannot allow it to persist uncontrolled." The cubes fire out at subsonic speeds. All Bell can do is cover his body for protection as the cubes reach their mark, followed by a big kick up of dust.

Through his panic, Bell looks up and notices no cube shaped holes in his body, nor is he dead. Because in front of him, Mors stands there, covered in fractured skeletal armor, which managed to resist the impact of the cubes just enough.

"Dang, must've been slacking on my milk intake." She glances back at him, "Are you alright, Bell?" The bone plates shed off her into smaller pieces, "You're not badly hurt, are you?"

Though stunned, Bell quickly replies. "No, but, who is that?"

Mors looks onward to the iron-clad figure, "No idea. Maybe some kind of magician trying to prove himself. Doesn't matter, this'll be a piece of cake." The Mors grimaces in pain as a blade appears from her spine, nearly causing her to kneel before she regains her footing. That hurt more than usual… Mors thinks, grabbing the piece of bone out of her summon's grasps before shaping it to her usual scythe.

"What about me? What do I do?" Bell asks, before being grabbed by his sister, and being tossed high into the air over the stadium's walls. Knowing her brother, that should be lightwork for him to survive a throw like that.

The figure takes notes of Bell's location, right before holding his hand out to catch 3 bullets from hitting his face. He notes Mors giving a mischievous look, forming a crushing motion to smush the bullets into paste.

"Alright, Bullets aren't going to work." She comments, holstering her side arm before two-handing her scythe. As she does, the cubes from his earlier attack quickly charge at her, one smashing into the side of her chest, the other breaks a knee. The rest are repelled with the twirl of her scythe, slicing them into many smaller pieces, and Mors dashes at the figure.

A downward slice gets caught as several rods emerge from the figure's helmet, deflecting the scythe into the ground right as they deliver a liver punch into Mors. She pulls away, and the figure goes in for punch to the jaw, with it connecting. Two more punches to the chest were blocked, and she yanks the figure closer to deliver and knee kick, the first dents the armor but the second is stopped as her knee is skewered on spikes made from the armor.

Mors winces, regaining her composure to notice him convert a cube in their hand into a circular saw; The bastard must've summoned the one's I didn't slice back into his hand! She thought, coating her hands in bone to catch the blade, right as it started to rotate and sparks flew. Her free hand would also be coated in bone to deliver a punch into their elbow, causing them to drop their weapon. Mors delivers a chop to their neck, wrapping her elbow around the back of it and moving into a throw, sending them tumbling.

With her retrieved scythe, she removes the bladed length, treating more like a bat and begins to slam it onto the armor. The figure stops the blunt weapon from continuing to blemish its glimmering suit and moves their legs up around her neck, reversing the grab so that she's the one on the floor. Raising their foot up, the shoe is shaped to be spherical and starts kicking into her ribs, cracking several with each stomp.

They feel a sharp blade pierce into their leg, making them recoil before Mors slams her arm into their knees, almost causing them to hit the ground had they not saved themselves with a flat platform made from their saw.

Back on her feet, she uses her scythe to aim for the joints in the arm, slashing away at any possible weakeness to the suit. In response, the figure shapes their platform into a bladed spear, countering her slices until they lock blades. The figures leans in as Mors' scythe starts to crack, confusing her, which the figure pushes her back, doing a 360 turn to horizontally slash at the scythe and Mors' face.

She careens into the ground, body aching from all the wounds she's just gathered. All she managed to do was form a face mask on the right side of her face, leaving her left side exposed, to which the figure managed to slice into her eye, blinding her. This doesn't make sense… these wounds should've healed by now! What's happening with me… She struggles back onto her feet, one-handing her scythe in an attempt to nurse her eye wound.

"Come on. Even you must know when you're beaten." The figure remarks as it approaches her. It whips the weapons to the side of her mouth, causing her to stagger for a bit, and Mors tries to retaliate with blow from her scythe, but the figure deflects it with his other hand. She keeps throwing out attacks, even though her body is exhausted and not operating at her normal functioning rate, and all of them were repelled, ending it off with a kick to the gut.

Her breathing is intense, even coughing in an attempt to balance out her breathing, but the figure looms over her with not much else to say. Gritting her teeth, she goes go for a two handed swing to his neck, but is stopped mere inches from the neck. She lets go of the scythe, causing it to disintegrate all her arms go slack. She looks down into her stomach to notice a rod had impaled her, made from the spare one he was keeping in reserve.

The figure pulled the weapon out of her, making her collapse onto her knees coughing in pain. They look down, electrical sparks whirring around their face in a bright display…

Outside the stadium, Bell slammed the useless payphone cradle. Sparks popped from the wires. Static prickled his skin. Hair lifted along his arms.

What—?

A flash lit the clouds. Thunder rolled. His chest tightened. He felt the next bolt before it fell.

The phone booth flickered out. Bell didn't think. He leapt the wall in a single bound that should have been impossible. Power stirred—warm, electric—coiling through muscle like liquid lightning.

The field below lay in ruin. Mors sprawled at the crater's center. Smoke curled from her armor. The figure floated above, impassive.

Rage drowned the air. You did this to my sister.

Bell stepped forward. Energy raced under his skin, sharpening every edge of the world. Footprints glowed faintly red in the scorched grass.

Another lightning strike shrieked toward his head. He moved before thought—left, a blur of motion. The bolt carved empty air.

He blinked. I moved faster than lightning.

A second strike flashed. His body leaned aside on instinct, electricity humming along his arms. The hum crescendoed until it became a roar in his bones.

Bell charged. Each punch cracked like a thunderclap. Metal rang as his knuckles dented the armored chest. The figure staggered, retreating behind magnetized plates. Bell shattered them in a single thrust, sparks showering his shoulders.

Pain from earlier bruises still pulsed, but the power wrapped around it, dulling everything except focus. He grabbed the enemy by the waist, twisted, and slammed them into the turf. Steel screamed.

The figure rocketed upward on a magnetic surge, forming a storm of metal bullets. They tore into Bell's skin. Cuts burned, but the current in his veins burned hotter. He planted his feet and roared, forcing the power outward.

Red light flared across his back and was channeled into his fist. Bell slammed his fist against the prison and with one good punch, sent out a blast of some kind. The metal prison buckled. Groaned. Snapped.

Bell stepped through the wreckage, steam rising from the crushed fragments. Each stride left faint scorch marks in the fake grass.

For a heartbeat, the figure hesitated. Bell caught the pause and drove forward, fists like hammer blows. Armor caved. Sparks scattered like stars.

The figure staggered back a step—then straightened.

The dented armor hissed as magnetic seams tightened, plates sliding back into alignment. The scorched chestplate bulged, then snapped smooth.

Bell froze mid-charge. He just… healed the suit?

His own pulse hammered in his ears. The electric haze still sang in his blood, but suddenly it felt small.

Figure rolled his shoulders, casual, as if Bell's assault had been a warm-up. "Interesting," the voice rasped behind the helmet. "Your power is still immature."

The helmet tilted as if listening to an unseen voice. A faint buzz crackled in the air.

"Understood," the figure said to the phantom command.

He faced Bell again. "Another time, child. I am Gauss. Grow stronger. Or stay hidden."

A low hum built beneath the field. Bell tensed, ready to leap.

Gauss raised one hand. "Next time, lightning will not miss."

The platform beneath him folded into a spear of magnetized metal and shot skyward. The air snapped with static, leaving only drifting sparks where he had hovered.

Bell lowered his fists. The power inside him flickered, wanting to follow, to fight.

He wasn't beaten. He just left.

The thought chilled more than the evening wind.

Bell's chest heaved, but he barely paused. His eyes scanned for Mors, still gravely injured. He wanted to rush to her, but exhaustion tugged at him, and his strength flickered. Even as he staggered, his body refused to give up completely, holding onto the last of his power.

Above, a spotlight cut through the smoke and chaos. A helicopter hovered, agents filing out, attending to the wounded. Mr. Malone, cigarette in hand, muttered in frustration, "God damn it. Just what have we gotten ourselves into?"

Bell's vision blurred as he collapsed. When he opened his eyes, harsh lights filled the room. He was in a hospital bed. His first thought went to Mors, then to his father standing nearby. Myrddin sat with a tablet in hand, flicking it on. A shadowed figure appeared on the screen, voice distorted.

"Bell Lin," the figure said, "We need to talk."

Chapter Text

Glimpsing down at the cold lake before her, Mors sighs at the realization before her.

I'm back here again? What's going on?* 

(*Translated from Spanish)

This field… the pale flowers… the muted grass… the grey sky… She circles her hand in the lake. The feeling was weird; she couldn't quite feel the sensation of cold on her body… but at the same time, it was like her body instinctually knew that the lake felt freezing.

Eventually getting bored of swishing her hands, she pulls her hands out of the water. Drawing her hand from the liquid, from the forearm to the palm, the skin had been stripped down to the bone. Immediately, Mors pulls herself back in shock at the scene. Jolting back, she tumbles onto her back.

What the hell-?! Why doesn't it h-hurt?!* 

She wordlessly screams in agony, and as she does, the bone starts to crumble into pieces as if it were rotting. In seconds, the bone was completely gone. The pain felt was so great, that Mors could barely process who was behind her. A white noise rings into her head as she descends into more and more pain, until she collapses on the ground.

"Hmm. Stronger than before," the figure comments, "but still not strong enough. Again."

---

"So, what's wrong with me?" Bell asks, sitting on top of his bed. Myrddin pulls out a biometric scans Joyce had given him from earlier, flipping through the folder.

"There's nothing wrong with you, kid." Azrael comments.

"I mean, Daemons aren't exactly the most stable of creatures. For all we know, you could be the daemon equivalent of a guy riddled with leprosy." Myrddin chuckles, to which Azrael glares at him. The chuckling lowered to a much more respectable silence, and so enough, the exact files he was looking were pulled up. "Here, this is your cells normally."

He pulls out a picture of Bell's cell structure. It seemed human enough, some slight irregularities here and there, but the average person couldn't tell the difference between him and themselves.

"What's the deal here?" Bell asks.

"Nothing too serious, pretty standard human-looking cells. Well, we took a sample of these cells and exposed them to similar conditions to the ones you faced against that metal guy you just fought. And…" Myrddin pulls out another picture of the cells, this time showing unusual readings. "Your cells were… behaving oddly. They were generating an unknown type of energy, fluctuating in ways we can't fully explain—"

"Doctor, please cut to the chase," Azrael interrupts.

"Right, sorry about that. Given that water stunt you pulled off a while back, combined with this, I have reason to believe your powers may involve a type of energy we've never fully encountered before. Although… we haven't had the chance to test your full limits, not ever since your sister—"

"That enough." Mr. White commands. "The point is, no matter what happens. As soon as you're ready, we'll need to run some tests explore the full potential of your capabilities. Most importantly, we'll have to prepare for the circumstances in case Agent M can't recover in time."

"Wait, what do you mean, can't recover in time?" Bell asks concerned.

"It's just a hypothetical, Bell. An unlikely possibility, but a possibility nonetheless. We have be sure in case the worse case scenario happens and it's better to be prepared ahead of time than left in the dark concerning something like this." Myrddin replies.

Mr. White continues. "In case Agent M is put out of commission for the foreseeable future, Bell, we'll need to have you take her place in the meanwhile. No many of our agents have the same level of effectiveness as she once did, and if possible, we'll need to find a substitute in order to reduce the death rate of our other agents."

Bell looks a little hesitant, to which Azrael immediately steps in to respond to the Director's chatting. "Now hold on, Bell is still a High School student. You can't have him just going full time into this line of work this so soon."

"That's irrelevant. He's likely the only one that can carry the same level of effectiveness that Agent M did. The safety of humanity takes precedence."

"Besides," Myrddin chirps in, "You had no issues with Mors working full time with STARS."

Azrael turns dismissively, "That was different and you both know that. Bell, if you don't want to do this full time, just tell them. They can't do much if you say no." All eyes, well, presumably Mr. White's eyes are on Bell, it was hard to tell from the silhouette from the screen, and the boy sits there, contemplating. The only other time he's had to make a decision this big was choosing where his family had to eat out for the night.

"Well… Which option will save the most people, dad?"

Azrael hesitates before speaking, letting out, "Well, substituting for Mors would—"

"Then that's more choice. I'll sub in for Mors for however long it takes. If it'll let me save people from demons and all kinds of monsters, I'll do it."

"Wonderful!" Myrddin exclaims, picking up a clipboard. "Get some rest, we'll run some test on your powers when you've recovered."

"Oh, that's no problem." Bell jumps out of Bed, landing straight on his feet, all kinds of excitement exuding from his posture. "I'm feeling better already! We start right now!"

Everyone in the room looks a little perplexed at Bell's sudden energy, but Myrddin is the first to make a movement.

"Alright! Follow me to the White Room. I'm sure we can run some simulations to see what you're capable of."

The two soon leave, and with that Azrael and Mr. White's monitor remain.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"He consented to taking over. I won't waste this opportunity."

"He's just a kid!"

"With a responsibility. He's just as much as got a duty to this world as Mors does."

"And what if his grades fail, what if he can't make friends, what will the school think if you pluck him out of class just like that?"

"These are all issues I can easily solve on my own time. Besides, it wasn't like he made too many friends even with his free time."

Azrael is silent, all the way through him getting up and closing the door behind him. Mr. White's monitor remains on for the next couple of minutes, before eventually shutting off, not before he could mutter out,

"So defensive, eh?"

Chapter Text

Mors looks around, wondering what exactly is going on here. The tall figure, wispy in appearance is humored by her attempts to search around this local, noting that it is quite pointless to try and look for an end or an exit in this realm.

“For this world is truly and utterly infinite. It’s devoid of all other life but you and I. We alone stand as the Null Monarchs, gods of this void. Is this a prison, or our knew home?”

Mors rolls her eyes before sitting on the cold grass. “You keep saying we, why are you doing that?” She asks, frustrated.

“Are we not the only two lifeforms here?” It responds, and Mors starts to think on its words more and more. And by the looks of it, she gazed closer at the figure. It didn’t look the same as last, or so she thought it was getting hard to tell. Even with a trained eye, all the vapor that seemed to come off the figure layered ontop of its form, adding more and more masks to the thing.

“Yeah, but we aren’t the same. Stop using you that term.” Mors bluntly puts it before lying up and looking at the sky. “So, like, is this Hell? Am I dead and stuck here forever?”

“No. It’s not Hell.” The figure seems to float over to the water. “Nevertheless, it no less a prison than the realm of fire and brimstone. Do you have any plans on leaving?”

“If I’m stuck here for good, then that’s about it, ain’t it. Shame though, I didn’t get to say bye to Dad or Bell, or find out what that chip in my neck did. But you win some, you lose some, I suppose.” The figure appears almost instantly over Mors, and this time, it was easily to tell what was on it’s mind: frustration.

“Are you really contempt with being here. Lying on the grass like an unmoving corpse. What are you, lazy? Afraid to take initiative?”

Mors simply yawns at the criticisms, smirking at the supposed insults. “Hey buddy, I don’t go up to you and tell you how to dress. Lay off my back.”

The figure sighs heavily, moving away from the resting Horsemen of Death. It moves over to the water, fully floating above it now.

“What a shame. To think someone of your infamy would be more willing to do something about this. I guess Bell and Azrael will just suffer alone.”

Almost immediately, Mors rises and eyes the figure with hatred rarely seen. “What did you say?”

“Your brother. Your Father. They will suffer. Time and Time again. Bodies broken underneath the Wheel of Fortune, forced to undergo torment from the Earth itself. But that’s the result of—”

The figure didn’t get a second to finish, as then and now, a bone was right in front of its face, and in even less than a fraction of a second, he’d caught it with one of his rotten hands. And by the looks of it, Mors was pissed at the mention of her family.

“Don’t mention them ever again.”

“All I have told is facts, truth that will become into reality unless you take action.”

Mors is silent for a while as she too approaches the water, now murky due to the figure’s presence. “Then what do I have to do?”

“You need to understand. And the only way to understand, is to go deeper.” Just then, the figure sinks more and more into the water, vanishing completely in moments. Hesitantly, Mors looks at the almost black water. Her eyes blink faster and faster, and with heavier breathing, she takes a few steps back, and then dives straight into the black depths—sinking deeper into the first layer.

Chapter Text

Bell stood under the harsh lights of the White Room. The air smelled like ozone and disinfectant. On the other side of the observation glass, the R&D team and medical staff monitored his vitals while Azrael and Myrddin argued in low voices.

"Alright, Bell," Myrddin's voice crackled through the intercom. "One more time. Try to feel it, yeah? Push, pull, whatever works. Just make something happen."

Bell nodded silently, closing his eyes. The room buzzed faintly—machines, lights, nerves.

Azrael folded his arms. "He's trying, Myrddin."

"Sure," Myrddin said, reclining in his chair. "But the kid's been standing in there for an hour. You'd think we'd see something."

"Daemonic magic doesn't come with a manual," Azrael shot back. "Give him time."

Myrddin waved a tablet. "Every daemon we've tested leaks energy naturally—like steam. Bell's not giving us anything. No glow, no hum, no trace of power."

"Keep watching," Azrael said. "He's my son. He's got it in him."

Bell exhaled, opening his palms. He tried to imagine the power inside him, the warmth in his chest, the pulse of something ancient and heavy.
For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then the lights flickered.

The sensors whined as a sudden pressure filled the room. The air shimmered around Bell, faint ripples distorting the sterile white walls. The ground beneath his boots vibrated as if a storm was trying to break free inside him.

"Whoa—whoa!" Myrddin shouted. "We're getting readings! Massive spike in raw output!"

"See?" Azrael said, pride creeping into his tone. "Told you."

The glow around Bell intensified, golden-white light bleeding from his skin like fire behind frosted glass. His hair lifted in the current, his eyes reflecting the glow.

But when he moved—when he tried to shape it—
the energy just exploded outward.

A deafening boom cracked through the White Room. Shockwaves rippled off him, throwing dust and loose papers against the glass. The lights above burst in a rain of sparks. Bell hit the floor, panting, a crater of scorched concrete beneath his feet.

"Kill the power!" someone yelled.

The sensors went dark. Smoke hung in the air.

Bell sat up slowly, smoke rising from his gloves. "...Okay. That was new."

Myrddin blinked at the screens. "That wasn't control. That was a detonation."

Azrael, however, smiled faintly. "But it was something."

They tried again and again. Each time Bell focused, his aura flared—bright, beautiful, and completely unrefined. He couldn't hold it, couldn't aim it, couldn't do anything but let it surge out of him in concussive bursts that left his ears ringing.

He didn't conjure weapons or spells—just force.
Pure, uncut intent.

Eventually, the room was scorched with shallow craters and hairline cracks. Bell stood in the middle, exhausted but grinning through the sweat.

"Guess I'm more fireworks than finesse," he said.

Myrddin sighed, rubbing his temples. "He's a walking EMP with bad aim."

Azrael chuckled. "He's learning. The rest will come."

Later, when the cleanup crew arrived, Myrddin handed Bell a crimson cape—reinforced, heat-resistant fabric glinting under the lab lights.

“Uniform,” Myrddin said, half-smiling. “You’ve earned it. Just… maybe don’t wear it in the test chamber.”

Bell took it carefully, draping it over his shoulders. The fabric shimmered faintly in the lingering light of his aura. He looked up, eyes bright again.

“Almost a superhero,” he said.

Azrael laughed softly under his breath. “You’ve got the heart for it.”

Bell struck a playful pose, cape fluttering in the breeze from the air vents. “Agent Bell, reporting for duty!”

Behind the glass, Myrddin shook his head. “God help us all when he learns to aim.”

Chapter Text

Bell flopped back onto the dry grass behind the old school gym, arms spread wide like he was making a snow angel in the late spring. The sun was warm, the breeze was nice, and the sky above Kuoh Academy was cloudless for once.

Across from him, Issei was halfway through a rice ball. Kiba lounged cross-legged with a book beside him, and Koneko crouched quietly on the edge of the shade, eyeing her third taiyaki like it owed her money.

"So what is your deal anyway?" Issei finally asked, wiping soy sauce from his cheek. "You're not a devil, not an angel, and definitely not normal. I saw you jump off the school roof last week. On purpose."

Bell sat up, brushing grass from his cape attached to his school uniform. "Yeah, sorry if I freaked anyone out. That was something else... Not trying to, ya know... Didn't stick the landing, but hey—learning experience."

"You're not human either," Koneko said without looking up.

"Nope," Bell said cheerfully. "Daemon. I told Issei this before, but I guess I never told you guys. Long story, very weird, involves a lot of the history of mankind and something called the Abyss."

Kiba tilted his head. "And your ability?"

"Bell grinned, shrugging. "I… don't really know. I mean, I think I have powers, but nothing's really shown itself yet. I just feel… different sometimes, I guess." He kicked at a loose stone, sending it clattering across the grass. "Maybe I can punch harder, maybe I can run faster. Or maybe it's all in my head. Who knows?"

Kiba raised an eyebrow. "So you have… nothing?"

"Pretty much," Bell admitted, flopping back onto the grass. "Just… me. For now." He stared up at the clear blue sky, letting his cape spread out like a banner behind him. "But, you know… it feels like something's there. I just need the right moment to figure it out."

Asia's voice called out, cheerful as ever. "Bell-san! Come to the pool with us! Everyone's waiting!"

Bell sat up, brushing off the grass. "Pool? Uh… sure! Sounds fun. Might be a good way to figure out what I can actually do—or at least… not drown trying."

Koneko tilted her head. "You're not sure what your powers are and you're going swimming?"

Bell grinned sheepishly. "Hey, sometimes the best way to figure things out is to jump in headfirst. Metaphorically and literally."

The afternoon sun glinted off the rippling water as they approached the pool. Around the shallow end, Rias reclined on a deck chair, reviewing notes for an upcoming request. Akeno sat at the edge, swishing her legs through the water, a fond smile playing whenever she glanced at her King. Asia practiced a gentle swimming stroke under Koneko's watchful eye—the tiny rook floating nearby on a kickboard like an unamused cat. Kiba and Issei argued softly about whether underwater push‑ups counted toward physical training, all to distract from more... risque topics. Let it be known, Issei was absolutely perving, he just miraculously had the sense to not make it obvious... yet.

On the opposite side, Sona Sitri had arrived with a trimmed roster—Saji, Reya Kusaka, and Momo Hanakai—the rest of her peerage busy with student‑council paperwork.

Sona pushed her glasses up. "Rias, thank you for inviting us. I would've preferred Saji's suggestion of a trivia night... but this works too."

Rias waved a hand. "Consider it good will—no peerage politics, no student council nonsense. Just relaxation."

"Agreed," Sona said, though her eyes still tracked Issei's splash count like data points.

Kiba set a folded towel on the deck. "Speaking of strategies… Bell mentioned his possible powers. Imagine trying to spar with that."

Issei grinned. "Yeah, think he has X-Ray vision?"

"What?" Kiba asks.

"What? It's a classic superpower to be able to see through walls, and if he has it, well then-" before he can finish, a kickboard was sent flying right in his face from a angry wet cat.

Akeno, bemused, tilted her head, thunder‑witch curiosity piqued. "Do Daemons swim? Could water be enough of a threat to him?"

Before anyone could answer, the changing room door swung open and Bell stepped in, clutching a modest duffel and looking equal parts eager and nervous.

Asia waved excitedly. "Bell‑san! Come swim with us!"

Bell kicked off his shoes, set the sodas on a table, and tugged off his T‑shirt—revealing faint mottled scars from earlier lab hits.

Bell dropped his towel, gave a shy little salute, and hopped a neat cannon-ball into the deep end. A plume of water splashed the devil onlookers; Saji clapped politely while Koneko's ears flattened.

Issei wipes some water from his face, "Dude!"

Bell surfaced, blinking water from his eyes. "My bad! Thought the splash radius was smaller."

He paddled an easy lap, then flipped onto his back and floated, arms spread like a crimson starfish against the rippled lights.

Bell's eyes tracked his reflection on the water. He inhaled, filled his lungs, and hand-signaled Issei a playful "thumbs-up" before jack-knifing downward.

Bell's body slowly floated back up to the surface, drifting gently like a leaf. He rolled onto his back, letting the water support him, arms spread wide, staring up at the cloudless sky, bubbles trailing lazily from his hair.

Issei blinked, confused. Saji tilted his head, unsure. Koneko's ears twitched, observing silently.

Bell murmured to himself, eyes following the ripples. "Huh… wonder how deep this goes. Wonder what it feels like to just… float forever. Wonder if the clouds are actually that white."

He let himself drift, hands resting on his stomach, water lapping quietly around him. A faint smile appeared as he contemplated small, silly questions to himself.

Issei finally broke the silence. "Dude… you good?"

Bell blinked at him. "Yeah… just thinking. Feels kinda nice."

Kiba tossed him a towel. "When you're done floating, you might want to dry off."

Bell gave a lazy thumbs-up, still staring at the sky. "Yeah… in a minute. Just… floating a bit."

The pool deck echoed with quiet chuckles. Everyone agreed: with Bell around, even simple relaxation became its own kind of chaos.

The corridor lights dimmed to a soft amber, leaving the ward in hush and shadow. In a private room, Mors lay unconscious beneath sheets the colour of morning fog. IV lines whispered. Heart monitor blipped, steady but distant.

Azrael sat at her bedside, elbows on knees, wings folded tight to avoid the fluorescent glare. He held a chipped porcelain mug—long‑cold tea he'd brewed hours earlier—and watched the steam that was no longer there.

For a while, he said nothing. Only the monitor filled the silence.

"You would hate this … all these wires. You always said hospitals smelled like bleach and fear."

He exhaled, rubbing tired eyes. Fingers trembled—the same hands that once ferried souls without a quiver.

"I carried kings and beggars. I never dropped a single spirit on the crossing. But I don't know how to carry my own daughter back from… wherever they have you now."

The monitor clicked; Mors did not stir.

Azrael traced the edge of the mug. "Every parent lies once: I can protect you from everything. I believed it until the first mission scar on your arm. And still I sent you back out, telling myself you were strong."

A smile, brittle. "And you are—so much stronger than I ever let myself be."

He swallowed, voice a rasp. "But Bell still needs you to tease him when he's stupid. He needs the big sister who pretends not to care but drives all night when he calls."

He leaned forward, pressing his brow gently to her knuckles. "Come back, honey. I'll trade every feather I have left if it buys you one safe landing."

A single tear dampened the pillowcase. Azrael straightened, composing the angel's calm mask—but the cracks showed at the edges.

"Tomorrow I'll smile, pretend the world isn't ending one family at a time. Tonight I'll sit, and hope guilt is enough penance to keep your pulse steady."

He stayed there, silent sentinel, until the ward clock chimed the next hour and the tea grew stone‑cold in his hands.

Chapter Text

Kuoh First National – Late Night

The lobby was dark. Moonlight trickled through the skylights. Bell crouched behind a marble column. A hushed voice crackled in his earpiece, "Target is in the main vault corridor. No alarms, temperature close to zero. Minimal witnesses—keep it subtle."

Bell nodded, heart racing. Real hero work, he thought, and let a quiet breath escape. With a flick of his wrist, a soft shimmer gathered in his palm, faintly illuminating the space around him.

Cold creaks echoed ahead. Frost crawled over wall sconces until the bulbs snapped. Through the rolling fog a blue-armoured figure emerged, suit vents exhaling snow.

"Behold, silent sentinels of capitalism. The Cold Crusader relieves you of your ill-gotten lucre tonight."

Bell stepped into view. "Gonna need you to cool the speech, sir."

"The scarlet interloper returns," the villain replied, visor glinting. "No capes—and certainly no toys—in my cryogenic kingdom."

Bell dashed in, driving a punch that rang off metal plates as freezing mist exploded around him. Ice slammed across the marble floor and walls, spilling around Bell's arms and chest, briefly slowing his movements.

The earpiece hissed. "Vitals steady but mobility zero. Report."

"Alive. Mostly stuck," Bell said through clenched teeth, the faint glow of his aura shimmering around him as he worked to break free.

The frosted thief slung a duffel of frozen bills over his shoulder. "Your tenacity is preserved, literally. Remain on display while I finish the withdrawal."

Bell twisted sharply, shoving against the icy barricade. With a sudden surge, he splintered the frost and tumbled free in a shower of shards.

"You're mobile—pursue, but keep your profile low," the voice ordered.

Bell surged forward, sprinting after the freezing trail, his aura flickering with anticipation.

Side Alley – Later

T

The thief climbed into a freezer truck. Bell vaulted a dumpster and landed on the roof, absorbing the impact with ease.

"Persistent pest," drifted up from the cab.

Bell grabbed the latch, but it was frozen solid. The truck lurched forward. Chill vapour poured through side vents, icing the alley walls.

"Keep pursuit covert. City cameras are close," the earpiece warned.

Bell crouched low, planting his hands and pushing against the ice with raw strength. He shattered the frozen lock in moments, freeing his footing.

"Still alive—still stuck," he muttered, hauling himself upward as the truck slid beneath him.

"Extraction team rerouting—four minutes. Don't let him reach the river bridge."

Laughter whipped past in the wind as the hatch slammed shut. Jets under the truck sprayed fog that blanketed the street.

Bridge Turnoff – River Crossing

The truck swerved onto a maintenance ramp, fog hiding the lane markers. Bell jumped onto the bridge spur, landing without effort despite the distance, and sprinted to catch up. The vehicle smashed through a gate and rolled onto a river-service barge moored below. Clamps locked it in place. Engines rumbled and pushed into heavy mist.

Bell finally reached the edge of the barge and leapt again, landing atop the moving truck with ease.

"Visual contact lost. Stand down. Port authority will scan the river," came the calm instruction.

"He's got a freezer boat," Bell said, brushing himself off. "Next time I bring ice picks."

"And a plan B. Extraction team is on the way."

Bell sat on an exam table wrapped in a thermal blanket, boots still crusted with frost. Across the room Myrddin scrolled through projector graphs, each swipe raising a jagged line of bio‑thermal data.

"The core temperature spike after first contact reached forty‑two Celsius. Impressive," Myrddin said without looking up, "but energy spent with no mechanical result. The ice remained intact."

Bell rubbed the bruise on his shin. "Staying alive felt like a win at the time."

Myrddin zoomed on a segment marked second blast. "You didn't die from freezing, consider that a blessing."

"So I ended up frostproof and gift‑wrapped." Bell tried a grin.

"Exactly. We need a response that adds structural break. Heat alone cannot crack super‑cooled nitrogen."

Bell's eyes lit. "A shatter move. Like those sonic tests you ran."

Myrddin opened a drill schedule. "Resonance chamber at fourteen hundred. We will push micro‑adjustment so the system tags confinement itself as a threat."

Bell let out a playful groan at the thought of more white‑room migraines.

"Consider it tuition," Myrddin said, finally turning. "Good job. Next time, let's try to catch the guy."

Bell tugged the blanket tighter. "Next time I'll bring ice picks and a lesson plan."

Perhaps also a softer landing pad.

Bell laughed, already picturing round three somewhere colder.

The sunlight through the third‑floor windows should have felt comforting, but Bell only registered it as another heat source. Desks clicked and notebooks rustled while Mr. Ooka diagrammed parametric equations on the chalkboard. Bell stared past the numbers, seeing frost patterns on steel instead.

Issei nudged him from the next seat. He whispered about plans for lunch, probably involving karaage. Bell nodded without hearing a word, pencil tapping a rhythm he didn't notice.

On the page where history notes were supposed to be, crude sketches formed instead: an armored figure, a square of ice around a stick‑figure Bell, arrows pointing to stress lines. Beside that he scribbled phrases. Need sonic fracture. Calc resonance. Liquid nitrogen vents? Lower temperature equals brittle layer.

Matsuda hissed from the row in front, asking whether Bell thought the one of the girl's in class 2‑C was single. Bell muttered yeah sure, still tracing a jagged waveform across the page.

Motohama swung around with a whispered guess at her measurements. Bell's reply was a distracted uh huh that made no sense in context.

The teacher called on him, asking for the next step in solving the quadratic. Bell blinked at the board. His mind offered only the mental image of an ice block splitting under vibration. He muttered a wrong coefficient; a polite chuckle rolled through the room. Mr. Ooka repeated the prompt, slower. Issei tried a whispered hint. Bell apologized and sat back down, face warm.

The bell finally rang, freeing everyone for the break period. Issei clapped Bell on the shoulder, but Bell was already packing with single‑minded urgency. He muttered about needing the physics lab during lunch.

Issei raised an eyebrow. Bell shrugged sheepishly.

"I've been superheroing... kinda like what you do." Bell says.

"Well, if that also involves servicing weirdos across town..." Issei chuckles to himself.

"I got my first super‑villain! An ice guy, with all kinds of freeze‑tech. Managed to stop me in my tracks too." Bell bounced on the balls of his feet, excitement outweighing the bruise on his forehead.

Issei leaned against the railing. "Freeze‑tech, huh? So like one of those comic book villains... Dr. Ice meets Bank Robber?"

"Exactly! He even talks like a Saturday‑morning baddie—'Polar Plunderer' this, 'crimson pest' that." Bell spread his arms. "I mean, come on, that's peak genre material!"

Issei chuckled. "Peak genre or not, he froze you solid. How'd that feel?"

Bell mimed a stiff mannequin. "Like being a popsicle that can still yell for help."

"So what's plan B?"

Bell tapped his temple. "That's a good question.

Issei's eyes lit. "Maybe you'll try throat-singing your way out of the ice box?"

"Or I could just carry a chisel," Bell teased back.

They shared a laugh, city lights flickering below.

"You know, most guys would quit after getting freezer‑boxed twice."

Bell shrugged. "Most guys don't read every 'How to Fight Ice Villains' issue ever printed. I'm basically doing field research."

Issei pushed off the railing. "Field research sounds hungry. Ramen?"

"Only if they've got extra spicy. Gotta prep for cold encounters."

They headed for the ladder, Bell's mind already drafting battle notes—density mod, internal resonance, maybe a portable heat hammer.

STARS Med‑Deck – Secure Conference Room

A holo‑projector cast Mr. White's silhouette across the long table. Azrael sat opposite, fingers steepled. Dr. Joyce stood near the wall display, arms folded.

"Status on Agent M's vitals," Mr. White began.

Joyce tapped the tablet; a soft click echoed through hidden ceiling speakers. "Stable coma. Neuronal activity resembles slow‑wave sleep."

Another click punctuated the pause as Mr. White's head turned. "Joyce, can you accelerate recovery without compromising tissue integrity?"

Click.

"Not without risking chaotic regeneration," Joyce replied. "Her daemon biology rejects forced stimulation."

Azrael's body shifted restlessly. "She needs time, not experiments."

Mr. White's gaze swept to him. "Time is a luxury we lack. Without Mors we're down a high‑class operative."

Joyce brought up a 3‑D brain scan. "We could use targeted dream triggers—guide her subconscious to resolve whatever inner state is preventing wake‑up."

Mr. White nodded. "Draft the protocol. Azrael, your parental objection is noted, but strategic necessity stands."

Azrael's voice dropped. "If you push too hard and lose her, your necessity becomes meaningless."

Silence hung; the projector hummed. Finally Mr. White spoke. "Proceed cautiously, Joyce."

Click. Joyce turned to prep sedative balances. Azrael exhaled, resting a hand on the metal table, pulse syncing with the distant monitor that still beeped for Mors.

Mr. White's image fizzled out, leaving only the clicking echo fading in the room and the emanating frustration.

 Azrael stood at the railing, arms folded, wings tucked tight. Myrddin approached, holding two paper cups of black tea.

"Couldn't sleep?" Myrddin offered one cup. Azrael accepted with a nod.

"I keep replaying it," Azrael said quietly. "Bell launching himself into danger, Mors locked in a bed. I'm their father and yet… I can't shield either of them."

Myrddin sipped. "Bell will learn. Danger's a stern tutor—but effective."

"That logic failed for you," Azrael muttered.

Myrddin raised one eyebrow. "Their path wasn't mine to walk. Some students outgrow the tutor sooner than expected."

Azrael's grip tightened on the cup. "That's what frightens me. Bell's new powers powers, Mors's condition—if I mis‑guide them—"

"Then guide better," Myrddin said, voice gentle. "You're their father. Offer a hand, not a leash. That's enough."

Azrael exhaled slowly. "Easier in legend than in practice."

A faint smile crossed Myrddin's face. "Legends skip the difficult bits. Trust me—splinters outnumber swords."

A soft chime signalled shift‑change below. Azrael set his empty cup aside. "The sentiment, is appreciated."

Myrddin nodded. "When Bell comes for testing tomorrow, I'll keep the strain humane. When Mors wakes—she'll need a father more than an angel of death."

Azrael eased. "Then I'd better sharpen my parenting, not my scythe."

"You don't have a scythe." Myrddin points out, to which Azrael rolls his eyes.

Kuoh Savings & Loan – dusk

Bell crouched behind the neon‑lit billboard atop the bank's façade, binoculars pressed to his eyes. Streetlamps flicked on below, painting the sidewalk amber.

Malones's dry voice came through the earpiece. "Different night, same vault. You know there are only two banks in a twenty‑mile radius? Frigid Man's options are limited, kid."

Bell adjusted focus, scanning alley mouths and rooftop HVAC units for tell‑tale frost. "Limited banks, unlimited ice. He'll pick whichever one lets him freeze the cameras first."

"Which he already did on Kuoh First National—last night," Malones quipped. "So tonight we guard Savings & Loan. Tomorrow, back to First National. It's like a very cold, very illegal merry‑go‑round."

Bell smirked. "At least the pattern narrows my commute."

Below, the last civilian customer exited, doors locking behind her. A bored security guard paced the lobby, breath fogging slightly from the overenthusiastic AC.

Bell whispered, "No frost bloom yet. Maybe he's fashionably late."

"Stake‑outs are ninety‑eight percent waiting, two percent explaining the wait to accountants," Malones said. "Keep eyes on vents."

Bell's cape fluttered in a cool updraft. He flexed fingers, imagining sonic bursts ready to crack ice.

"Punch second, record readings first," Malones reminded. "Science before style, hero."

Bell grinned beneath the mask. "I can do both."

The street fell quiet. Somewhere distant, a dog barked—and Bell swore he saw a wisp of condensation snake from the alley across the road.

Malones's tone sharpened. "Temperature drop detected. Showtime, Bell. Remember: minimal property damage, and please avoid becoming a decorative ice cube."

Bell rose into a low sprint position, eyes fixed on the forming mist. "Roger that. Let's break the merry‑go‑round."

Interior – Bank Lobby

Bell dropped from the skylight, cape billowing.

The instant his boots touched marble, cold pinched his lungs. Frost filigreed along teller windows; a security guard lay unconscious, lips blue but breathing.

A swirl of snow revealed Frigid Man by the vault door, gauntlet pressed to the lock.

"Ah, the persistent scarlet sentinel returns," he crowed. "Care to become tonight's ice sculpture?"

"Not tonight," Bell said aloud. "Let's skip the freezing part."

He dashed forward, sliding across fresh ice. Frigid Man fired a quick burst; Bell ducked, the beam frosting the wall behind him. He kicked off a pillar, momentum carrying him into a tight roll, coming up inside punching range.

Bell swung—his knuckles clanged against armor. A second punch forced Frigid Man to backpedal. Ice formed around Bell's ankles, but he hopped clear before it locked.

Frigid Man launched a sweeping frost wave. Bell vaulted, grabbing a chandelier chain and swinging over the gleaming sheet that covered the floor. He landed, boots skidding but controlled.

Bell zigzagged, every near-miss leaving crystals on his cape. He closed again, throwing a three-hit combo to the chest plate. Spider-web cracks appeared in the frost armor.

The villain growled, thrusters venting a blizzard swirl that obscured vision. Bell crossed forearms to shield his face, inching sideways toward the vault controls he'd glimpsed earlier.

A gap in the storm—Bell lunged, shoulder-checking him. The cryo-cannon arm wobbled; discharge hit the ceiling instead, raining frozen dust.

Bell smirked. "You're a walking freezer. I've watched enough cooking shows to know: freezers hate being rattled."

From the earpiece, Malones murmured, "Stay on him. Buy time."

Bell exhaled a foggy breath, stance steady on frost-slick marble.

A sudden chill swept the lobby; even the fluorescent lights flickered. Frigid Man straightened, vents hissing like kettles. "Let's end this with a proper frost finale—Cryo Barrage!"

Both gauntlets slammed together. Pressurized canisters burst with a metallic clang, propelling a wide fan of jagged ice shards and super-cold mist. The blast ripped tile from the floor and frosted ceiling lamps in an instant.

"Shard storm—eight-meter radius, don't let it box you in," Malones warned.

Bell lunged aside as razor-edged crystals peppered marble where he'd stood. A second pulse carved a trench through teller counters.

He rolled behind a pillar; icy fragments chipped stone inches from his face. Frigid Man advanced, sweeping the gauntlets like fire hoses. Each burst left waist-high ridges of crusting ice that threatened to cage him if he slowed.

Heart hammering, Bell sprinted and vaulted over a frost-cracked pillar. He yanked it free with brute strength and hurled it like a discus. It slammed into Frigid Man's helmet with a metallic clang, dropping him flat.

Bell jogged over, nudging the fallen villain with a boot. Frigid Man didn't stir.

"Target neutralized," Bell reported, kneeling to check the pulse—steady, slow.

"Extraction team thirty seconds out," Malones answered.

Sirens drew closer. STARS agents burst through the side entrance, slipping thermal shackles on Frigid Man and securing his gear.

Bell exhaled a relieved cloud.

Malones's voice softened. "Good work, hero. Let's put this freezer on ice permanently."

Bell flexed his fists, thinking: Guess raw strength is enough for now…

STARS Mobile Command – Briefing Alcove

An hour later Bell sat in front of a holographic dossier while Myrddin tapped through pages of background data. The image of Frigid Man—real name Yokohama Tetsu, age twenty‑four—floated above the table.

"College sophomore," Myrddin began, scrolling. "Mechanical engineering prodigy. Scholarships dried up, loan sharks circled. He pivoted to cryo‑tech patents hoping for fast cash."

Bell frowned. "If his stuff worked that well, why not just sell it legit?"

"Because," Myrddin said, pausing on a ledger full of red numbers, "he mis‑calculated licensing timelines. Immediate debts demanded immediate payoff." He enlarged an image of rough schematics—hand‑drawn pipes and liquid‑nitrogen tanks. "He built prototypes in a dorm basement, realized the black‑market value of portable freeze weapons, and stepped over the line."

Bell crossed arms. "Could've crowdfunded. Kickstarted an ice‑cooler empire or something."

Myrddin's eyes narrowed. "Desperation distorts options. Not everyone has STARS labs or a roulette ability to bail them out."

Bell's gaze fell to the confiscated cryo‑gauntlet on the table, frost still clinging to the vents. "So what now?"

"Sentencing will factor intent and collateral damage," Myrddin said. "But your clean takedown helps. No casualties, minimal cost."

Bell sighed. "Feels weird punching someone who was basically trying to pay tuition."

Myrddin placed a hand on the gauntlet. "Good intentions don't erase victims. You stopped escalation. That matters."

Bell nodded, expression sober. "Next villain, I'm hoping for someone who just wants publicity."

"Careful," Myrddin chuckled, closing the dossier. "Publicity villains monologue twice as long."

Bell managed a grin, tension easing as the cryo‑tech was sealed away—another rough chapter of Kuoh's nightly dramas closing, if only until the next page turned.

Bell balanced two cups of soft‑serve like precious relics while Azrael trailed behind, hands in jacket pockets, wings cloaked by a long coat. Neon shopfronts reflected in puddles from a recent drizzle.

"I went with vanilla‑strawberry swirl," Bell said, offering one cup. "Classic comfort flavour."

Azrael accepted, managing a faint smile. "Comfort. We could use that."

They settled on a bench outside the parlour. For a full minute they just ate—Bell humming a tune between spoonfuls; Azrael staring at passing headlights.

Bell finally broke the silence. "She'll wake up, Dad."

Azrael scooped a small swirl, voice low. "I know. Patience is harder than battle."

Bell nudged his arm. "Remember when she pretended brain freeze was a superpower? 'Ice‑Head Mode, activate!'."

A chuckle escaped Azrael. "And you believed her. Spent an hour trying to freeze your own brain."

"Mission kinda succeeded tonight," Bell joked, tapping the bruise hidden by a bandage. "Still hurts, though."

Azrael's gaze softened. "Hurting means healing. For both of us."

They finished the ice cream under buzzing streetlights. Just father and son sharing a sugary pause before the city's next storm.

STARS Detention Wing – Interrogation Room

Noru Waka—still wrapped in insulated restraint sleeves—sat at a steel table, eyes fixed on the one-way glass. Frost clung to his lashes where residual cryo‑energy leaked.

The door unlocked with a hiss. A faint heaviness settled over the room—like unseen locks clicking shut in Noru's chest. Mr. White stepped in, crisp suit immaculate. Behind him a tall figure entered, face half‑shadowed by the dim ceiling light. Power rolled off the newcomer in waves so tangible the air felt heavy; somewhere, faint metallic clinks echoed like distant chains being tested. A paperclip on the table edge quivered toward the man.

Mr. White laid a thin file on the table. "Mister Waka, you've cost us considerable man‑hours." His tone was polite, almost cordial. "But STARS believes in rehabilitation."

Noru's gaze flicked to the looming stranger, then back to White. "Who's your bodyguard? Warden?"

The tall presence didn't speak, merely tilted his head. Noru felt a sudden urge to please this stranger and couldn't explain why. The chain‑like clink sounded again, as though the room itself acknowledged the movement.

Mr. White's smile held. "Think of him as… quality assurance."

The bodyguard set the cryo‑gauntlet on the desk. The powered coils were inert now, but frost still rimmed the vents.

Mr. White slid the gauntlet nearer to Noru. "You designed remarkable technology. It could serve humanity—or bury it under ice. STARS offers a path."

Noru swallowed, studying the gauntlet, then the silent chain‑shrouded presence. For the first time since capture, a tremor of genuine unease crept into his voice. "And if I refuse?"

The heavier figure finally spoke—a single word, calm yet resonant: "Unwise." A soft rattle followed, like a padlock clicking shut.

Mr. White's eyes never left Noru. "Cooperation ensures warmth, resources, perhaps debt forgiveness. Defiance… leaves you in cold storage, indefinitely."

The room temperature seemed to dip, though no vents blew. Noru exhaled a shaky plume. "All right," he muttered, gaze dropping to the table. "What's first?"

Mr. White gestured for the body guard to gather the gauntlet. "First, you share your schematics in full. Then, we discuss proper allocation of your talents. Welcome to Chapter Two, Mister Waka."

The chain‑sound subsided as the powerful stranger turned toward the door. Noru Waka followed him with wary eyes, realizing that behind Mr. White's civil offer lay forces colder than any cryo‑beam he could ever build.

Chapter Text

Side Story 1 - Vending Machine 

Lunch time. A favorite for most kids. Free time from all that nonsense that school life had. That was to say, you had all the time to slack off and no teacher would bug you for about 10 minutes.

No better way to spend some time outside. 2 boys stuck on the school steps, just eating. Well, one of them was.

"No lunch today?" Issei chewed on tuna sandwich all while Bell looked a bit soured. 4 hours straight without food could turn even this happy boy into a cranky boy. Not quite on that 'hangry' level, but another hour or so, and he was definitely going to push his limits.

"Yeah, my sister wasn't home today, and I had to rush myself to school." There's a slight chuckle, interrupted by the rumbling of stomach. Bell bemoans his hunger. He clutched his belly tight, trying

one really bothered answering, at least the few he was brave enough to ask. Once that's known, the brown-haired boy looks down at his own meal. He splits it in half, tossing the uneaten piece to his friend, who barely catches it in that moment. "It's tuna. Good for you, at least that's what my mom says."

Make sense. Moms know best. A delicious bite sinks into the sandwich, followed by a bit of unease. Bell can't tell if it's his own unique taste buds or, heaven forbid he says it, Mrs. Hyoudou's cooking wasn't as good as he would have thought. Still in full sight of Issei, there isn't much choice but to finish his meal. He just barely managed to chew enough to swallow, and though it only took a second, that food sliding down his throat felt like it took an eternity. Trying to save face, Bell gives a hearty smile, to which Issei shrugs and goes to finish the rest of his half.

Right before Bell could bear another bite, the quick patter of shoes is heard and soon, Matsuda dashes next to the two boys. Their attention is at once drawn to the baldy but instead of his usual perverted spiel, his excitement is turned to a lot more… tame things.

"Guys! Guys! Come quickly! They've added something cool to the hallway!"

The four boys are standing right before the marvelous creation. A tall box, well-lit within, refrigerated, and hosting a bunch of snacks and refreshments. A vending machine. They were clamored around a vending machine.

While this thing was pretty mundane, the boys were looking at it like it was technology from a hundred years from now. It was so clean, silvery, hell those lights inside looked like something out of a sci-fi novel.

Right now, all their faces were pressed against the glass. Eyes darted from snack to snack; candy bars, bags of chips, sodas, cream-filled donuts, macaroons, etc. Stuff they'd only ever see at fancy stores or one of their senior's lunches were now readily available for them to buy. The only issue: It'd cost them $5 dollars.

They all backed up a bit, savoring all the delicious foods but then reality of their current finances was just too much. So, they started emptying their pockets to cobble together something they could use.

Issei had an allowance, but he'd already spent a good chunk of it on himself. Recently, some of the gel he used to keep his hair from frizzling out into spikes got a hike up in price, and that bit into his wallet. The rest he had was really only for emergencies, and while this was one, his parents wouldn't be too proud that he blew cash on something like this. All he could put down was 2 dollars.

Matsuda blew all his allowance on his 'material', so he couldn't contribute more than 50 cents.

Bell had some money left over from his surprisingly successful lawn-mowing gig. All 10 hours of work culminated in a whopping 1 dollar and 50 cents.

Motohama was just broke, but he stole some change from a fountain, so he's got about 50 cents too.

5 dollars on the money, with not a cent to spare. All they needed now was to figure out what they wanted to eat. There was much deliberation, from caramel all the way to toffee. But finally, a decision was made; an Ice-Cream Sandwich.

And so, the three boys handed off their money to Bell, and with the grace of a swan, he slid the many coins, as well as the two dollar bills, into the slot. On command, the machine whirs to life, rumbling with a cool hiss.

Anticipation builds like a great fire, with a great click and whirl. The cylindrical container holding the ice cream sandwich starts to unwhirl and unwind. There are gasps and jitters before finally… it stops. But there is no falling treat.

All joy in the area ceases as the four look on in confusion, then horror.

"It's stuck? That's a thing these things can do?!" Motohama screams.

"Five dollars for this thing to fail?! What a rip off," Matsuda added.

"Hey, maybe we can shake it to fall down and… uh. Bell, you give it a try!" Issei interjects in a somewhat worrying tone. Naturally, Bell slips on by and eyes the machine. After a good bit of analyzing it, he takes a deep breath, cracks his finger, before tightly gripping the machine and rocking back and forth like a madman.

"Come on! Come on! Fall down!" Despite his begging, nothing. He starts to kick the machine with rapid kicks, but not even a dent as made, even factoring in superhuman strength. Finally, Bell reels back and strikes the glass with a punch that manages to shake the machine.

A glimmer of hope appeared, before being at once shattered as Bell pulls back and grabs his hand in agony. He falls on the ground and starts rolling in circles while trying to soothe his bruised hand.

"What is that thing made of? Bulletproof glass or something?" After a while, the 3 still standing boys start to come up with ideas by the dozen to get that vending machine open. It didn't matter if it took all of lunch period, they would get it open.

5 minutes later…

Asia looks down at the mess right before her. Matsuda was flat on the ground, murmuring some nonsense. Motohama sitting in the corner with groggy eyes, just barely saying anything coherent. As for Issei and Bell? They got their arms stuck in the slot of the Vending Machine. Both of them. What a coincidence.

"Uhm, are you all… ok?" Asia timidly asks but all she could get were some groans and moans from how exhausted they were. "So that's a no. Luckily for you two, I got this stick of butter from the Cooking Club!"

Bell and Issei look up, wondering why she kept a stick of butter from a cooking club. But before they could question it, she slathered the butter on their arms. It felt disgusting. Unnatural. They would vomit if they had the strength to.

When she finishes up, Asia backs up and gives a thumbs up for them to pull themselves out of there. So, with a final heave and a ho, the two boys tugged and pulled before they eventually slid their arms out of the slot. The two are laying on their backs, breathing like they just finished a marathon. Right before Issei raises his arm and reveals that he got the ice cream sandwich in the middle of that tussle.

As if they weren't all exhausted, all the boys jumped up in the air and huddled together to see their prize. They all gazed down to see the Strawberry Flavored Ice Cream Sand—Wait…

"Strawberry Flavor!"

"Ew!"

"Why would they put that in there!"

"I almost lost an arm for this."

And within moments, all the boys lost interest in their prize. The no valueless treat was tossed to Asia, who was none the wiser to the disdain for the flavoring, just seeing a yummy treat. The boys weren't too pleased with this outcome. They'd spent most of their period wasting time with this hunk of junk. What else were they supposed to do now?

Right as she leaves the scene, Asia points out, "Just so that you know for later, if you're stuff gets stuck in there, call the janitor. He can apparently get it out of there and refund you too!"

Realization hit them all like a damn truck. They've could've gotten whatever they wanted from this if they'd just ask for the janitor.

Nothing was said on the way back to class. All there was between them was the death of their pride. Shame in their intelligence. And pain that they wasted $5 on an ice cream sandwich they didn't even eat.

Overall, the pretty typical misfailings of a bunch friends.

Side Story 2 - Azrael's Schedule 

The Daily Schedule of Azrael, (Former) Angel of Death

As the (Former) Angel of Death, Azrael has a surprisingly full schedule, noted he's dealing with two Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

7:00am – Wake Up, Prepare Breakfast his own breakfast and do initial house chores.

7:30am – 30 minute commute around the block

8:00am – Wake kids up, send Bell off to school, do the rest of the house chores, have Mors run errands

9:00am – Business, ranging from working from home as translator all the way to grocery shopping, and even just catching up on a good book.

2:00pm – Deal with any leftover Heaven business (Michael talking his ear off over something something)

3:30pm – Bell comes home, works on homework

4:00pm – Start to prepare dinner

5:45pm – Mors returns, for the worse.

6:30pm – Wait for Mors to fully heal to eat dinner

7:00pm – Wash the dishes, longue about for the time being

8:30pm – Send the kids to bed.

10:00pm – Force Mors to sleep

11:00pm – Pay a quick visit to STARS to deal with any issues

12:00am – Pay Heaven a quick visit to deal with any unprocessed documents

4:00 am – Bed time

Raphael looks over the schedule, clearly looking a bit perplexed at what this all was supposed to mean. Firstly, why was it in American time...

"You really spend 5 hours of your life just… doing mundane things?" he asks.

"It helps adjust to the human world," Azrael responds. "Besides, human activities can be fun, especially if you know the right person!"

"Fine… fine… but then, you're abusing allspeak to be a translator." Raphael narrows his eyes at the realization that his oh so great brother would stoop to misusing his father's gifts.

"It was the most convenient job I could find. And didn't force me to learn an all new skill in the process."

"Right, but you're an angel, even if not all the angel you used to be. You still would be league better at everything than an regular human right." To that Azrael just shrugs, and along with it, Raphael shakes his head.

"It takes 4 hours for you to process all your tasks up here?"

"Yep."

"Wow, it things like this that put in perspective how terrible is our bureaucracy is sometimes… hehe…"

"Brother, if you speak like that, you might arouse some suspicion."

"Oh please, if Micheal or Gabriel have an issue with me criticizing our internal affairs, then get an Angel that can move papers like they can fly, or else they'll need to find another Angel of Healing… speaking of which, what do you want?"

"Right; Bell's been feeling a little under the weather."

"Eh? Demons can get sick? Thought they were just some globs of energy stuck together."

"Well, he's not sick per se, it's more of just… general feeling. So I was wondering, could you lend me the happiness rock for a little bit?" Azrael points to the glowing rock right on Raphael's desk. The Angel of Healing glares at his sibling for a little bit, then relinquishes ownership, not before having him sign a check out sheet.

"Bring it back in perfect condition. If I see even a chip off the thing-"

"You'll clip my wings, yeah, yeah, I hear it all the time." And just like that, Azrael is out of Raphael's hands.

"I don't say it all the time…" Raphael murmurs, going back to his glorified position "Heaven's Doctor".

Side Story 3 - Be careful what you wish for 

It was a late afternoon in Kuoh, and the sky above Kuoh Academy was a pale orange, the trees lining the school yard casting long shadows across the grounds. Bell was supposed to be heading home after club hours, but his detour to the back of the old gym building had turned up something unexpected: a dusty, brass oil lamp tucked beneath a bush, half-buried in loose gravel.

He blinked. "Is that a freakin' genie lamp?"

Bell crouched down, brushing away dirt. It looked cartoonishly classic, like something out of an old animated movie—curved spout, ornate handle, and all. There was even a faint shimmer of magic on it, visible only if you squinted just right.

He held it up, half-expecting a puff of smoke to burst out.

Nothing.

"Yeah, okay, I'll need to look into this further," he muttered, slipping it into his bag.

A couple hours later, Bell was seated awkwardly in front of Sona Sitri's desk in the student council office, the lamp resting neatly atop an enchanted analysis cloth. The atmosphere was dense with quiet calculation. Tsubaki stood to the side, arms folded, eyes narrowed. Genshirou Saji leaned against the windowsill, chewing on a pocky stick, clearly intrigued by the situation.

"You found this where again?" Sona asked without looking up.

"Behind the old gym. Near the water hose."

Sona blinked. "Of course. Where else would one expect to find a wish-granting artifact?"

Bell scratched the back of his head. "So, is it... y'know, the real deal?"

Saji chimed in, "Looks like something Issei would accidentally wish on and blow up half the school."

Sona sighed and adjusted her glasses. "It's genuine. Mildly cursed. Bound to a lesser djinn-type familiar. Its magical output is unstable but potent. Three wishes. Can't wish for death, nor love, No resurrection, no time travel, no mass extinction, can't fulfill your hearts truest desires, no--."

"Hold on, hold on," Bell interrupts, "how do you know this much about the rules of a genie lamp?"

Sona pauses, lifting her gaze from the lamp as if considering how much to say. She exhales softly through her nose and leans back in her chair.

"There was a time, early in my tenure as student council president, when a similar artifact appeared," she said. "A student from Class 2-B found it buried under the Sakura tree. We didn't know what it was at first—just a strange, glowing flask that reacted to touch."

Tsubaki's lips twitched, clearly remembering. Saji blinked. "Wait, is this the wish incident with the music club?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Sona muttered. "The student wished to become the best musician in the world. Within two hours, they were possessed by three different spirit virtuosos—simultaneously. They could play ten instruments, but also couldn't stop. It took Rias's entire peerage and a purification circle to separate them."

Bell's eyes widened. "Okay, that's actually kind of horrifying."

"We've kept a protocol ever since," Sona continued, tapping her pen against her clipboard. "Magic doesn't follow logic. But contracts? Contracts follow loopholes."

Saji pointed at Bell with the pocky stick. "This is why she's scary. Also, why you're lucky she got to that thing before you started rubbing it."

Bell looked down at the lamp again, suddenly much more aware of how easily things could've gone wrong.

"So... no wishing to become the world's greatest comic artist, then?"

"Only if you want your hands to be possessed by the ghosts of every tragic manga-ka who ever missed a deadline," Saji quipped.

Bell gulped and quietly folded his hands in his lap.

Flashback - Years Earlier, the Underworld

The chamber was softly lit by enchanted torches, each flame an unnatural blue, casting eerie shadows against polished obsidian walls. A much younger Sona Sitri sat in the middle of an ornate summoning circle, her student robes still pristine, clipboard clenched tightly in her lap. Before her hovered a bulbous, smoke-bodied lesser genie with golden bangles and a mouth far too wide to be polite.

"So let me get this straight," Sona said, clearly exasperated, "if I wish for world peace, there's a 74% chance you interpret that as eliminating all sentient life?"

"Technically," the genie replied in a cheerful, singsong voice, "I remove conflict, not people. But you can't argue with results!"

Sona narrowed her eyes. "And if I wish for infinite knowledge, you fuse my brain with some kind of universal record keeping and I lose the ability to speak or sleep?"

"Hey, you didn't say you wouldn't become a non-corporeal archivist!"

She took a slow breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Then what about something simple? Like… a cup of tea?"

"Spills on your lap, scalds your legs, your reflexes destroy half the room. One time delay warning, small print on the cup—"

"Enough."

The genie paused. Sona stood up, brushing off imaginary dust from her skirt, clipboard now tucked beneath her arm like a sword.

"I see now. You're not a wish-granter. You're a trap disguised as an opportunity."

The genie beamed. "You do learn fast!"

Sona turned her back and walked calmly out of the summoning circle, murmuring a cancellation incantation as the circle dimmed.

"This is why we audit," she muttered to herself.

Sona stood and stepped away from her desk, her expression sharpening into something coldly efficient. "Tsubaki, Saji. Prepare the invocation circle. We're going to do this by the book."

Tsubaki immediately moved to draw a containment seal on the floor, while Saji retrieved a small obsidian box from a cabinet in the corner. From it, he summoned a small impish devil with scroll-like wings and a quill twice its size — an auditor devil.

"Designation: Recording Auditor #4. Present," the creature squeaked in a high-pitched, bureaucratic tone.

Sona gestured calmly. "You are to document everything that occurs in this room from the moment of summoning onward. Every word, every gesture, every clause. Understand?"

"As ordered, Lady Sitri."

Tsubaki handed Sona a glowing sigil tablet to confirm the magical records. Saji, now unusually serious, moved to stand behind Bell.

"Bell," Sona said, her voice calm but firm, "You may now summon the genie. Keep your words precise. Do not agree to anything. Do not make jokes that could be interpreted as intent. Understood?"

Bell stared at the lamp like it had grown fangs. Then nodded.

"Right. Uh… summoning time, I guess."

Bell gave the lamp a cautious rub, and with a hiss of smoke and a faint pop, a swirl of lavender mist erupted from the spout. It coalesced rapidly into the shape of a girl in lavish, semi-transparent silks, arms crossed, eyes glowing faintly gold. She looked around the room, unimpressed.

"Summoner acknowledged. Wishes pending," she said in a smooth, melodic voice. "I am bound to fulfill up to three. Do you seek power, love, vengeance, purpose, or something pathetically material?"

Bell opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Sona stepped forward and pressed a neatly folded note into his palm.

Bell unfolded it. It read, in Sona's meticulous handwriting:

I, Bell Lin, of my own will, wish that all my subsequent wishes shall be laid out in their proper context, and that any catch or loophole within them shall be disclosed and fully explained before the decision is finalized.

Bell glanced at her, brows raised. Sona gave him a nod of silent encouragement.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, uh… I read this aloud, right?"

The genie floated higher, her brows lifting as Bell read the clause aloud. A faint golden shimmer spread through the summoning circle.

There was a long pause.

"Contract clause acknowledged," the genie said with a faint twitch of her eye. "Loophole limitation locked. This is going to be… irritating."

"Good," Sona said crisply. "Now we may proceed.""

Bell took a deep breath. "Alright. First wish. I wish for an infinite bag of perfectly toasted marshmallows."

The genie blinked. The circle shimmered. A small canvas sack materialized next to Bell's feet, the faint scent of sugar and smoke wafting upward.

Saji tilted his head. "That's... actually kinda smart? Emergency snack stash."

Tsubaki didn't bother hiding her flat stare. "That's what you went with? Marshmallows?"

Sona just gaped for a second. "You have a wish-granting genie in front of you, and your first impulse was to make a s'mores accessory?"

Bell shrugged. "They're really good."

He looked at the genie. "Second wish! I wish for a cape that always flaps dramatically in the wind. Even when there's no wind."

This time, even the genie paused.

"Accepted," she said, and with a flick of her fingers, a red cape with gold trim draped itself around Bell's shoulders. Immediately, it billowed behind him—despite the perfectly still air.

Tsubaki blinked. "At least it matches his flair for theatrics."

Saji gave a supportive thumbs-up. "Gotta respect the branding." Sona, on the other hand, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Is this a prank? Is this some elaborate bit I wasn't warned about?"

Bell raised a finger. "Final wish. I want a tiny version of myself that yells motivational quotes at me during training. Like, fits-in-your-pocket tiny."

The genie sighed. "Clause enforced. No deception allowed. Summoning entity: Mini-Bell."

A spark popped beside him and out fell a palm-sized, chibi-stylized version of Bell, arms folded.

"You got this, big guy! No pain, no gain! Don't skip leg day!"

Saji clapped, half-laughing. "Okay, I'm not even mad. That's hilarious."

Tsubaki sighed. "Three wishes. That was your list. Marshmallows, a fashion statement, and pocket-sized narcissism."

Ever bewildered, Sona simply looked to the auditor devil. "Mark all three. And remind me to schedule Bell for psychological evaluation. Twice over."

Chapter Text

Bell crashed through the edge of the rooftop and slammed hard into a billboard, his body punching through the vinyl and steel like a wrecking ball through drywall. The actor on the ad—some smarmy guy pushing cologne—now had a cracked smile courtesy of Bell's impact. He slid down the metal scaffold with a metallic screech, landing hard on his side.

Pain lit up his back like fireworks. His ribs felt like they'd gone twelve rounds with a hydraulic press. He groaned, tried to breathe, and settled for short huffs of air as he pushed himself up on trembling arms.

"Hooo boy... he's good, way too good."

A buzzing hum filled the air.

Bell looked up just as a figure in sleek segmented armor descended slowly from above, carried by translucent, vibrating wings that shimmered in the neon lights of Kuoh City. The suit was stylized like a dragonfly—bright green carapace, red lenses for eyes, and mechanical limbs that clicked as they hovered midair.

The man inside chuckled, voice amplified through a vocoder. "And here I thought you were supposed to be some kind of hero. You look more like roadkill."

Bell wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "That's no way to talk to someone who's stopped like 7 robberies before fighting you! Your armor shouldn't be too much for me!"

The Dragonfly Man—whoever he was—tilted his head. "Big talk from someone who just made friends with a billboard. I was hoping you'd put up more of a fight, uhhh... whatever your name is. But if this is all you've got... maybe I'll just go ahead and redecorate the skyline with your body."

Bell rose fully, wincing but steady. He clenched his fists. Something inside his skin shifted—slow, faint, like a whisper beneath the surface.

"You might want to watch your wings," Bell muttered."I'm starting to learn how you fly."

The Dragonfly's grin widened behind the mask. "Oh? Then let's see if you can keep up."

The wings flared—and the air cracked with a sonic burst as he launched forward.

The wind howled high above the ravine as Theo Kenner adjusted the straps on his custom wingsuit. Below him stretched a gorge too wide for his rig to realistically clear, but thrill had always outweighed logic in Theo's life. Cameras were rolling. Drones hovered. Sponsors waited.

"Alright, boys," he muttered to himself, flexing his fingers in his gloves. "Time to make history."

He dove.

At first, the descent went smooth—air curling past his suit, wind catching in the synthetic glider panels. But just as he reached the halfway point, one of the stabilizer flaps tore. His balance shifted violently. The gorge spun.

Theo screamed.

He slammed into the far cliffside, bouncing twice before landing in a crumpled heap against the stone. Agony screamed through every nerve. His leg was definitely broken. Maybe his back.

Then came the voice.

"You fall a lot for someone who wants to fly."

Theo coughed. "Wh-What...? Who's there...?"

From the shadows of the gorge emerged a tall man in flowing black robes, his face hidden behind an ornate gold mask. He walked slowly, deliberately, his boots clicking against the rocks.

"That wingsuit of yours... amateurish. But you've got guts. And I'm in the business of making the impossible possible."

Theo tried to crawl back. The pain was too much. "Are... are you here to help?"

The man chuckled. "In a manner of speaking. I offer you a gift. A daemon, ancient and cunning, one born from envy and the hunger to soar. It calls itself Skala. Let it in—and you'll never fall again."

He held out a small vial. Inside buzzed something alive—something insectile, pulsing and chittering with a faint glow.

Theo stared. And nodded.

Theo slams into the building, kicking up a wall of dust. He rises, rolling his shoulders—armor caught most of it, but the human underneath still felt the hit.

He scans for the amateur hero. No sign. Then he realizes he's wide open.

Bell steps out of the haze on the rooftop, feet set shoulder-width, knees bent. His legs feel wired—strong, steady. He doesn't move to tackle. He doesn't give ground.

Theo rockets forward to smash him off the edge.

Bell brings his hands together at his sternum. Aura condenses—red, bright—into a grapefruit-sized sphere. He locks his stance, weight low, one heel braced against a vent housing.

"Stay down."

He drives both palms forward.

The aura ball launches like a cannon round, a straight line of heat and pressure. It slams into Theo's chestplate with a crack that echoes across the roof, denting the armor and hurling him backward into the gravel. Bell doesn't budge—he absorbs the recoil through his legs and stays planted.

Theo groans, trying to push up. Bell snaps a second, smaller shot—quick as a jab. It tags the dent and puts him flat again.

Bell advances two steps, hands lowered but ready, eyes on Theo's breathing. Chest rise, steady. Good.

Jetpack whine climbs over the ledge. STARS agents crest the far side on lines and thrusters, rifles trained.

"We'll take it from here!"

Bell nods, letting the glow fade from his palms. He stays on the roof, steady and upright, and exhales.

Later, Bell sat slouched in the sleek but dimly lit STARS command trailer. The hum of cooling fans and the faint buzz of monitors filled the silence. Myrrdin stood beside him, arms crossed, while Joyce scrolled through footage of the last battle on her tablet, the glow casting sharp lines across her face.

"That was reckless," Joyce muttered, not looking up. "That fall alone could've taken you out. You're lucky you didn't add another casualty to the list."

Bell forced a shrug, trying to make it casual. "I made it through, didn't I? Didn't even wreck a bus stop this time."

Myrddin arched a brow. "Your strikes were clean. Direct. Punches and kicks that carried weight. Impressive, for what they were."

Bell managed a grin, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Just what I could do. Nothing fancy."

Joyce finally glanced up from her screen. "Then let's hope next time you keep that same control. You might not get away with it again."

The room fell quiet. Bell leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. The weight of their words lingered, but heavier still was the thought gnawing at him: was what he did enough? Anyone could throw a punch. Anyone could fall and get back up. If this was all he had to offer, if he couldn't keep the people safe, or stand where his sister did did, then what use was he really to STARS—or to anyone?

"Yeah," he muttered aloud, voice low. "Let's hope." But in his chest, the question burned: when the real fight comes, will I be enough?

From beneath the black surface of the lake, something stirs.

Mors breaches the water slowly, her soaked cloak trailing behind her like ink in water. Her steps are calm, deliberate, as if she already knows where to go. The fog drapes around her like a second shroud.

From the opposite shore, a cloaked figure waits. He walks beside her silently as she emerges from the lake, boots squelching against the wet grass.

He chuckles softly, not unkindly. "Why do you always wait for permission to be what you are?"

They walk through the trees, each step squishing against wet moss and soil. He continues, voice low.

"You think staying still makes you safe from the truth. That if you do nothing, maybe you won't break anything else. But decay doesn't wait. Death doesn't wait."

They reach a hollow where roots form a cradle around something vast.

A glowing, white flower, easily the size of a house. Its petals pulses faintly with threads of light.

The cloaked figure gestures to it.

Mors stands very still.

The flower starts to wither and crumble. The remains of what was wash over Mors, and the second they make contact with her skin, the worst pain imaginable sings to her brain.

Her back arches, a scream caught in her throat. Her skin blisters, reforms. Bones twist and grind. Her veins glow briefly with black light.

The cloaked figure watches her writhe.

"This pain is truth. This change is for a purpose."

Mors drops to her knees as the last of the mutation sinks in. Her breath rasps.

"Now," the figure murmurs, "Speak."

"Ow." Mors rises up from her bed, groaning and moaning. "Damn, that's what I get for having metal slam into me at mach speeds." Twisting her neck, cracking a few bones, Mors is welcomed by the shocked expressions of Azrael, Bell, Myrrdin, and Joyce, along with several members of STAR's Medical staff.

"What? Do I got something on my face?"