"So, you're telling me the church is occupied?"
Azazel spoke without lifting his gaze, fingers deftly adjusting the copper wiring of some strange mechanical object sprawled across his desk. Tiny sparks crackled with every twist of the screwdriver in his hand.
"That's what the original four-man cell stationed in Kuoh reported," Penemue replied, her voice composed but laced with underlying tension.
Azazel gave a dismissive hum, the kind that slipped out when he was more annoyed by interruptions than the actual news.
"Just a thought—why escalate this to me? Couldn't they have just relocated to another corner of town? Somewhere they wouldn't risk bumping into the sisters of the Maou?"
Still engrossed in his tinkering, his tone remained casual, as if they were discussing mundane logistics rather than high-level political fallout.
Penemue let out a soft, tired sigh. "We've received word that this might be classified as a Grade 0 Political Issue. They're holding off for top-level instructions."
Azazel's fingers stilled for the first time. His brow arched.
Grade 0. That wasn't something thrown around lightly. An incident that could potentially ripple through all three factions of the Bible? That level of threat demanded scrutiny.
For a long moment, he didn't speak. His eyes drifted briefly to the rusted remnants of a failed experiment pinned on the far wall—wings that had never flown. Grade 0 meant the collapse of the current political situation.
It meant war—unless someone blinked first.
"...An Angel?" he asked, slowly turning to face her now.
Penemue nodded. "Initial visuals confirm it. But there's something... odd. The Angel appears to possess only a single pair of wings, yet the holy energy radiating from her eclipses even that of Ten-Winged Angels—possibly surpassing even that threshold."
Azazel's brow furrowed. The air in the room felt thinner.
"You're saying a Seraph—someone of that caliber—just appeared in Devil territory?"
Penemue's expression darkened as she gave another nod.
"There's more," she continued. "According to the description we received, her features resemble those of Heaven's Angels... but our records show no known Seraph matching this appearance."
Azazel leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "So we've got an unknown high-ranking Angel, which mind you, is practically impossible after Father died, possibly even above Seraph-class—sitting quietly in Kuoh... and she let four Fallen observe her without any conflict?"
Penemue hesitated. "The Stray Exorcist Freed Sellzen is dead."
"Freed?" Azazel blinked. "That lunatic managed to die? Honestly, I half-expected him to survive the apocalypse just to annoy us. But the others—our agents—they're still alive?"
"They are," Penemue confirmed. "From the reports, it seems Sellzen attacked first. That was likely the only reason he died."
Azazel chuckled under his breath. "So, she's passive. Not unexpected. Most high-tier Angels wouldn't waste effort unless provoked."
Penemue nodded once more. "The team is requesting further orders. The Sacred Gear user of Twilight Healing—Asia Argento—is still en route to Kuoh."
Azazel's eyes narrowed.
An unknown Seraph—or something even higher—descended into Devil territory, seemingly with no interest in conflict or movement.
And most curiously, her presence wasn't tied to the Vatican. No missions, no edicts. She had simply… appeared. Settled.
He tapped his screwdriver once against the table before standing. "If she's not here to fight, someone else might force her to. We can't afford to sit back."
He dusted off his hands. "Looks like we're going."
Penemue blinked. "...We?"
"Yes, we." He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You really think the Maou would sit still if something that powerful suddenly showed up next to their sisters? We'd be fools not to go ourselves."
"But… that still doesn't explain why I have to go."
"Aren't you my secretary?" he said, matter-of-factly.
Penemue froze. Then sighed.
"And the Grigori? Are we just leaving it unattended?"
Azazel waved her off with a lazy flick of his hand. "Let Shemhazai handle it. He's been too comfortable lately anyway."
Penemue's eye twitched as she exhaled sharply. "And the Maou? We are intruding on their turf."
Azazel grinned. "Which is exactly why we should be there. A Seraph of unknown origin showing up in their backyard? If anything, we're doing them a favor by mediating."
"Hah…" Penemue could already feel the impending headache.
Azazel reached for his coat, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Let's get moving. Been a while since I've seen a Sister from Heaven."
--+--
"What did Ria-tan report?"
Sirzechs's voice was calm, but the weight behind it pressed into the room like a falling blade.
Seated behind a desk of lacquered obsidian, he watched as Grayfia stepped forward, unfolding a letter sealed in crimson wax—the unmistakable mark of Rias's urgent hand.
Though she reported to the Gremory Clan every month, irregular reports like this were rare. When they came, it always meant something had gone wrong. Or something worse—something unexplained.
"She stated that approximately three hours ago, an immense Holy signature manifested at the abandoned church in Kuoh," Grayfia replied. Her voice was crisp, precise, like frost forming along glass.
Sirzechs's composure cracked. He rose from his chair, red eyes flashing. "Did Serafall receive the same report from Sona-chan?"
Grayfia gave a quiet nod. "Yes. Serafall-sama departed immediately. She's already en route to Kuoh via teleportation."
A silence stretched for a beat. Then Sirzechs sank back into his chair, but not from relief. His brows were drawn, his jaw taut.
"If the Satan of Foreign Affairs is already moving… why bring this to me directly?"
Grayfia didn't waver. "Because the Holy signature in question cannot be categorized. Its density exceeds even Seraph-class readings—but its purity is... unnatural. Sona-sama and Rias-sama attempted to approach the church. The moment they drew near, the radiance repelled them."
A muscle twitched in Sirzechs's cheek. The legs of his chair scraped harshly against the floor as he stood again, this time with both fists clenched at his sides.
"Why didn't you start with that?! I'm going to Kuoh—"
"Wait." Grayfia raised a gloved hand, her tone firm. "I withheld it for a reason. Serafall-sama is already on-site, and the report hasn't been independently verified. We only have Sona-sama and Rias-sama's observations. There was no concrete proof until—"
A sudden pulse of magic rippled through the room, cutting her off. The air shimmered.
A communication circle bloomed midair, light blue and pure, casting pale reflections across the obsidian desk. Then, like a lens snapping into focus, a figure resolved inside the circle.
Serafall.
But not the Serafall her close associates and friends knew.
No frilly outfit. No theatrical pose. Her Magical Girl façade was gone. She stood in sleek combat garb, face grim, voice stripped of all levity.
"Sirzechs."
The single word held none of her usual charm—only clipped urgency.
Sirzechs straightened immediately. "What's happening in Kuoh?" he demanded. "Grayfia said you'd arrived."
Serafall's eyes were steel. "I don't know how the Angel did it... but in just three hours, the entire surrounding area is flooded with Holy energy. Its purity... it's comparable to the Inner Vatican."
The words landed like a hammer.
Sirzechs's breath caught. "The Inner Vatican...?"
Behind him, Grayfia was already moving—hands weaving through the air as she activated a fresh teleportation array. Her movements were sharp, practiced, betraying how prepared she'd been for this escalation.
Serafall gave a slow, almost reluctant nod.
"Yes. I confirmed it myself. The entire hill where the abandoned church once sat—it's been transformed. It's not just sanctified. It's been restructured into true, consecrated Holy Land. I don't even know how such a thing is possible outside Heaven, let alone within mere hours."
Sirzechs's voice dropped an octave. "We're on our way. Are Rias and Sona—?"
"They're unharmed," Serafall said at once. "The Angel hasn't moved since her arrival. No offensive magic. No incantations. Just... silence. She's simply there."
A breath escaped Sirzechs's lips, shaky and quiet. Relief, brief and brittle.
But the silence that followed was heavier.
Three hours.
Only three hours to transfigure mundane soil into sacred ground—on par with the Vatican's holiest inner circle. A place where not even devils could stand without taking damage.
Had this Angel been even slightly hostile…
Kuoh would have vanished. No warning. No resistance.
Sirzechs stared at the glowing teleportation circle, his mind racing, his blood running cold.
Even among the Seraphim, no one—not even Gabriel—had ever wielded this kind of overwhelming sanctity.
He clenched his fists tighter, the pressure making his knuckles pale.
What kind of entity was waiting for him in Kuoh?
--+--
"Why didn't we kill those damn birds when we had the chance?" Jeanne Alter snarled, lounging irritably on her throne—an obsidian slab as dark as midnight, jagged edges radiating menace.
"Their attitude was infuriating. And wasn't that fucker who suddenly attacked us one of their own?"
"Language, Alter."
The original Jeanne—poised and composed—offered a weary sigh from her own seat. Her throne of pale wood and golden filigree stood in stark contrast to Alter's—a quiet reminder of her ideals.
"And one rogue doesn't justify wiping out their entire group. Didn't they already apologize?"
"Tch. Naive as always." Jeanne Alter sneered, tossing a glare at her counterpart.
"It says they're cowards. Or worse—schemers. You didn't see the way they looked at us. Like we were some bizarre anomaly."
"While I hate to agree with Adult-Me…"
Jeanne Alter Santa Lily shifted in her cushiony throne, a pout forming on her lips. Her seat resembled a plush sofa more than anything regal.
"They did seem... twitchy. Like they expected us to lash out any second."
"See?" Alter grinned, emboldened. "Even the kid gets it. We know where they're holed up. Let's just deal with them."
"Hold on."
The calm voice of Angel Jeanne cut through the momentum. She sat upright on a comfortable but ornate throne, sharp golden trim glinting with soft light.
"Yes, their behavior was suspect. But they retreated immediately and haven't done anything that warrants judgment. Guilt by association isn't justice."
The original Jeanne nodded in quiet agreement. "Thank you, Angel."
"What she said~" drawled Lazy Jeanne from her reclined position, eyes glued to her screen.
Lazy Jeanne stretched, lounging deep in her throne—a high-tech cocoon of a large monitor and a curved screen. The Golden Crown hovered lazily above her head, bobbing in place, signifying the current one in control of their shared body.
Jeanne Alter scowled and jabbed a finger at her.
"Also, why does she still have the crown?! She's done nothing since we got here!"
"Because," Lazy Jeanne replied, not bothering to look up, "I see no reason to give it up~."
Alter hissed under her breath and slumped back in her seat.
"Alter," Jeanne d'Arc interjected gently. "We agreed to wait. We don't know much about this world. It's not a Singularity, and we weren't summoned for a Holy Grail War either."
"Agreed."
Metatron Jeanne's voice cut through the tension like a clean blade. Her eyes glowed faintly as she adjusted her posture from her throne—similar in form to Angel's, but woven with divine sigils and marked with ethereal circuitry.
"There is no indication of Gaia's involvement, nor signs of the Counter Force. Hypothesis: this world exists before the end of the Age of Gods despite undeniably being modern. As such, we agreed by majority vote to remain in standby until prompted."
Jeanne Alter groaned, throwing her hands up. "Yeah, yeah, I know. We've had this exact fucking conversation already."
She ignored Jeanne d'Arc's automatic "Language!" and slammed her fist against her armrest.
"But then why are we still sitting around when people from the damn Reverse Side of the World invaded the church?! I'd say that's a pretty obvious prompt if you ask me!"
A long silence followed.
"Adult-Me…" Lily began hesitantly, "didn't Metatron say they looked too weak to pose a real threat? That it was better to let them go report to their superiors...?"
Jeanne Alter glared. Lily shrank back in her seat.
"Don't bully your sister!" Jeanne d'Arc chastised.
"Sister?!" Jeanne Alter scoffed. "She's just a smaller, squeakier me! We're not..."
She trailed off.
"Hmph."
She leaned back with a bitter sigh. "Fine, fine. Let's say we wait. But what if no one ever comes?"
"We were summoned with no directive," Metatron Jeanne answered, calm as ever.
"But we have not been bound by Gaia or the Counter Force. Furthermore, there is no visible error regarding Human Order despite the Age of Gods not having ended. Therefore, our possible courses of action have been left to Jeanne's upgraded version of Revelation. Until then, we remain idle."
"Revelation, huh…"
Jeanne Alter closed her eyes with a growl of frustration, fingers curling against the stone armrest.
"Damn it all…"
Suddenly Lazy Jeanne's fingers froze above her console.
"Wait."
Her voice—still lethargic—carried an odd sharpness.
"There's a new energy signature."
All heads turned.
The original Jeanne straightened.
"Not one of the four Fallen from earlier?"
"Nope. This one's different. She's been watching us. Not moving, just… hovering. Right outside the church's sanctified range." Lazy Jeanne drawled.
Immediately, as if on time, a soft glimmer flickered behind Jeanne d'Arc's eyes—Revelation. As though a curtain was lifted, divine insight washed over her. Her vision tunneled, piercing through layers of mana and fog.
"…Wings," she whispered. "But not exactly like the previous people who were here."
"Those wings…" Santa Lily leaned forward, brows furrowed as she studied the silhouette hovering just outside the radius of sacred light. "They look pretty bat like. Maybe they're vampires?"
"They don't really seem like Dead Apostles if they are vampires, maybe they're a different race," Angel Jeanne added, her voice cool and clinical. "If Fallen Angels exist in this world, then maybe devils exist as well. They are part of the Bible."
Jeanne Alter clicked her tongue, arms crossed as she slouched deeper into her black-stone throne. "Another damn Phantasmal freak? Is this world just infested with monsters?"
"She hasn't crossed the threshold," Jeanne observed, brow furrowed. "Maybe the sanctified energy is repelling her."
Angel Jeanne nodded thoughtfully.
"That would explain it. Even though Lazy Jeanne's personality is... like that, her passive aura is enough to purify miles of terrain. That woman outside might be sensitive to it."
"The four earlier were certainly Fallen Angels. Their energy signatures and appearances were similar to the biblical profile... but their behavior diverged from our archives. They weren't Heaven's enemies, but something else entirely."
Jeanne Alter sighed. "Biblical factions running around... and none of them attack on sight? Weirdest timeline ever."
Angel Jeanne agreed.
Jeanne Alter Santa Lily tilted her head, eyes darting between Angel Jeanne, Metatron Jeanne, and Lazy Jeanne. "Then doesn't that mean… they're weak to you guys?"
Angel Jeanne and Metatron Jeanne affirmed with solemn nods. Lazy Jeanne, as expected, only shrugged without lifting her eyes from her screen.
Jeanne leaned back, arms resting on the gold-inlaid wooden armrests of her throne. "And yet, despite the supposed hostility, they haven't engaged us. Which suggests that in this version of reality... perhaps they're not our enemies."
"If they're not enemies," Santa Lily ventured cautiously, "do we... talk to them?"
"Great." Jeanne Alter added. "So we're just gonna sit around doing nothing again?"
"Interjection," Metatron Jeanne said, her eyes glowing faintly. "Roughly two hours ago, two unidentified entities attempted to approach the church."
"They were repelled—likely due to the Holy radiation still emanating from Lazy Jeanne. Their energy signatures are more similar to the being we are currently looking at."
"What?! Why the hell am I only hearing about this now?" Jeanne Alter snapped, glaring at Metatron.
Angel Jeanne chimed in with a sigh. "Because Lazy Jeanne saw it first. It was on her monitor the whole time."
Jeanne Alter's fury shifted targets immediately.
"So she just didn't say anything?!" she hissed, pointing at the indifferent gamer.
"Technically…" Angel Jeanne muttered, "yes. But there's more. The Devil—or tentative Devil—who's observing us now only appeared after the first two failed to get through."
Angel Jeanne continued. "It's likely a higher-ranking superior. This was our original goal in sending the Fallen away so I saw no point in saying anything either."
Lazy Jeanne added her two cents before shrugging, eyes never leaving her screen. "They didn't get close. And it wasn't worth the effort."
"I'm going to lose my mind." Alter buried her face in her hands.
"And yet she's still not moving?" Santa Lily asked, tilting her head.
"Status: Unknown," Metatron responded.
"Oh, wait."
The group turned toward Jeanne d'Arc again, her expression shifting as she received another Revelation.
"She's not alone anymore."
All five Jeannes—Lazy Jeanne excluded—focused their attention toward the outer edges of the sanctified hill. And there, they saw it.
Two more appeared beside the lone woman: one with fiery crimson hair that shimmered like rubies beneath the dying sunlight, the other with silver-gray hair and an aura cloaked in pure restraint.
"Teleportation spell?" Santa Lily asked.
Metatron Jeanne nodded, her voice tense. "Confirmed. And the red-haired Devil... his signature far surpasses the others. Several magnitudes stronger."
They watched the three converse—words exchanged in silence, unreadable from their distance.
Jeanne Alter tapped her armrest in growing irritation.
"Come on already. If you're going to talk, talk faster—"
As if in response to her grumbling, the trio turned.
And began their approach.
"Finally."
--+--
A ripple of magic shimmered in the night sky over Kuoh.
With a pulse of crimson light, the teleportation circle completed its rotation, depositing two figures atop a nearby building overlooking the hill.
Sirzechs Lucifer stepped forward first, his regal red mantle billowing gently in the wind, eyes narrowing beneath a calm, unreadable mask.
Beside him, Grayfia materialized in silence, her silver hair catching the moonlight.
The moment they arrived, the air shifted, as though something was wrong. An unseen pressure thickened the atmosphere.
"...That is not normal," Sirzechs muttered, his voice low and careful.
The Holy energy in the air was oppressive—not suffocating like drowning, but heavy, almost cloying, as if the very air had taken on a scent that was too much to bear. It clung to everything, spreading across the land like an unwelcome fog.
From the abandoned church below, it radiated outward, an unseen force rippling with every beat of the land's pulse.
Grayfia glanced at the sensor she held, which flickered in her hand, unstable. "The readings are off the charts."
"The purification density... it's nearing levels rivaling the Inner Vatican, Just like Serafall said." Sirzechs observed, his gaze shifting to the horizon. "This is far beyond what any angelic force should be capable of in such a short span. Even a Seraph would require a full support circle if they wanted an effect even close to what we're looking at."
"It's not natural," Grayfia added quietly, still watching the glowing sensor. "Something's feeding it, but it doesn't make sense. I've never seen readings like this before."
Sirzechs said nothing, his focus locked onto the distant church. His eyes were sharp, discerning—there was something beyond the data, something gnawing at the edge of his mind.
The building below remained untouched. Yet there was an unmistakable aura surrounding it, a subtle, almost imperceptible golden hue clinging to the rotting timbers of the church, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
His eyes traced the shimmer in the air, an almost imperceptible sphere of light surrounding the structure like protective glass.
"I may not be Ajuka, but this... isn't artificial," he murmured. "This is... purely natural."
Grayfia's eyes widened slightly, her lips pressing together as the gravity of his words settled. She stepped closer, her gaze now fixed on the church with equal intensity. "You think it's hostile?"
Sirzechs hesitated, his eyes narrowing further. "No. It's something older. Something simple, but deeply ingrained. It's as though the world is recognizing this land... as something it had forgotten long ago."
A heavy silence fell between them.
Grayfia's brow furrowed. "Heaven's authority?"
Sirzechs finally turned to her, his gaze sharp but measured. "Perhaps."
Grayfia's eyes darkened slightly as she processed this. "But Heaven has no jurisdiction here," she replied, her tone sharp.
"And no Angel short of the Four Great Seraphs should be able to manifest something like this without a full support circle. This wasn't sanctioned—are they trying to start another Great War?"
"That's the troubling part," Sirzechs replied, his voice quieter now, a subtle weight behind his words.
"If this was a declaration of war, we'd know. But this..." He raised a hand, his fingers glowing with the dark energy of a demonic spell.
A soft red circle bloomed beneath his palm, the spell weaving through the air with delicate precision.
It surged outward, searching for a way through the divine barrier, but it fizzled and died almost immediately. The divine aura around the church was too potent, too foreign for even his magic to penetrate.
Grayfia looked down at the failed spell. "She's not attacking us," she murmured, her voice low. "But it's not a bluff, either. This isn't some half-baked warding."
"No," Sirzechs said slowly, lowering his hand, his eyes still fixed on the golden glow of the church. "This is a statement."
As the quiet hum of the divine aura surrounded them, a ripple of teleportation sparked behind them.
A flash of pink light burst into the air, and Serafall appeared in a whirl of energy, her battle robes replacing her usual frilly dress. The seriousness in her eyes was stark against the usual cheerfulness that defined her.
"Report," Sirzechs said, his voice calm but cutting through the tension.
Serafall didn't meet his eyes. She was already gazing at the church, her expression unreadable. "She hasn't moved. She's just... sitting inside. I don't think she's meditating, resting, or praying. It's like she's waiting."
Grayfia frowned. "For what?"
Serafall shook her head slowly. "I don't know. But Ria-tan and Sona-chan tried to approach. They couldn't get closer than the base of the hill. Their skin started burning just being near the threshold. I had to pull them back myself."
Sirzechs' jaw clenched at that. He glanced toward the church again, his gaze hard. "And you didn't engage?"
"The energy's more passive than active," Serafall said, her voice unusually flat. "She felt my presence through the walls of the church the moment I entered the vicinity. I don't know how, but even after I used an analysis spell, she didn't react. She's not engaging."
Sirzechs went silent. He stared at the glowing silhouette of the church, his thoughts churning.
The presence inside was vast—towering, ancient. It wasn't like a force descending upon them. It was something deeply rooted, as though the Earth itself had acknowledged her and reshaped this place in her image.
A deep unease settled over Sirzechs, though his expression remained impassive.
"...Then we knock," he said, his voice steady but firm.
Grayfia blinked in surprise. "You're going down there?"
"We have no choice." Sirzechs' tone didn't waver. "This is no longer a matter of diplomacy. We need to know who—or what—is sitting in our backyard, rewriting the laws of Heaven and Earth."
Serafall exhaled slowly and stepped forward beside him. "We're walking into a divine field that might constantly erode our bodies on contact. You sure about this?"
Sirzechs didn't flinch. His voice was quiet, but resolute. "More sure than I've ever been."
Together, the three of them approached the boundary, and the moment they crossed its threshold, the light pulsed—a soft, golden wave that washed over them.
At first, they expected pain—like the burning sensation Rias and Sona had described. But as they crossed the line, the sensation was unexpectedly pleasant, even soothing, far from the suffocating Holy pressure they anticipated.
They could hear the hum of life, as if they were standing in the middle of a jungle, teeming with the buzz of unseen creatures. Nature itself seemed to pulse with energy around them.
The doors of the church creaked open, slowly, almost as if they, too, had been waiting.
Someone... was waiting inside.
--+--
A thin veil of dusk clung to Kuoh Town, the horizon painted in shades of dying gold and creeping violet.
With a sudden shimmer in the air, a burst of pale-blue light tore through the sky above the outskirts—brief, soundless, precise.
From within it, two figures emerged, descending smoothly from the heavens as if gravity itself chose not to impede them.
Azazel floated down with casual grace, his coat fluttering against the high-altitude breeze, one hand in his pocket and the other lazily flipping a silver coin through his fingers.
Beside him, Penemue descended more stiffly, her wings folding inward with crisp discipline as her heels touched the rooftop they landed on.
She took a breath—and nearly recoiled.
"…It's suffocating," she muttered.
Azazel didn't respond right away. His golden eyes narrowed as he gazed out over the city, watching as the distant hills loomed darker under the weight of some unseen force.
What was once a modest hill housing a forgotten church now looked like a beacon—a pillar of sanctity that had rewritten the air itself. Holy energy coiled around the earth in radiant threads, pure and ancient, untouched by mortal rituals or Angelic circuits.
It was alive, humming with an undeniable force that seemed to grasp the land itself.
"You sure this isn't a Vatican trick?" he asked lazily, his voice low, but never distracted from his observations.
Penemue's gaze sharpened, and she gave him a pointed look. "No known Vatican rite can do this. This isn't magic—it's a shift in the very fabric of the land. The hill itself has been declared Holy Ground."
Azazel let the coin fall from his fingers, catching it mid-air without taking his eyes off the church. "Hah. She's not subtle, I'll give her that."
Below, the church stood as it always had—old, worn, stone-framed with rotting wood—but now cloaked in a veil of soft, golden mist. No Angelic hymns rang from its walls.
No radiant trumpets sounded from the skies. And yet, even from this distance, the presence inside was undeniable.
It wasn't just overwhelming. It was sovereign.
Azazel's eyes narrowed slightly, a glimmer of curiosity flickering across his face.
"No movement inside?" he asked, though he already had a sense of the answer.
Penemue shook her head, still watching the shimmering church with caution. "None. Surveillance spells are failing just like the Demonic scans. Any closer, and the mana fields start unraveling."
Azazel clicked his tongue, frustration briefly passing over his features. "Great. So not only is she powerful, she's disruptive to both Angelic and Demonic systems. That narrows it down to… no one we know."
"We've run her known features against our Database of all known Angels," Penemue replied, her arms crossing as she leaned against the roof's edge.
"There's no match. She has only one pair of wings, but her Holy energy eclipses that of a ten-winged Seraph. And yet—she isn't attacking."
Azazel sighed deeply, dragging a hand down his face. "Freed rushed her first. Idiot finally lived up to my expectations by dying like one."
Penemue glanced at him sideways, a trace of suspicion in her gaze. "You don't seem concerned."
"I'm always concerned," Azazel replied, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "I just pretend I'm not. Makes the paperwork easier."
He turned to her, his smile fading as his tone became more serious. "You said the Maous are moving?"
"Serafall was first. Sirzechs and Grayfia just arrived, according to my last update. They're headed straight for the church."
Azazel groaned audibly. "Of course they are."
He stretched his arms behind his head and then stepped off the roof, hovering forward as if he were out for a leisurely stroll.
"Well, no use being late to the party. Let's see if our mysterious Angel feels like chatting with the local heretics."
Penemue frowned slightly, hesitation in her eyes. "You intend to walk into that field?"
Azazel smiled, a dangerous edge creeping into his expression.
"I'm not the Governor-General for nothing."
He hovered closer, his wings shifting with slight resistance as the divine pressure intensified around him. It coiled around his body like a coiled spring, pushing against him, testing his resolve.
The scent of frankincense and morning dew brushed against his senses—a smell he hadn't inhaled since he'd fallen from grace.
"…It really is pure," he whispered, more to himself than to Penemue.
Penemue followed cautiously, her gaze warier now as the light grew brighter with each step they took.
As they crossed the outer edge of the boundary, something unexpected happened.
The suffocating pressure that had weighed on them vanished, replaced by a warm, comforting sensation. It was as if they had stepped into the Kingdom of Heaven itself, where the burdens of the world outside no longer applied.
Like curtains drawn back to reveal a hidden world.
Penemue's voice trembled slightly, a rare crack in her composure. "She's just letting us through?"
Azazel's smile dropped into something unreadable as his gaze darkened. "No," he murmured. "She sensed us already."
They moved forward, their footsteps echoing in the silence of the sacred space. The doors of the church groaned open, the sound almost imperceptible, as if the very walls of the building had been waiting for them.
They weren't alone.
And whatever sat within that church—whatever being could create sanctity where sin should have ruled—was now waiting for its third round of visitors.
--+--
"Two new signatures," Lazy Jeanne murmured, her voice calm but amused, her gaze fixed on the glowing console in front of her.
Jeanne Alter let out a long sigh, rubbing her temple. "Why are they coming all at once? Are they just trying to prove me wrong?"
Jeanne Alter Santa Lily rolled her eyes at Jeanne Alter's sudden backtrack. Mad if they do, mad if they don't.
Jeanne's golden eyes briefly unfocused as the Revelation coursed through her. She turned her attention inward. "Any similarities with the three Devils moving toward us?"
"Negative," Metatron Jeanne replied, her tone precise. "They match the first group. Higher-ranking Fallen Angels, based on energy levels."
"Could they be allied? The timing's pretty close." Jeanne Alter Santa Lily asked, swinging her legs from her throne, eyes narrowed in cautious curiosity.
"Unknown," Metatron answered.
"Well, who cares?" Jeanne Alter smirked, cracking her knuckles as she sat up straighter. "We finally get some action."
"Diplomacy," Jeanne corrected, voice patient but firm.
"Yeah, yeah." Jeanne Alter clicked her tongue, leaning back again, unimpressed.
--+--
A/N: Yo, I know I said i'd write about Metatron Jeanne. I got bored of the concept and instead just wrote one body 6 personalities. Saint Jeanne, Jeanne Alter, Jeanne Alter Santa Lily, Metatron Jeanne Ascension 1, Metatron Jeanne Ascension 2, Metatron Jeanne Ascension 3. (All 3 ascensions have different personalities)
I actually finished this last friday but I have no idea where to go after this so I was in a slump. Personally I am not that good at coming up with plots. Most unoriginal person in existence.
PLEASE someone help me with some plot possibilities. I will suck it.
Also I had an idea of a Hero Maker Simulator Fanfic where the mc becomes fem merlin (Proto merlin design) and goes to different time eras and makes a yuri harem or something like that (Idk)
But I am in a slump like it's lowkey a bitch. Since yall were asking for it I'll upload this chapter, but idk much about what comes next. Sorry. woes of a shitty author.