The morning sun beat down on the Biblia Academy training arena. Arata Sparda walked toward the center of the coliseum, his hands in his pockets and a piece of gum in his mouth, moving with that dangerous nonchalance that unnerved the instructors. Beside him, Sora floated like an electric presence, invisible to everyone else but a constant pulse on Arata's senses.
"Master, the smell of 'purebred' in here is unbearable. Those guys in the stands are staring at you like you're some kind of freak," Sora whispered, amused.
"Let them look, Sora. Sheep always stare at the wolf before it bites their neck."
The Circle of Shadows (What Arata Doesn't See)
As Arata took his position, the Destiny Diary vibrated in four different places. In the observation tower, Arin Kannazuki (Trinity Seven of Wrath) held the book with icy curiosity. In her office, Lilith held her breath. In Kuoh, Rias had locked herself in her room, and in the Underworld, Grayfia and Serafall peered through the pages. They were all reading what Arata had just written before leaving his room, a direct echo of his plan from Chapter 2:
"Combat Log: Today I'm going to force open Sora's bridge. My left arm feels like it's filled with lava from the light spears Mundus drove into my mana channels. If I don't get power soon, the core will collapse. I'm going to use any of these arrogant nobles as a battery. I don't care if I break them. They broke me thirteen years ago when they left me alone in the fire."
The Noble's Humiliation
"Arata Sparda!" shouted Belce, a high-ranking noble directly linked to the Gremory Clan, stepping forward with an air-distorting gravity spear. "The Director says you're special, but I only see a genetic flaw. Kneel before a true demon!"
Arata let out a dry laugh that echoed throughout the arena.
"Kneel? Sorry, kid. My family has a genetic problem: our knees don't bend for idiots with glowing spears. They bend to gain momentum and kick them in the face."
Belce, enraged, charged. The air around him grew thick, a high-class gravitational pressure that would have crushed a middle-class demon. The students in the stands cheered, expecting to see Arata reduced to a smudge on the ground.
But Arata was an all-rounder. Remembering his mental training, he didn't try to counter magic with magic. He used the Royal Guard.
The moment the spear point was about to pierce him, Arata raised a single finger. The impact generated a shockwave that cracked the ground in a perfect circle around him, but he didn't move. He had absorbed the full inertia of the attack, processing the kinetic energy through his damaged channels to fuel his own body.
"Is that all?" Arata yawned. "My grandfather Dante hit harder when he wanted pizza. You're slow, you're predictable, and your lineage is boring."
Phase 3: The Harvest and the Silent Scream
Arata clenched his fist and, with a speed that gravity magic couldn't slow, grabbed Belce by the face and slammed him against the stone floor.
"Sora... now. Filter everything he has. Leave not a trace of his pride."
A crimson light, dark and violent, erupted from Arata's palm. Belce began to scream as his mana, his heritage, and his life force were ripped from his pores. It wasn't an elegant technique; it was a surgical dismantling.
The women reading the diary felt both horror and compassion. On the pages, Arata's handwriting became erratic as he channeled the pain of the absorption:
"It burns! This idiot's energy is filthy, but Sora is refining it. I feel my internal scars—those damned marks of Mundus—screaming in agony as Sora's bypass injects this force directly into my nervous system. It hurts... damn it, it hurts like my skin is being ripped from the inside out. But I won't scream. Not in front of these Gremorys who think they're gods."
Lilith covered her mouth with her hand, tears welling in her eyes. She was watching a boy suffer unspeakable pain just to stay on his feet, all while maintaining a mocking smile to humiliate his opponent. Rias, back in Kuoh, clutched the book to her chest, feeling every word like a stab of guilt.
Arata stood up, leaving Belce like an empty shell, sobbing on the floor, not a drop of magic left in her body. The humiliation was complete: the pure-blooded "noble" had been devoured by the Sparda "flaw."
The Warrior's Final Record
Arata dusted off his jacket and glanced at the tower where Arin stood, then at Lilith. He reattached his mask of arrogance, winking at them.
"Who's next? I have the day off, and my appetite has just been whetted."
No one moved. The fear was palpable. Arata walked toward the exit and, once in the shadows of the corridor, took out his journal to record his true victory, firmly believing his words were secret:
"Successful harvest. My left arm has stopped trembling. I've recovered 2% stability in my core. Belce has been magically crippled, one less pawn for Sirzechs. Lilith looks at me with that unbearable pity... I hate her. If she knew that every step I take is a miracle of pure will and pain, she would stop pitying me and start fearing me. Tomorrow I will go to the forest. The Yamato calls to me, but my hands are still too weak to hold her. I need more. I need Lilith, not as a woman, but as the Archive of Lust that will allow me to synchronize my shattered soul with my uncle Vergil's blade."
In the tower, Arin Kannazuki closed his journal with a dark smile.
"So you seek the Yamato, Arata Sparda..." he whispered. "Let's see if you can survive the price of wielding it."
In the Underworld, Grayfia wept silently over the page. The child they had abandoned wasn't seeking love; he was building a throne upon the corpses of his enemies.