The Occult Research Club was unusually quiet as Rias sat at her desk, fingers steepled in front of her lips, her crimson eyes staring ahead at nothing in particular. Around her, the others were engaged in their typical preparations. Kiba polished his sword with meticulous care, Akeno arranged new defense arrays for the battlefield, and Issei…
Issei was pacing, arms behind his head, muttering something about "saving the princess from the flaming chicken prince."
Rias had tried to stay calm, to think with the poise expected of a Gremory, but something inside her was restless. The Rating Game with Riser was drawing near. The date had been set. The match would be held within the next week.
Grayfia had already visited to confirm the arrangements. The silver-haired Queen of Serzechs had entered the clubroom like a silent gale, commanding presence cloaked in elegance. She had been there when Riser tried to goad Issei into a fight earlier that day. But she intervened before things could escalate.
"You may settle this in the Rating Game," Grayfia had said coldly, her silver eyes freezing Riser mid-stride.
Riser had smirked, tossed his golden hair, and returned to his corner like a lion waiting for its prey. He'd kept his voice honeyed, his confidence unshaken. He had no memory—no inkling—that deep within his soul, a piece of something ancient and malevolent had taken root.
Amon's parasite was perfectly embedded.
And no one—not even the perceptive Akeno—had noticed a thing.
The parasite didn't alter Riser's behavior drastically. It whispered to him subtly, stoked the fires of his pride and ambition, strengthened his flames in ways even he couldn't yet comprehend. But the seed had been planted. When the time came, Amon's plan would unfold without a single soul realizing it had ever begun.
Unseen in the shadows of the Academy clock tower, Amon observed the chessboard he'd been patiently assembling. He was not physically present in the room—his main consciousness remained elusive—but a sliver of awareness tethered to the parasite allowed him to observe, to adapt.
"The pieces are moving," he murmured to himself, adjusting his monocle with gloved fingers. "The game is quite nostalgic."
From his hidden vantage point in the fabric of reality, Amon sensed the strands of fate shifting. A small ripple had formed in Riser's thread. He traced it backward—Grayfia's interference. Slight, but expected. Still within the parameters he had accounted for.
But Amon's true prize was not the Rating Game.
It was not the Gremory family, nor even the political ramifications of the union.
It was Issei Hyoudou.
More specifically, it was the boy's fate. His sacred gear, the Boosted Gear, was merely a gateway. A vessel. A path to something more significant.
If Amon could consume it—no, not consume… rewrite it—he would gain access to the threads of destiny wrapped around the Red Dragon Emperor. That power, interwoven with myth and prophecy, could elevate Amon's current vessel into something divine.
But for now, patience.
Back in the clubroom, Rias finally broke the silence.
"We'll train tonight," she said softly. "I want everyone at their best. Kiba, I want you to spar with Issei again. Akeno—work on high-speed barrage spells. Asia, support from the side as usual."
"And me?" Issei grinned. "Am I finally getting to test the Boosted Gear's full potential?"
Rias gave him a small smile. "You'll be our trump card, Issei. But don't let that go to your head."
"I never do!"
Kiba raised an eyebrow.
Akeno giggled behind her hand.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the peerage assembled at the training field behind the old school building. It was lit by conjured torches and barrier runes, keeping their efforts hidden from the mundane world.
Issei stood shirtless, panting, his right gauntlet glowing with a dim red hue.
"Boost!"
The mechanical voice echoed again as his power surged.
Kiba danced around him, sword flashing in bursts of silver and blue, striking only to be blocked again and again.
Rias watched closely, nodding.
"His speed is increasing," she noted.
"Not enough to match Riser," Akeno said with a frown. "His flames are unnatural lately."
Unnatural, indeed. Enhanced subtly by the Error power coursing through his soul. But to those watching, it merely looked like improvement—a natural consequence of Riser taking the upcoming match seriously.
As the evening wore on and stars blanketed the sky, Rias finally called for a halt.
"Enough for tonight. Everyone rest. We'll continue tomorrow."
The group began to disperse. Asia healed minor bruises. Kiba offered Issei a sports drink. Akeno leaned close to Rias.
"You're worried," she said softly.
Rias sighed. "I don't know. Riser's confidence… it's always been there. But now, it feels different."
"More dangerous?"
"More… unknowable."
Meanwhile, Riser himself was in his personal chamber back at the Phenex estate. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, meditating.
Or so he thought.
Inside, something stirred.
The flames at the edges of his body flickered strangely, turning from orange to violet for the briefest of moments.
His eyes snapped open.
"What was that?" he whispered.
But there was no answer.
Only the faintest whisper, almost inaudible:
"…burn… rewrite… ascend…"
Riser shook his head. He didn't hear it clearly. He assumed it was the wind outside.
He had no idea what was waking inside him.