The battlefield simmered with supernatural tension, saturated by the residual energy of battles already fought. Smoke curled along the artificial battlefield's shattered terrain—broken columns and scorched tiles told the tale of the onslaught. Rias Gremory's peerage stood battered but determined, their eyes locked on the towering figure of Riser Phenex, wings of flame unfurled behind him.
And yet… something was wrong.
Riser stood too still. His flames pulsed unnaturally, flickering not with arrogance, but with some unseen pressure.
Rias, panting, took a step forward, brushing dirt from her torn sleeve. "Riser, this is enough! You're overstepping the rules of the game—!"
But Riser didn't respond. His gaze wasn't directed at Rias, or her team. His pupils dilated, unfocused. For a moment, it was as though he was listening to a voice only he could hear.
Hidden in a dimensional fold just outside the field of perception, Amon observed the events like a director admiring the climax of his orchestration.
In his hidden realm, Amon leaned against the edge of space, a monocle glowing faintly. Candles surrounded him, burning steadily despite the lack of fuel or oxygen—illusions made real because he declared it so.
And at the center of his attention now: Riser Phenex, the puppet infected with a subtle sliver of his power.
"A spark of myself, planted in a man who believes himself immortal," Amon mused. "Let's see what happens when belief meets reality."
Back on the battlefield, Riser clutched his head. Flames erupted around his body—not golden and regal as before, but chaotic, fragmented, as if ignited by a false sun.
Kiba instinctively stepped in front of Rias, sword raised. "That fire… it's different."
"It's like it's not even real fire," Akeno whispered. "It twists space."
Riser's form pulsed. Skin shimmered like broken glass. His voice echoed not just aloud but within their thoughts. "Who… am I…?"
And then, for a split second, they saw something.
A silhouette behind Riser's flickering form—tall, with a wide-brimmed hat, cloak rustling in a non-existent wind, and a glowing monocle over one eye. It was there and not there, visible only in the corner of one's mind.
Then it was gone.
The flames consumed Riser once more—but he didn't scream. He welcomed them.
Azazel, watching from the stands beside Serafall and Michael, rose to his feet, eyes narrowing. "He's surfacing…"
Michael turned to him. "You mean Amon?"
Azazel nodded, face grim. "A fragment, at least. He's using Riser as a conduit."
"But how?" Serafall asked. "There was no sign. No fluctuation in the Phenex flame."
"Because he's not magic. He's not a devil, angel, or fallen. He's… Error. He bypasses detection not because he's stealthy, but because he shouldn't exist."
Michael clenched his fists. "Why now? Why use Riser?"
Azazel looked down at Issei, still breathing heavily after his last clash. "Because his true target is watching."
Amon's voice echoed through Riser's lips, now smiling serenely. "You believe your existence is protected by rules. That Rating Games have boundaries. That systems safeguard your world. But I am the antithesis of rules."
He floated slightly above the ground, flames forming a helix around him. The audience couldn't look directly at him anymore—something about his form made the eyes recoil.
"Rias Gremory," he said through Riser's mouth. "You are brave. But bravery doesn't protect against corruption."
Rias forced herself to step forward, despite the pressure. "If you're trying to frighten me, you're wasting your time. We've fought gods."
"You've fought power," Amon said. "But never the rejection of logic itself."
He raised a hand. For a split moment, the battlefield bent inward—geometry twisting, up becoming down, and every peerage member felt their hearts skip. But then, like a snapped thread, it reverted. Just a warning.
Azazel activated a device at his wrist. "I'm going to request a battlefield lockdown. If that parasite manifests fully, this won't be a game anymore."
Michael was already chanting a containment prayer.
Inside Riser, some vestige of self-awareness flickered. "I… am not you…" he grunted.
Amon smiled. "No. But you are mine now."
And then Issei stepped forward.
His body ached. His Sacred Gear hadn't fully charged. But he didn't care.
"You bastard…" Issei growled. "You think you can control someone's life like that?!"
Amon turned the possessed Riser's head toward him. "Ah, Red Dragon Emperor. Do you know what's most fascinating about you? Your fate is… tangled. A beautiful knot."
Issei clenched his fists. "Get out of him!"
Amon tilted his head. "No."
With that word, Riser raised his hand and unleashed a wave of fire—not just heat, but a pulse that distorted time for a blink. The attack surged toward Issei.
But Kiba was faster. With a flash of demonic energy, he parried the blast. "He's stalling," Kiba said. "He's testing us."
"He doesn't want to win," Akeno added. "He wants to see what we'll do."
Rias looked to Issei. "Then we show him what we're made of."
Amon whispered through Riser's grin. "Indeed. Show me your resistance. So I can make it mine."
And the next phase of the game began—not just a contest of strategy, but a war of meaning.