One hour later.

The late evening sun shone a red, majestic color over an empty parking lot. It was dipping below the horizon.

“The sunset is quite beautiful at this time of year.” Chekhov spoke with a relaxed smile on his lips.

A white-haired girl with black hair clips was seated beside him. They were both waiting on an outdoor bench.

“...It’s alright,” Koneko muttered, “…I guess.”

She peered at the horizon with glazed eyes and a bored expression. Every once in a while, she would glance at the parking entrance, as if she was expecting something.

Eventually, the low rumble of a car’s motor broke the silence. A small cargo truck could be spotted entering the Kuoh Academy premises. It quickly came to a halt in front of the two of them.

Chekhov observed as a pot bellied man with balding, gray hair stepped out of the driver seat.

“Shipment for the Occult Research Club.” The chubby man spoke with a tired look.

“…That’s us,” Koneko said in a dull voice as she stepped forward.

“Sign here.” The man handed her a plastic clipboard. With a grunt, he unloaded 3 large, wooden crates onto the pavement.

Bearing curious eyes, Chekhov jumped forward and opened one of the crates. It was filled to the brim with junk food, including a large assortment of chocolates, apple pies, cake, and cream puffs. 

“Mine!” Koneko flatly snapped at him. “…Don’t touch.”

“Sorry,” Chekhov casually apologized, “I thought that these were the other provisions that we ordered.”

Hearing this, the paunchy middle-aged man snorted.

“Kids these days,” he muttered underneath his breath, “they all stuff their fat, misshapen bodies with heavy loads of diabetes.”

As Chekhov lifted the lid off the other two wooden crates, a fresh fragrance with hints of lemon and mint wafted into the air. These wooden boxes held a large collection of exotic herbs and spices.

The delivery man wrinkled his nose in disgust, tightening his flabby jowls. He disdainfully retrieved the clipboard from Koneko and drove off without saying another word.

“…What’s his problem?” Koneko silently remarked while Chekhov was rummaging through the supplies.

All of a sudden, Chekhov’s face lit up with a joyous smile. He had spotted an enormous portion of high-quality salmon.

“This…” He uttered in delight, “This is just too much to accept! Rias is especially generous, spending so much on a new member.”

“…” Koneko blankly stared at him whilst tearing open a small packet of miniature cream puffs. She ravenously took a bite out of a handful of them.

“Koneko,” Chekhov turned to the white-haired girl with a warm smile, “it means a lot to me that you accompanied me outside and assisted with the pickup.”

“Hmph!”

Koneko testily pouted, hurriedly gobbling down her mouthful of cream puffs. Her golden eyes revealed a spark of emotion as she continued with a muffled voice.

“…I’m only helping because Rias told me to.”

Restabilizing her expressionless demeanor, Koneko snatched the crate of junk food with both hands and started briskly tramping away. She had also jammed the remaining cream puffs into her mouth.

“Wait, Koneko.” Chekhov insisted. “I thought you might be willing to lend me a hand with something else.”

The white-haired girl kept crabbily marching away, pretending to ignore him.

Chekhov sighed with a regretful look.

“I was just about to prepare a plate of my extra special sushi. Alas, I don’t know anyone who can critique my meals.”

Koneko abruptly paused as she heard the mention of sushi. A glimmer of eagerness could be seen in her face.

“My delectable cuisine will all be for nothing…” Chekhov said in a somber tone. He tilted his head down and very slowly shook it in disappointment.

Thump!

A dull, but soft thud could be heard from beside Chekhov. Both of his wooden crates had mysteriously disappeared from the pavement.

“…Hungry,” Koneko’s voice sounded from beside him. “…I’ll help you, only this once.”

She stacked the three wooden crates, one on top of another. Although they extended from her waist to above her head, she was able to lift them as easily as a feather.

“Koneko!” Chekhov worriedly exclaimed.

Creasing his forehead in concern, he stridently continued, “Carrying them all like that is very dangerous.”

Koneko’s small head peeked out from the side of the crates.

“…I’m good,” she curtly stated. “…Let’s just eat.”

Before Chekhov could refute, the petite white-haired girl started to stride away. He ended up tagging behind the girl with a helpless smile.

Looking at Koneko’s back, his caramel brown eyes radiated hints of sweetness, warmth, and geniality. However, Chekhov’s inner intrigues were utterly poles apart.

‘Indeed, Koneko, let us eat. Today’s dinner will be an antecedent to the main course: a healthy, nutritive, white-haired gorilla.’

. . . . .

A young blond man stood still on an elevated pavilion. The clear, white moonlight cast his long shadow on the ground. His bluish-gray eyes carefully stirred from left to right, surveilling the surrounding area like a hawk.

This young blond man, Kiba, tightly scrunched his eyebrows. He was holding an abundantly grim expression.

“Nothing is adding up properly…” he muttered in contemplation.

Whirr, whirr.

A bright red light started to materialize on the ground below him. Complex runes were strangely engraving themselves in the shape of a circle, emitting vibrant fluctuations of Demonic Power.

With a metallic cling, a young lady materialized out of thin air. Unmistakably, her crimson-red hair and aristocratic shoulder cape could only belong to Rias Gremory.

Looking up and spotting Kiba, the young lady commenced forward with a single step. Bat-like wings emerged from her back, and at the same time, her figure had instantly disappeared into a red blur.

In just a few seconds, she appeared on the rooftop of a nearby building. Her crimson hair wildly blew upward from the turbulent aftershock.

“Kiba,” her grave voice sounded. “I came as soon as I got the message. What’s the emergency about?”

The blond man turned around and responded with a low voice, “I’m afraid that there’s an inexplicable conspiracy going on in Kuoh Town.”

Rias asked with a quizzical frown. “What are you implying?”

“Please follow me, Ms. Rias.” Kiba uttered as he stepped past the young lady.

He led her down a long, curved staircase leading into the building’s underground storage facility. The place was clearly ill-maintained, as seen by the moldy, refurbished walls. As they both entered a branch hallway, a pungent, rotting, and bloody odor quickly overwhelmed the air.

Rias wrinkled up her nose in repugnance.

“What’s that stench?” she asked.

Kiba clenched his fists as he responded.

“The deceased bodies of the innocent.”

“What?!” Rias replied in disbelief, an uncanny sensation building in her heart.

Kiba continued with a lamenting expression.

“Rias, do you remember the Stray Devil from last week?”

“Yes, I’ve seen a copy of your report,” Rias replied. Surmising on what had occurred, her bleak, vacant eyes started to grow remote.

Kiba halted his footsteps and slowly turned around, explaining in an austere tone.

“This abandoned warehouse is one of the few suspected hideouts of that Stray Devil. But I’ve come across these abnormal findings—” he abruptly paused, placing his hand in front of a wooden door.

After a moment of hesitation, Kiba shoved the door open to the side.

Cough, cough!

Kiba swiftly placed a handkerchief over his mouth and nose, trying to avoid direct contact with the fumes.

The corridor’s pungent odor had instantly doubled, flooding the atmosphere with a nauseating and suffocating taste. Within sight was a small, enclosed boiler room littered with dried blood and human corpses.

Most of the disfigured bodies were adult men, asphyxiatingly tied up with thick ropes. Their clothes were torn, and some didn’t have any at all. Furthermore, their limbs and body parts seemed to be violently torn or mangled by a ferocious beast.

“This is—or rather—this was a torture chamber for the Stray Devil’s victims.” Kiba gritted his teeth in anger, noticing an innocent girl’s corpse among the men.

“However, there aren’t any recent signs of Demonic Power. They all seem to have bled out or suffocated 4⁠–5 days ago,” he explained.

Rias cast a focused gaze and commented, “Under normal circumstances, a Stray Devil would never abandon its source of nourishment like that.”

“Yes.” Kiba nodded and replied, “In fact, its traces have entirely vanished from Kuoh Town. It’s probable that someone else has captured or killed the Stray Devil before us.”

“Precisely,” Rias uttered in a sepulchral tone. “Now, this only confirms my juncture from several weeks ago.”

She held out her arms together, and a bright red light began to lace around her hands in a spiral. She wore a straight face, emotionlessly staring at the human corpses.

“I had long opined suspicions on a particular uncharted, rogue group of Fallen Angels.”

“Huh?” remarked Kiba. “What does this mean?

Zap!

A crimson red beam discharged in multiple directions, disintegrating and cleaning up the bloody corpses in an instant.

“It means—we may have some uninvited guests who are intruding within our territory.”

. . . . .

The next day.

The sky was light gray, and the air was clemently humid. Tiny water droplets had begun lightly showering over the Taiheiyo Forest ecoregion.

Along the edges of Kuoh Town, a female figure with black, feathered wings was soaring above the trees. Through careful observation, one could also discern her attire. She was donned in a dark blue polyester jacket with a plain t-shirt underneath.

After an hour of constant travel, the young lady started steeply descending. Within seconds, she landed on the wet grass in front of a worn-down straw cottage.

Squish, squish.

Discreetly stepping into the open, miniature raindrops could be seen trickling down her silky black hair. Evidently, this young lady was none other than Raynare.

However, most unusually, she was carrying an unconscious blonde girl in her thin arms. This young blonde was around the same age as her, dressed in a nun outfit.

Raynare entered the cottage and placed the blonde girl on the dry ground, her back leaning against a cold, metal pole. She twisted the girl’s frail arms behind the pole, and then ruthlessly fastened her wrists together with a sharp, steel wire.

The thin wire cruelly cut into the blonde girl’s delicate skin, triggering a stinging jolt of pain.

“Ah!” The girl yelped.

In a panic, she instinctively attempted to wriggle around. The steel wire raked against her fragile skin, causing her fresh wounds to lacerate even further.

“What’s happening?!” she cried out in despair. “Let me go!”

After a few seconds, the blonde girl noticed Raynare’s beautiful figure standing behind her. Her innocent, green eyes brightened full of hope.

“Raynare, thank the Lord you’re here! Please, get me out of this place!”

“…”

Only the slow pitter-patter of raindrops could be heard.

Raynare didn’t seem to acknowledge her existence. She apathetically rolled up a chair and seated herself without the slightest concern.

“Heyyy! Can you see me? Am I a ghost?” the blonde nun mulled in confusion.

As time slowly inched by, she noticed that the stinging pain from her cuts felt very real.

“Oww… I just want to go back to the church.” she sobbed.

The blonde nun was unwilling to accept that Raynare had tied her up. Eventually, her short cries died down into soft whimpers and tears.

It had felt like a painfully long time when the blonde finally noticed a tall, male figure stepping into the enclosure. A Japanese men-yoroi mask concealed his face, and he was also wearing a plain brown robe.

She immediately tilted her head down, afraid to make eye contact with the stranger.

“I see that we’ve come across a change in plans,” a low voice sounded throughout the room.

The young man lowered his drenched umbrella to the side. He then crouched in front of the blonde girl, unhurriedly placing three fingers under her chin and raising her head up.

As their eyes interlocked, the blonde girl shuddered—the feeling of a cold emptiness was briskly enveloping her.

Scrutinizing the girl, Chekhov noticed a silver cross necklace and her tearfully moist, green eyes. Without a doubt, he recognized that she was Asia Argento, one of the major female leads in the original timeline.

Asia possessed Twilight Healing, a rare Sacred Gear. Although it was nothing too remarkable, it was another ring-form Sacred Gear that Chekhov wanted to study.

‘This yellow lemon cake is indeed an interesting specimen. Unfortunately, since I don’t have a refrigerator, delicacies like these must be eaten quickly before they expire.’

“Who are you?” her shaky voice asked.

Ignoring the blonde, Chekhov stood up and turned to Raynare.

“It’s a pity that we can’t keep her for long. It’s too reckless to conduct extended experiments under the monitor of Kuoh Town.”

“Indeed,” Raynare replied, “but that’s the least of our concerns.”

She stood up, removing her hood and revealing her exquisite violet eyes.

“I’ve noticed that the Fallen Angel group is infested with too many spies. Hence, I’ve secretly leaked the information myself, and made further preparations for accelerated events.”

Chekhov paused to think for a moment. He tilted his head and glanced out a window. The raindrops were forming multiple streams of water as they gracefully slid downward.

“I have not contaminated Kiba’s body yet,” Chekhov stated. “Are you confident that you can take two on at once? Your strength is deteriorating faster than we expected.”

With a slight smile, Raynare stepped forward and held her forearm out.

“I believe this was your doing?” she said.

Through close inspection, Chekhov noticed that Raynare’s blood circulation was starting to accelerate, pulsating faster and faster through her veins. Additionally, black particles were conglomerating in her sclera, swiftly flowing into her violet irises. Within a split second, her eyes revealed two pitch-black circles of nothingness.

“You’ve somehow inherited my remodeled soul...” Chekhov uttered with curious eyebrows. “It confirms that my Sacred Gear has the capability of time/space manipulation.”

“Whatever the case might be,” Raynare turned around, facing the door. “With my current strength, I am able to bridge the gap between the low-class peak stage and the mid-class initial stage.”

“Interesting.” Chekhov asked, “Then, do you need anything from me?”

Raynare stepped forward, approaching the blonde girl, Asia.

“No, I’ve already made most of the arrangements.”

A high-pitched squeal sounded from the lump of meat on the floor, “W-what are you going to do with me?”

Asia’s tearful, red cheeks were trembling with soft facial tics. Yet, as if she was a trivial block of dirt on the road, Raynare gracefully stepped over her body and walked out the front entrance.

Potsu, potsu, potsu.

The cacophonous sound of raindrops was gradually increasing. Turning toward Chekhov once again, Raynare’s eyes shimmered and returned to their beautiful violet color.

She put on her hood and announced, “I will be back by the end of today.”

After unraveling her feathered wings, Raynare’s figure flashed, swiftly disappearing into the rainy, gray sky.

‘Now then.’ Chekhov mused.

‘I mustn’t forget about this yellow lemon cake. My beloved split soul was kind enough to purchase it for me. Food is quite scarce, and it certainly isn’t cheap during these trying times.’

After Raynare had left, Chekhov tilted his head down at Asia. A pair of caramel brown eyes behind his intimidating mask seemingly focused onto the girl’s bosom.

“Please, sir, be gentle with me…” Asia tearfully sniffed.

As he reached downward, Asia let out a pre-emptive squeal. Unholy images flashed through her head, speculating on what was about to happen next.

Rrrr-rip!

“Ahhhh!” Asia screamed.

Chekhov had yanked off Asia’s cross necklace. Its compact silver chains left a deep bruise on the back of her neck.

‘A luscious cherry on top of the lemon cake—this may come in handy later. There’s no use in letting any Holy Artifacts go to waste.’

Chekhov expressionlessly took a step back and held out his palm facing upward. A black sphere steadily formed around the girl.

This time, however, the sphere was far denser than before. It had taken several minutes to completely materialize, and it was fully opaque like a pitch-black wall.

‘I wonder, is my highest power output capable of devouring a rare-class Sacred Gear?’ Chekhov pondered as he slowly flexed his fingers inward.

Without a sound, the black sphere abruptly collapsed into an infinitesimal dot. Clearly, the girl’s body had been crushed and consumed.

However, Chekhov knew something had gone wrong.

‘I failed…?’

. . . . .

The sky had transitioned into dark gray, signaling the arrival of dusk. Even so, the rain was still drizzling over Kuoh Town at a steady pace.

“Arrgh! It’s been raining for hours!” a high-pitched voice noisily sounded.

Three Fallen Angels wearing raincoats were silently poised along a wide, forest path. However, a particular blonde-haired girl was vociferously complaining to the other two.

“I hate, hate, hate this forsaken weather!” the blonde Lolita exclaimed.

Kalawarna replied with a grunt, “Mittelt, you have got to be kidding me. How many times do I have to tell you to shut the f*ck up!”

The blonde Lolita, Mittelt, was hopping from side to side with her arms extended. She narrowly avoided dirty puddles while she was trying to find a dry place to stand.

“Ew. Ew. Gross! Now my new shoes are all muddy!”

Seeing this, Kalawarna groaned in frustration. She lightly shook her head and slammed her palm into her face.

“Now, now,” Dohnaseek adjusted his fedora, declaring with a rough voice, “we shouldn’t be bickering amongst ourselves.”

“Hmph!” Kalawarna snorted. “Anyway, why did Raynare make all three of us guard this choke point?”

“I don’t know,” Dohnaseek uttered. “However, Raynare said that she knows how to conduct the ritual by herself.”

He slid his fingers into a pair of black gloves as he continued, “We just need to stick to the plan, and everything will go fine.”

At this instant, a mocking female laugh sounded from within the trees.

“Hehe… What’s this ‘plan’ that you guys are talking about?”

Kalawarna whipped around in the direction of the voice. With a solemn expression, she tried listening further, but only the soft pattering of the rain could be heard.

“We’ve got company,” she squinted her eyes and announced out loud.

A few seconds later, sludging footsteps started to resonate. A strange young lady could be seen leisurely sauntering into the open. She flicked back her dark purple hair and gave the Fallen Angels a smile.

Noticing the intruder, Kalawarna curled her upper lip and muttered in disgust, “Devils.”

Upon a detailed scrutiny, the young lady was wearing a Kuoh Academy uniform. Her clothes were skin-tight, doused in the rain. They accentuated her large breasts and curvy thighs.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the young lady placed her hands on her hips, “my name is Akeno Himejima. I heard you guys were having a cozy little party up here.”

Her face held a relaxed grin, and her chin was slightly elevated as if she was looking down on the Fallen Angels.

“…”

The group stood in silence. Conceited smiles were quickly growing on their faces.

“Hahaha…” Dohnaseek suddenly placed his hand on his forehead and started madly laughing. “Only one Devil came to stop us?”

“You have no chance in beating us, let alone Miss Raynare!” Mittelt commented with a prideful smirk.

She raised her arm to the side, and white electricity began to spark around it.

“Goodbye, stupid Devil.”