I got Reincarnated Into High School DxD But I Refuse to Be a Slave to Anime Tiddies

Chapter 60

POV: Yasaka

The steam rising from the iron kettle carried the scent of roasted stems and aged leaves through the chamber in slow spirals, mingling with the incense that burned inside a bronze fox-shaped brazier near the alcove wall, while beyond the shoji screens the distant pulse of Kyoto’s spiritual arteries throbbed like a sickened heartbeat beneath the earth itself, unsteady and wrong in a manner that made Yasaka’s skin crawl with every breath she drew.

The room had been prepared according to ancient rites reserved for honored gods of the highest order, every tatami mat newly replaced, every lacquered beam polished until it reflected the amber glow of candlelight, every arrangement of white Chrysanthemums positioned with ritual rigour beside the Tokonoma alcove where an old hanging scroll depicted Amaterasu emerging from the Heavenly Rock Cave, illuminating the world with divine radiance.

The irony of that image felt bitter now.

Yasaka sat formally upon her knees across the low blackwood table, her golden kimono spilling around her like liquid sunlight while the sleeves of her loose black haori pooled against the tatami beside her thighs, and although her posture remained composed through long habit and centuries of experience, exhaustion weighed visibly upon her shoulders in ways she no longer possessed the strength to conceal.

Her long blonde hair had partly come undone from its careful bindings hours ago, several strands hanging over her face despite the golden Kanzashi ornaments still fixed in place above her temples, and her eyes bore faint shadows beneath them that no yokai healing could erase.

Across from her sat the Queen of Heaven herself. Or rather, something close enough to deceive nearly anyone else.

Amaterasu’s projection body was flawless as all gods are.

The goddess sat with effortless grace, her white and gold Junihitoe layered perfectly around her slender frame while her long black hair flowed behind her like spilled ink beneath the crescent-shaped divine ornament adorning the back of her head, and the warmth radiating from her presence filled the chamber with an unnatural serenity that resembled standing beneath the morning sun after days of rain.

Even the tea steaming between them seemed calmer in her presence. Yet Yasaka noticed immediately upon the goddess’ arrival that something essential was absent.

The true Amaterasu radiated overwhelming life and warmth, while this body merely imitated that sacred presence with frightening accuracy.

This was merely a puppet vessel. An immaculate construct infused with divine authority and enough sacred power to crush most supernatural beings present in Japan, though still only a fragment of the true goddess.

The realization had settled into Yasaka’s stomach like cold lead the moment Amaterasu entered the room.

The Shinto Gods were afraid.

Afraid enough that the Queen of Heaven would not descend personally into Kyoto. Afraid enough that even here, within the heart of Yasaka’s domain, they feared attracting His attention.

Yasaka lowered her gaze toward the tea set before them.

She had prepared Gyokuro personally, a tea once reserved for imperial courts and divine rites.

The leaves had been shaded for weeks before harvest to deepen their sweetness and increase the concentration of spiritual essence within them, then aged carefully within her treasury for decades. The porcelain cups resting before them were thin enough that the warmth seeped gently through the fingertips when held properly, and the tea itself possessed an emerald hue almost luminous beneath candlelight.

There existed an old belief among shrine priests that Gyokuro reflected the soul of the one who prepared it.

A bitter brew was said to reveal inner turmoil, unrest lingering beneath the surface no matter how carefully concealed. A sweet and balanced cup, by contrast, reflected clarity of mind and harmony of spirit.

And as Yasaka watched Amaterasu drink in silence, she found herself fearing what exactly the Sun Goddess tasted now. 

The goddess lifted the cup with slow elegance, supporting it beneath with one hand while the other steadied the rim according to formal custom, then brought it to her lips and drank in silence.

Only after carefully setting the cup down did Amaterasu finally speak. “The corruption has worsened since your message reached Takamagahara. I can practically taste it in the air.”

Her voice carried the strange quality all true gods possessed, soft and restrained while somehow seeming to echo faintly through the soul itself.

“It spreads through the leyline faster each day, Amaterasu-sama,” Yasaka said tiredly, even speaking calmly required effort now. “The leyline purification barriers are failing district by district. The younger yokai can no longer absorb spiritual power safely and some have already begun losing themselves. There is rot and hunger in the air.”

The fox yokai’s fingers tightened slightly against her knee. “At first, the weaker yokai suffered only small changes in temperament, becoming irritable, restless, and prone to anger without understanding why. Then the affliction deepened into paranoia, violence, and waking hallucinations, until several clans began turning their blades upon one another over insults and threats that had never truly existed. Now children are being born spiritually malformed, and some among my people have begun hearing whispers rising from beneath the city itself.”

She hesitated. Even now she disliked speaking about His influence aloud. It feels as though merely speaking of Him made him stronger.

“In the last month alone I have had to personally execute forty-three yokai who lost themselves completely.”

The room fell silent except for the faint crackle of incense. The goddess maintained the same calm expression throughout, hands resting neatly upon her lap after setting the tea bowl down. The divine aura surrounding her continued to radiate warmth like distant sunlight filtering through clouds.

Yasaka hated how comforting it felt, because it changed nothing. Yasaka did not need comfort. She needed results.

“The one responsible is a god of conflict and malice,” the goddess said carefully. “Such corruption is unsurprising.”

She did not speak the name aloud, and Yasaka noticed immediately that Amaterasu had carefully avoided doing so as well throughout the entire conversation, because neither of them possessed any desire to invite the attention of a being whose very existence had become synonymous with calamity and bloodshed across the supernatural world. 

Even within the privacy of her own thoughts Yasaka had gradually trained herself to avoid lingering too long upon the name directly, because merely remembering it too clearly now filled her with the irrational sensation that something vast and malicious might suddenly turn its gaze toward her from somewhere impossibly far away.

Tezcatlipoca.

Even the thought of the name felt poisonous inside her mind, like black venom spreading slowly through spiritual veins.

Years ago he had slaughtered thirty thousand humans in ritual sacrifice merely to force himself further beyond the boundaries of ordinary divinity and become a truly transcended being, staining entire regions with such overwhelming bloodshed and spiritual pollution that the land itself had remained cursed for months afterward, while countless restless spirits wandered through those territories screaming without mouths or eyes beneath skies that never fully brightened during the day. 

What horrified the supernatural world most deeply was that the evil god had emerged from the ritual vastly stronger than before, ascending into something far more monstrous and terrifying than anyone had anticipated possible.

Since that day the world itself seemed to bend unnaturally around his presence, while every rumor surrounding him carried the same suffocating atmosphere of dread and inevitable catastrophe that usually accompanied natural disasters or the awakening of ancient monsters. 

The last confirmed appearance of the Azetic god of war had occurred during the vampire conflict, when he had personally erected the barrier that separated their dimension from everything, and even now the mere memory of that feat continued unsettling every major faction that understood what it truly implied. 

The barrier had been a masterpiece of sorcery and divine craftsmanship so advanced and overwhelming that even the mighty Hero Faction, despite deploying some of humanity’s strongest Sacred Gear wielders and holy specialists against it repeatedly, had failed utterly to shatter or bypass it through force.

Afterward he had vanished completely from the face of the world, retreating into silence so absolute that countless factions breathed sighs of relief once his presence disappeared from active affairs, because no one desired attracting the attention of a being whose every appearance left devastation in its wake. 

Every story surrounding him eventually reached the same conclusion regardless of where it began, because the paths touched by his influence always ended with corpses piled high enough to stain rivers red, with madness spreading through survivors like disease, and with entire nations left trembling afterward beneath the weight of whatever horrors he had unleashed upon them.

And now that same being had sunk his claws into Kyoto. Yasaka did not know why he had targeted them specifically or what he seeks to accomplish, only that there will be a bitter price to pay.

Yasaka forced herself to maintain proper composure despite the cold unease tightening around her chest as she leaned forward gracefully and reached for the iron kettle resting above the charcoal brazier, while steam curled softly upward around her pale fingers as she carefully refilled Amaterasu’s cup first before finally serving herself according to proper ceremonial etiquette. 

The hollow courtesy of ritual still mattered even now while disaster slowly consumed her people from beneath the city itself.

Especially now, Yasaka understood with painful clarity that she needed the favor of the gods more desperately than ever before, and so she would kneel politely, serve tea with flawless etiquette, and endure whatever humiliation or frustration became necessary if doing so offered even the slightest possibility that heaven might finally take the suffering of her people seriously. 

She would sacrifice her pride without hesitation if it meant protecting Kyoto, safeguarding the countless yokai children living within her domain, and saving Konou from the nightmare slowly spreading beneath the city.

“The Five Principal Clans have begun openly hunting my people,” she said quietly. “They claim the yokai contamination threatens Kyoto’s spiritual balance and therefore justifies purification measures.”

A flicker of anger passed through her golden eyes. She suppressed it quickly, though she doubted the sun goddess missed it.

“They attack Yokai’s within my domain openly and without provocation, Amaterasu-sama, while claiming they act in the interest of spiritual stability, and they slaughter isolated yokai near the entrances connected to human Kyoto whenever patrols fail to arrive in time to protect them,” she said quietly, though the strain beneath her voice had become impossible to fully conceal any longer. “Several members of the Five Principal Clans have even begun seizing weakened yokai already suffering from leyline poisoning before publicly burning them alive as tainted entities without trial, investigation, or even the smallest attempt to determine whether those victims could still be saved.”

Amaterasu lowered her gaze toward the tea. “The clans act independently in many matters they consider to be dangerous,” she said. “and history has shown repeatedly that humans confronted with forces they cannot fully understand often become irrational and fearful creatures.”

Yasaka’s tails shifted faintly behind her.

“They invoke your authority while doing so,” she replied after several seconds of silence, while her eyes remained fixed upon Amaterasu’s face with quiet intensity. “With all due respect, Amaterasu-sama, they carry divine blessings granted through generations of service to the Shinto pantheon, and every member of those clans believes themselves justified because they assume heaven silently approves their actions.”

The goddess lifted the tea bowl slowly toward her lips before answering. “Human beings invoke many things in order to justify the actions they already wished to commit.”

Yasaka stared at her silently afterward while the rain continued whispering beyond the shoji screens and steam drifted upward between them in pale twisting strands.

There it was again.

That evasiveness.

That smooth divine avoidance woven so carefully into every sentence that the truth remained perpetually concealed behind layers of elegance and diplomacy, while never once being denied directly enough to challenge openly. 

Amaterasu spoke like a ruler who wished to maintain the appearance of compassion and authority while simultaneously refusing to bind herself to any course of action that might carry risk, and Yasaka increasingly realized with every passing moment that the heavens had already decided how much suffering they were willing to tolerate from Kyoto so long as it prevented greater dangers from turning toward themselves instead.

The fox woman inhaled slowly through her nose, steadying herself before frustration could overcome decorum.

“I…I have maintained Kyoto for centuries,” she said. “When disasters threatened this land, my faction bled for it alongside the shrines. When foreign gods intruded upon Japan, my people died defending human cities. Even now I continue holding the leyline together despite…” Her jaw tightened faintly. “Despite what festers inside it.”

Her eyes finally lifted fully toward the goddess. “I requested this audience because Kyoto cannot endure much longer without aid.”

“And you shall receive what assistance Heaven can reasonably provide,” Amaterasu said, meeting her gaze calmly.

Yasaka almost laughed.

Reasonably. 

Such a small word. Such a cowardly one.

“The corruption cannot be cleansed through shrine rituals anymore,” Yasaka continued. “Every hour I spend suppressing it becomes harder. He keeps forcing more of Himself into the leyline. His influence grows stronger each night.”

For the first time since entering the chamber, Amaterasu’s fingers paused ever so slightly against the smooth porcelain surface of her tea cup, while the movement itself remained so small and restrained that a lesser observer would never have noticed it beneath the goddess’ carefully maintained composure and serene elegance. 

The reaction lasted for less than a second before her hand resumed its graceful stillness once more, though Yasaka had already seen enough to understand what lay hidden beneath the divine calmness surrounding the Queen of Heaven.

It was fear.

Subtle and deeply concealed fear, carefully buried beneath centuries of regal discipline and immaculate self control, though present nonetheless within that microscopic hesitation that momentarily interrupted the goddess’ otherwise flawless movements.

“You believe he intends to claim Kyoto entirely,” the goddess asked, very carefully.

“He already has one hand around its throat,” Yasaka said tiredly. “If the leyline collapses entirely, then my domain may destabilize alongside it because the pocket dimension sustaining western yokai society depends directly upon Kyoto’s spiritual flow for existence, and thousands could die during the resulting rupture between worlds.”

The room felt heavier afterward. Even Amaterasu’s calm presence seemed insufficient against the despair threaded through Yasaka’s words.

“My people absorb spiritual energy from Kyoto instinctively in order to survive,” Yasaka continued more softly. “The poisoned currents spread through them like disease, while children throughout the domain grow increasingly unstable each day, and every hour I spend containing the corruption personally leaves me weaker than before.”

Yasaka found her thoughts drifting unwillingly toward Kunou despite her efforts to remain focused upon the conversation unfolding within the quiet chamber, and the mere memory of her daughter’s face was enough to tighten something painfully inside her chest as images surfaced one after another within her mind with unbearable clarity. 

She remembered Kunou’s bright laughter echoing through the palace corridors during happier days untouched by fear and corruption, the stubborn determination she displayed whenever she attempted to imitate the dignity expected of a future leader despite still being so painfully young, and the way the child always tried to act brave whenever frightened so that others would not worry about her.

The thought of the corruption spreading beneath Kyoto eventually reaching her daughter caused something cold and violent to twist deep within Yasaka’s stomach, because she had already witnessed what the poisoned leyline currents were capable of doing to weaker yokai souls after prolonged exposure, and the possibility of Kunou suffering the same fate filled her with a terror she could scarcely endure.

“I am reaching my limit,” Yasaka admitted quietly at last, while the words themselves felt heavy and bitter upon her tongue the moment they left her mouth.

The confession tasted humiliating. A ruler entrusted with the lives of countless followers was never supposed to speak such weakness aloud before others, especially not before the Queen of Heaven herself, though exhaustion had worn Yasaka down so thoroughly over recent weeks that maintaining the illusion of endless strength had become increasingly impossible even for someone as proud as her.

For weeks without rest she had wrestled continuously against the poison spreading through the spiritual arteries beneath Kyoto, forcing immense amounts of her own power directly into the leyline hour after hour in order to contain the corruption before it consumed the city entirely.

She was also simultaneously suppressing riots among frightened yokai populations, hunting down those already driven insane by the contamination, negotiating constantly with terrified clan leaders desperate for reassurance, and struggling endlessly to prevent the western yokai faction from descending into outright civil collapse beneath mounting fear and desperation.

Even with the limitless spiritual energy of Kyoto’s leyline empowering her existence, Yasaka could feel herself slowly fraying beneath the strain like silk stretched beyond its limits for too long without relief.

The evil god pressing his influence against Kyoto possessed power so monstrous and overwhelming that Yasaka sometimes struggled to fully comprehend its depth whenever she touched the corruption directly through the leyline, because his presence felt ancient beyond reason, vast enough to resemble an abyss rather than an individual will, and endlessly predatory in a manner that made every instinct within her recoil in primal fear.

She was not weak. When tapped into the leyline, she could project power equal to that of a dragon king, but against the mad Azetic god…it was nothing.

Sometimes during the deepest hours of night, while seated alone within the sacred chambers beneath her palace and connected directly to the spiritual currents flowing beneath Kyoto, Yasaka could almost feel something on the other side looking back at her through the poisoned leyline itself with terrible amusement and endless patience.

Watching her despair.

And somehow, despite the impossible distance separating them, she occasionally felt as though the being lurking beyond was smiling.

“You are asking the Heavenly Pantheon to intervene directly in a matter involving one of the most dangerous beings currently walking the world,” Amaterasu said softly, her voice carrying the same serene composure that had remained unbroken since Yasaka entered the chamber. 

“I am begging you to intervene,” Yasaka answered before she could temper the desperation creeping into her voice, while the words emerged sharper than she had intended the moment they left her mouth.

Realizing her lapse immediately afterward, Yasaka lowered her head in formal apology while strands of golden hair slipped across her shoulders and brushed softly against the tatami floor beneath her knees.

“Please forgive my disrespect, Amaterasu-sama,” she said quietly.

“There is nothing to forgive.” 

Another careful response…

Another measured evasion wrapped so perfectly in courtesy that it became impossible to challenge openly without appearing unreasonable.

Yasaka suddenly found herself hating the entire conversation with an intensity that startled even her, because every detail surrounding them had begun to feel unbearable beneath the growing certainty forming slowly inside her chest. 

She hated the heavy scent of incense drifting lazily through the chamber, the ceremonial tea cooling untouched between them, the flawless divine composure Amaterasu maintained regardless of the suffering being discussed, and most of all the quiet implication lingering beneath every carefully chosen sentence spoken by the Queen of Heaven.

Nobody was coming to save Kyoto. 

No god intended to risk themselves for yokai.

Amaterasu folded her pale hands gracefully atop her lap while golden light shimmered faintly around her still form, and even now her presence continued radiating the same calm warmth associated with sunlight filtering through temple halls during winter mornings.

“The being responsible for Kyoto’s suffering is unstable beyond reason,” the goddess said carefully after several moments of silence. “Conflict itself nourishes his existence, while chaos and fear strengthen his authority further, and any direct confrontation carries the possibility of escalating matters into something far worse than the current situation.”

“You are gods,” Yasaka said quietly. “You govern this land, Amaterasu-sama, and every shrine, every clan, and every spiritual faction beneath heaven ultimately derives authority from your pantheon in one form or another…If even Heaven retreats, then what hope remains for those beneath you?”

For several long seconds the chamber remained utterly motionless aside from the soft hiss of the charcoal brazier and the distant rain whispering against the palace gardens outside.

Then Amaterasu spoke again with the same composed tone as before, though Yasaka noticed that the goddess’ gaze had lowered slightly toward the tea rather than meeting her eyes directly.

“There are powers within this world whose actions cannot be constrained easily even by heaven itself,” Amaterasu said quietly.

Yasaka felt bitterness rise hot within her throat. “So Heaven intends to do nothing,” she replied.

“We did not say that.”

“But you mean it.”

For the first time since arriving within the chamber, the goddess’ golden eyes narrowed slightly while the warmth surrounding her divine presence sharpened almost imperceptibly.

It was a warning.

Yasaka ignored it. Exhaustion and fear had already burned away too much of the restraint she normally maintained so carefully during political negotiations, while weeks spent watching her people suffer beneath worsening corruption had left her too hollow and desperate to continue pretending she could not hear the truth hidden beneath Amaterasu’s diplomacy.

“He slaughtered countless humans merely to force himself further beyond divinity,” Yasaka said quietly while keeping her gaze fixed upon the goddess across from her. “And ever since that ascension every major faction in the world has treated His existence like an approaching natural disaster rather than an individual being. Even now none dare challenge Him directly. And yet Kyoto is expected to endure this nightmare alone.”

Amaterasu’s gaze shifted toward the pale steam drifting upward between them before she answered, and Yasaka noticed once again how carefully the goddess avoided speaking the foreign god’s name aloud even now.

“He is a god of sorcery, calamity, conflict, and ruin,” Amaterasu said quietly. “Madness follows wherever his attention lingers for too long, while entire regions eventually collapse beneath the weight of His influence once he begins involving himself directly within their affairs. Any agreement attempted with such a being inevitably ends in tragedy for the opposing side.”

Yasaka hesitated then, because the thought she was about to voice had haunted her relentlessly for days despite how dangerous and foolish it sounded even within her own mind.

Finally she forced herself to speak. “Could you speak with Him?”

The atmosphere within the chamber changed immediately.

The warmth surrounding the room seemed to dim slightly despite the glowing lanterns, while even the incense smoke drifting through the air appeared strangely thinner and colder than before.

Amaterasu looked at her very slowly. Yasaka continued talking before fear could silence her.

“You are both gods,” she said carefully, while desperation slowly crept back into her voice despite her efforts to suppress it. “If anyone could establish boundaries or negotiate some form of compact, it would be you. Perhaps He would accept offerings, territory elsewhere, or conditions that spare Kyoto and my people from further suffering.” 

Amaterasu’s expression hardened faintly. 

“He does not bargain in good faith,” the goddess said quietly at last. “He delights in deceit and manipulation, while every agreement offered by him eventually conceals hidden ruin intended to destroy the opposing party once they have lowered their guard sufficiently. He possesses neither honor nor restraint, and His ambitions inevitably consume everything surrounding him regardless of whatever temporary promises or concessions He may offer beforehand.”

Yasaka watched her closely throughout the answer.

There it was again.

Fear concealed carefully beneath diplomacy and divine composure.

Even now Amaterasu refused to say the name aloud despite discussing him directly for nearly the entire conversation, while the Queen of Heaven herself spoke as though terrified that excessive attention or recognition might somehow draw his gaze toward her.

A hollow sensation spread slowly through Yasaka’s chest then, cold and heavy enough that she suddenly struggled to breathe properly for several seconds afterward.

The Shinto pantheon had already made their decision.

Kyoto was expendable.

The yokai were expendable.

As long as Heaven itself remained untouched, they would endure the losses quietly and pretend caution was wisdom rather than cowardice.

Yasaka lowered her gaze toward her untouched tea.

The Gyokuro had gone lukewarm. She remembered preparing it earlier with meticulous care despite trembling hands, pouring the water at exactly the correct temperature so the flavor would remain sweet and refined rather than bitter, because hospitality toward the divine still mattered to her even after centuries.

Now the tea tasted like ash.

“Then perhaps other factions,” Yasaka said softly after a long silence. “If Heaven will not intervene openly, perhaps introductions could be arranged. Someone strong enough to oppose him.”

“Sirzechs Lucifer may once have possessed the strength necessary to contest him directly,” Amaterasu said at last in a soft and measured voice. “Ajuka Beelzebub perhaps as well, given the frightening depth of his intellect and mastery.”

Yasaka’s fox ears twitched faintly beneath her long golden hair as she listened, though even before the goddess continued speaking she could already feel the fragile hope she had been clinging to slowly beginning to die inside her chest.

“Sirzechs Lucifer is dead,” Amaterasu continued quietly. “He was killed by the Prince of Hell himself.”

Yasaka felt her stomach tighten painfully at those words.

Even Amaterasu’s projected vessel seemed subtly disturbed while speaking about that being, the goddess’ calm divine warmth had dimmed slightly around the edges as though the mere topic itself carried unpleasant weight.

The Prince of Hell…

Another monster haunting the supernatural world. Another calamity swallowing everything surrounding it.

Yasaka lowered her gaze briefly toward the tatami floor while trying to steady the unease rising inside her mind.

“And Ajuka Beelzebub?” she asked quietly after a moment. “No one has seen him since the events that consumed the Underworld, and every rumor regarding his disappearance contradicts the last.”

Outside the chamber the corrupted pulse of Kyoto’s leyline throbbed faintly beneath reality itself like the heartbeat of something diseased and dying beneath the city, while Yasaka suddenly became acutely aware of how exhausted she truly felt after weeks spent carrying burdens that no single being should have been forced to endure alone.

“It would be unwise to involve the devils presently,” Amaterasu added. “Those who approach the underworld now risk becoming entangled with forces best avoided.”

Even her voice seemed colder while mentioning the accursed son of Lucifer, and Yasaka understood immediately that the warning carried genuine sincerity behind it. 

Desperate as she had become, she still possessed enough sense to avoid involving herself with Rizevim Livan Lucifer. If anything, the mad devil might have been even worse than Tezcatlipoca in ways that were somehow more terrifying precisely because they lacked purpose or reason.

“Any who draw his attention may ultimately share Artemis’s fate.”

Yasaka immediately remembered the fate of the Greek goddess. Artemis, the eternal maiden who had sworn herself to virginity before the heavens, had reportedly been violated by Rizevim himself during one of his monstrous whims. 

Such vows carried terrible consequences when broken, even unwillingly, and the backlash had shattered much of Artemis’s divine authority. She had lost her position among the Twelve Olympians afterward, her power diminished permanently beneath the weight of a broken oath forced upon her through humiliation and violence.

“What about the Hindu Pantheon?” Yasaka pressed desperately, refusing to surrender entirely to despair. “Surely the Trimurti could suppress him if convinced to intervene.”

Amaterasu closed her eyes briefly, and for the first time Yasaka sensed genuine weariness beneath the goddess’s flawless composure.

“The Trimurti rarely involve themselves directly in worldly conflicts,” she replied carefully. “Even obtaining an audience with them is extraordinarily difficult, and convincing them to move against…” She paused once again before the absent name, handling the omission with such deliberate caution that it only made the fear beneath it more obvious. “Against such an entity would prove vastly more difficult still.”

“And Lord Indra?” Yasaka pressed.

“He has little interest in risking open hostility over matters beyond his direct territory."

Yasaka nearly clenched her fists hard enough to draw blood from her palms before stopping herself at the last moment.

“So everyone waits,” she said quietly, though a dangerous sharpness had begun creeping steadily into her voice. “Everyone watches while Kyoto slowly rots beneath his malice. And when the corruption spreads further? When thousands begin dying? When the leyline collapses completely beneath the strain?”

“If Heaven openly conspires against him and fails, retaliation would follow," Amterastu declared.

There it was at last.

Yasaka looked away before her expression betrayed too much. Inside her chest, anger and despair churned together until she could scarcely separate them anymore.

Cowards!

All of them.

The Shinto Pantheon preached order and responsibility while sacrificing the yokai the moment genuine danger threatened them. 

The Five Principal Clans slaughtered weakened yokai beneath the excuse of purification while calling themselves protectors of humanity. 

Every faction across the supernatural world stood watching from a safe distance while Kyoto drowned slowly beneath spreading poison and madness.

And somewhere beneath the city, that thing continued laughing through the leyline.

…

Tezcatlipoca…

His name was cut into obsidian altars black as drowned stars and painted in blood across the temple walls of cities whose very dust had forgotten the language once spoken there, and the smoke of His worship climbed in pillars through jungles older than memory while captives with hearts still beating were bent backward upon sacrificial stones beneath the cold and sleepless eye of Heaven.

Tezcatlipoca was the night wind given hunger and will, the Smoking Mirror in whose depths kings saw their doom long before the knives reached them, the god who moved among empires as plague moves among cattle, unseen until the coughing started and the streets filled with corpses and the dogs went mad from feeding upon them. 

Wherever His priests carried His image there followed a procession of warbands draped in jaguar pelts and featherwork stiffened dark with old blood, men whose ears had been split for jade ornaments and whose teeth had been filed into points and whose shields were painted with snarling beasts and suns in eclipse, and behind them came the drums with their endless thunder that rolled through the valleys like the footfall of some colossal beast wandering unseen through the mountains.

Entire kingdoms abandoned their gods at rumor of His favor turning against them.

Cities sealed their gates and cast children into cenotes black as wells to buy themselves one more season beneath the sky. Warriors who had once walked proudly beneath banners sewn with emerald feathers and rabbit fur knelt in the dust and smeared ash across their faces when His emissaries approached, because they knew that the god in the mirror delighted in the humiliation of the mighty and counted the ruin of arrogance among His most sacred rites. 

The smoke from His braziers drifted through the marketplaces and over the canals and into the sleeping chambers of emperors until even dreams ceased to belong to mortal men.

The priests of Tezcatlipoca carried obsidian blades whose edges shone blue beneath torchlight and whose handles were wrapped in human skin cured hard as leather beneath the sun, and they climbed the pyramid stairs in long processions while conches screamed over the rooftops and incense choked the air with sweetness thick enough to taste upon the tongue, and the captives stumbled upward with limbs painted white for death while below them the gathered multitudes roared and swayed like wheat bending beneath a stormwind, and above them all there waited the god invisible and immense and smiling with the patience of things eternal.

There were stories whispered even among the other gods that Tezcatlipoca had once walked the earth in mortal guise to watch the suffering of men more closely, cloaked in black cotton with a mirror hanging where one foot should have been. Wherever He wandered famine followed and brothers murdered one another over crusts of maize while mothers buried infants wrapped in woven reeds beside roads lined with ceiba trees and vultures fattened themselves upon the dead until they could scarcely rise into the air.

And yet there came at last the season when the temples grew silent.

The drums ceased upon the pyramid summits and the sacred fires guttered low beneath rains that did not stop for weeks, and the old priesthood stood upon the terraces of Tenochtitlan watching pale strangers in iron shells advance through the causeways with thunder in their hands and beasts beneath them that moved like nightmares dragged screaming from the underworld, and still the captives were brought forward and still the knives descended and still the blood ran down the temple steps in red cataracts beneath a sky gone hard and gray as forged steel, because even then they believed the Smoking Mirror watched them and weighed their devotion in His unseen palm.

The empire bled itself before the altars while pestilence crept through the streets and corpses floated bloated in the canals and the stink of death rose thick enough to drown the incense, and the god who had demanded hearts by the thousand sat silent behind His veil of smoke while His cities cracked apart stone by stone beneath fire and cannon and starvation, and the survivors wandered the ruins with feathered cloaks hanging in filthy strips from their shoulders while weeds pushed up between the shattered foundations of the temples where once men had trembled to even raise their eyes.

Still there were those who swore they heard Him in the dark.

Hunters sleeping alone in the jungle spoke of seeing yellow eyes watching them from beyond the firelight and hearing laughter move through the trees without any visible mouth to carry it, and wandering priests with their hair matted in old blood claimed that mirrors left uncovered at midnight sometimes clouded black as obsidian and showed for an instant the reflection of a tall figure crowned in plumes and smoke whose gaze carried all the cold amusement of a god who had watched civilizations rise and perish and counted each of them as little more than sparks vanishing into the night wind.

…

She remembered the sensation of His influence brushing against her consciousness days earlier while stabilizing the central spiritual artery beneath Kyoto Station.

The presence she encountered there had felt impossibly vast, ancient and malicious beyond comprehension. It had felt like standing alone before a starving abyss wearing the shape of a god.

For one terrible instant she had sensed amusement from it as though her struggle entertained him.

Yasaka suddenly realized her hands were trembling faintly within her sleeves, and she folded them tighter in an attempt to conceal the weakness.

“I cannot maintain this forever,” she admitted softly after a long silence. “My people are terrified. The younger clans have already begun whispering about abandoning Kyoto entirely, and the children have started waking from nightmares screaming about black smoke beneath the city.”

Her throat tightened painfully for a moment before she forced herself onward.

“I don’t know how much longer I can continue protecting them.”

For the first time since Yasaka arrived, Amaterasu’s expression softened with something that appeared genuinely sincere.

Pity.

Which somehow hurt worse.

“You have endured admirably,” the goddess said. “Few beings alive could have resisted this long while maintaining Kyoto’s stability.”

Yasaka almost wanted to scream at her. Admiration meant nothing. Praise meant nothing. None of those empty acknowledgments changed the fact that her people continued suffering while Heaven watched from a distance. 

“We of heaven will continue observing the situation carefully,” Amaterasu continued in that same composed voice. “Should circumstances deteriorate further, additional measures may eventually become necessary.” 

Observing.

Yasaka understood everything in that instant. 

No aid was coming to Kyoto. No armies would descend from Heaven. No divine intervention would save the city from the nightmare slowly consuming it.

Only observation.

The fox woman lowered her gaze slowly as exhaustion settled deeper into her bones than ever before. Years ago she might have raged openly at such an answer. She might have demanded explanations, challenged Heaven directly, or forced them to confront their hypocrisy.

Now she simply felt empty.

Outside the chamber, wind stirred faintly through distant bamboo gardens connected to the estate, carrying with it the polluted spiritual taste that now infected nearly every breath within Kyoto. Even here within sacred barriers and ancient wards constructed by gods themselves, the corruption still lingered stubbornly in the air.

Yasaka found herself wondering how much longer it would take before the children noticed it permanently.

How much longer before Kunou did.

Amaterasu reached once more for her tea, and the porcelain produced a soft delicate sound against her fingers that seemed unnaturally loud within the silence.

“Your devotion to Kyoto will not be forgotten,” the goddess said quietly.

Yasaka nearly laughed again. Yasaka nearly laughed aloud at the statement.

History would remember her devotion long after her people were dead and her city reduced to ruins. The thought felt grotesquely ironic.

Her ears twitched suddenly as she heard footsteps. The footsteps had an extremely fast and panicked rhythm. Yasaka’s eyes narrowed toward the shoji doors just as they slid violently open.

A young shrine maiden stumbled inside breathing hard, her face pale with terror while several fox tails flickered erratically behind her from poorly controlled anxiety.

“Yasaka-sama!”

The girl immediately froze upon noticing Amaterasu present, then threw herself into a deep bow so quickly her forehead struck the tatami.

“Forgive me for interrupting!”

Yasaka’s pulse had already begun accelerating violently. Something was terribly wrong.

“What happened?” she demanded immediately.

The maidservant’s voice shook uncontrollably. “It’s Kunou-sama!”

The world seemed to stop around Yasaka. She had already risen halfway from the floor before realizing she moved at all.

“What about Kunou?”

The shrine maiden swallowed hard, her expression filled with naked fear.

“She has gone missing.”

…

The moment the shrine maiden finished speaking, Yasaka moved before thought could properly catch up with instinct, and every fragment of carefully maintained decorum shattered instantly beneath the overwhelming terror crashing through her chest.

Kunou was missing.

Her daughter was missing.

Yasaka rose so quickly from the tatami floor that the lacquered tea tray overturned beside her and sent the cups crashing across the wooden platform, while hot green tea splashed across the floorboards in widening stains that neither she nor the servants surrounding the chamber even noticed anymore. 

She did not bow toward Amaterasu nor did she apologize for abandoning the audience. She did not care that every tradition of heaven and Kyoto nobility demanded restraint in the presence of the Sun Goddess herself.

This was her daughter.

Nothing else mattered.

“Where was she last seen?” Yasaka demanded sharply while already striding toward the open shoji doors with enough force in her spiritual pressure that the paper screens trembled violently around her.

The young shrine maiden scrambled after her immediately.

“Northern forest district near the eastern streams, Yasaka-sama,” the girl answered breathlessly. “Lady Kunou was accompanying one of the evacuation patrols after reports of corrupted spirits appeared near the shrine roads, though several guards became separated during the confusion and by the time they regrouped Kunou-sama was already gone.”

Cold horror surged through Yasaka’s veins.

No.

No no no. This can’t be happening!

Her mind immediately raced toward the same nightmare that had haunted every sleepless night during recent weeks.

There was this sudden phenomenon of children disappearing. Young yokai wander away from populated districts for no discernible reason before vanishing entirely.

Sometimes they were found early enough, confused and frightened though otherwise unharmed, while claiming they had suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to walk deeper into the forests despite knowing perfectly well they should not.

Other times they were never found again.

Though occasionally small pieces remained behind such as a finger or an ear.

A fragment of bone carefully arranged beside sacred trees or abandoned shrine paths like offerings left for something monstrous lurking beneath the city.

Yasaka knew exactly whose influence stained those atrocities.

The Aztec gods had always been intertwined with sacrifice and ritual bloodshed, while Tezcatlipoca himself stood foremost among the darkest and cruelest of them all, reveling openly in suffering and death with such enthusiasm that entire festivals had once existed solely to honor him through human sacrifice. 

The ancient rite of Toxcatl had drenched temples in blood for generations beneath his worshippers, and now that same hunger had rooted itself beneath Kyoto like poison spreading through flesh.

And now Kunou, her only daughter,  was missing.

Oh heavens above, why Kunou?

The thought struck Yasaka so violently she nearly stumbled while rushing through the palace corridors, because for one horrifying moment she imagined Kunou alone somewhere deep beneath the forest while blackened hands dragged her toward some hidden altar soaked in blood and corruption.

No.

No no no.

She could not bear it. If anything happened to her daughter she would lose herself completely.

Servants and guards threw themselves aside hurriedly as Yasaka stormed through the palace halls with nine golden tails lashing violently behind her while spiritual pressure leaked uncontrollably from her body in suffocating waves. The elegant composure she had maintained before Amaterasu no longer existed, only panic remained beneath her skin.

How careless…

How unbelievably careless she had been. She had allowed herself to become distracted by politics and gods while the true danger continued spreading beneath her own territory unchecked.

The western yokai domain existed as a vast dimension in the spiritual realm connected directly to Kyoto through countless spiritual gateways hidden throughout the human city, while the domain itself stretched across forests, mountains, rivers, and ancient settlements large enough to rival Japan itself in sheer scale. Millions of yokai lived scattered throughout that endless expanse beneath the protection of Yasaka’s authority and Kyoto’s leyline.

Or at least they were supposed to be protected.

Lately even that certainty had begun crumbling.

Yasaka burst out onto the palace courtyard where rain fell heavily across stone pathways illuminated by foxfire lanterns, while dozens of armed yokai guards already waited anxiously beneath the storm.

“Mobilize every available patrol immediately,” Yasaka ordered without slowing her pace. “Seal every shrine gate connected to the northern districts and search every road, river, and forest path leading deeper into the eastern wilderness.”

The guards bowed instantly.

“Yes, Yasaka-sama!”

“You,” she snapped while pointing toward a fox yokai captain. “Take fifty men toward the southern ravines near the abandoned shrines and search every cave system personally. I want barrier specialists accompanying every group in case corrupted entities appear.”

“At once!”

She turned toward another commander. “Dispatch aerial patrols immediately and begin scanning the deeper forest sectors for illusion or concealed barriers. If anyone finds traces of foreign sorcery I want reports brought directly to me without delay.”

The courtyard exploded into motion. Yokai rushed through the rain carrying lanterns, talismans, and spiritual weapons while runners sprinted toward distant districts carrying Yasaka’s orders across the domain.

Still it felt too slow, far too slow.

The domain was enormous. Endless forests stretched for hundreds of kilometers beneath ancient mountains and hidden rivers, while entire yokai settlements vanished beneath dense wilderness, difficult even for experienced patrols to navigate quickly. 

Millions lived here across countless clans and territories, and searching such vastness for one missing child felt horrifyingly impossible.

Especially if He had already taken her.

The rain intensified as Yasaka herself rushed toward the northern forests accompanied by several elite guards, while every instinct within her screamed that time mattered desperately now.

Kunou knew better than to wander deeply into isolated territory alone. She was stubborn, overly curious and could be a bit too reckless for her own good, still she was not foolish.

Which meant something had influenced her. The same invisible influence affecting children throughout recent weeks.

That realization terrified Yasaka almost as much as the possibility of direct kidnapping itself. Because if Tezcatlipoca could manipulate weaker minds through the corrupted leyline so subtly that children walked willingly toward danger without understanding why, then the scale of the threat had become even worse than she feared.

Rain soaked her hair and robes completely while the search continued fruitlessly through endless forests illuminated by the false moon hanging in the sky. Yasaka personally searched abandoned shrines, riverbanks, ruined temples, hidden pathways, and mountain trails while calling desperately for Kunou across the darkness.

No answer came.

The deeper they traveled into the wilderness the more polluted the spiritual atmosphere became, while black mist occasionally drifted between the trees like living smoke before dissolving again into nothingness.

Several times Yasaka thought she heard faint laughter carried through the forest and each time terror seized her heart.

What if she was already too late? What if Kunou had become another sacrifice hidden somewhere beneath these endless woods?

Her breathing gradually became more uneven the longer the search continued without results, while genuine panic tightened painfully around her chest with enough force that Yasaka sometimes struggled to think clearly for several seconds at a time whenever particularly horrific possibilities forced themselves into her mind. 

She could not lose her daughter. She could endure the collapse of political alliances, the growing corruption poisoning Kyoto’s spiritual arteries, the cowardice of Heaven, and even the slow destruction of her own body beneath the endless strain of resisting the mad god’s influence, though the thought of losing Kunou amidst all the other disasters already consuming her world was something her heart simply could not survive.

Eventually Yasaka came to a stop near an ancient shrine clearing hidden deep within the northern forests. For several long moments she remained completely motionless beneath the falling rain while her exhausted mind raced desperately through every remaining possibility available to her, because ordinary search methods were failing far too slowly against a territory this vast, and every additional minute that passed without finding Kunou caused the terror inside her chest to grow more unbearable.

There remained one final option still available to her and the possibility itself immediately filled Yasaka with unease.

It was dangerous beyond reason under the current circumstances, recklessly irresponsible from the perspective of spiritual safety, and potentially catastrophic if anything went wrong while she remained connected.

If she fully submerged her consciousness into Kyoto’s Leylines network once more, then she could spread her senses across enormous portions of the domain almost instantly and locate her daughter within moments, though doing so would also mean exposing herself directly to Him. 

Yasaka already understood how unstable the leyline had become, because every previous attempt to interface deeply with the spiritual currents had brought her disturbingly close to His influence until she could almost feel his awareness brushing against her own mind through the poisoned energy flowing beneath Kyoto.

Even so, none of that mattered compared to Kunou.

If there remained even the slightest possibility that her daughter was frightened, injured, or trapped somewhere alone while that thing prowled through the corruption surrounding the city, then Yasaka was fully willing to risk her own sanity and soul without hesitation in order to find her.

Yasaka slowly closed her eyes while spiritual energy gathered around her body in golden waves.

Then suddenly rapid footsteps approached through the rain.

“Yasaka-sama!” One of her fox yokai subordinates burst into the clearing breathlessly while soaked completely by the storm. “She has been found!”

Yasaka’s eyes snapped open instantly. Relief crashed through her so hard her knees nearly weakened beneath her.

“Where?” she demanded immediately. “Take me to her now.”

Without waiting for further explanation Yasaka followed the subordinate directly into the deeper forest while several guards hurried after them through mud and rain soaked undergrowth.

As they traveled farther from populated territory Yasaka’s unease gradually returned.

Why had Kunou wandered this deep into the wilderness?

She had specifically warned her daughter countless times never to travel far from secured districts because of the disappearances and corruption spreading through isolated regions.

Eventually they reached a dense section of ancient forest where towering cedar trees blocked much of the rainfall overhead, while strange silence lingered unnaturally between the trunks.

Several yokai guards stood gathered ahead among the trees completely motionless. They looked almost entranced. All of them stared silently toward something deeper within the forest with expressions of utter disbelief.

“What happened?” she demanded sharply.

None of them answered her, and their silence carried an eerie sense of wrongness that immediately sent unease surging through Yasaka’s chest. The gathered yokai barely seemed aware of her presence at all, their expressions distant and strangely vacant as they stood staring forward with unnatural stillness, like serpents mesmerized by the movements of a charmer’s flute.

A cold sensation crawled down Yasaka’s spine almost instantly. Then she followed the direction of their collective gaze.

And saw her daughter standing there.

Relief crashed into her with such overwhelming force that her knees nearly gave out beneath her, because for one terrible moment she had already imagined blood, ruin, and the unbearable sight of arriving too late.

Kunou appeared entirely unharmed beside a small fire beneath the trees, and for one overwhelming instant Yasaka felt such fierce gratitude that tears almost rose immediately to her eyes.

Then she noticed she was not alone.

Beside Kunou sat a man of such overwhelming beauty that even Yasaka herself momentarily forgot how to breathe.

He was tall and impossibly graceful with pale skin untouched by imperfection with hair as dark as midnight, while his face possessed such terrifying elegance and symmetry that it seemed less human beauty and more the deliberate craftsmanship of something divine designed specifically to ensnare desire itself. 

His eyes held depth difficult to comprehend properly beneath the firelight, while every movement he made carried effortless charm and predatory gentleness intertwined so naturally that merely looking at him caused strange warmth to spread through Yasaka’s body against her will.

The sin of lust itself seemed woven into his existence.

Yasaka suddenly felt desire surge unexpectedly through her chest with such unnatural intensity that her pulse quickened instantly despite the terror and exhaustion already overwhelming her mind.

Experienced as she was, Yasaka recognized supernatural seduction immediately and forced herself violently out of the trance before it could deepen further, though even afterward the lingering effect still clung unpleasantly to her thoughts like perfume.

She recognized the figure at once and genuine fear followed immediately afterward.

Haruki Yamashiro…the God of Devils himself sat calmly beside her daughter.

For several seconds Yasaka genuinely forgot how to react. No being alive within the supernatural world could fail to recognize that face anymore.

The entity whose existence alone had reshaped fate across the world more profoundly during recent months than entire pantheons managed throughout centuries.

The being associated with the extinction of the vampire race…The death of Sirzechs Lucifer…The disappearance of Ajuka Beelzebub…The destruction of Agreas Island despite its supposedly impenetrable defenses…His will unbreakable and His cunning legendary.

The impossible figure standing simultaneously beyond holy and demonic understanding alike. Rumors spread constantly now throughout every faction claiming that the arrival of Haruki Yamashiro heralded the apocalypse itself.

And standing here before him now, Yasaka suddenly understood why.

His existence felt wrong. Not evil exactly. Something far more incomprehensible than simple evil.

Why was he here? The thought screamed through Yasaka’s mind desperately. Had he come for the yokai next? Was he somehow allied with Tezcatlipoca? Had he already decided Kyoto’s fate before heaven itself could?

Worst case scenarios exploded endlessly through Yasaka’s thoughts one after another while she stared at the impossible being calmly holding her daughter upon his lap beside the fire.

Then she realized he was speaking softly to Kunou. No, he was telling her what appeared to be a story. And his voice…

His voice sounded so warm and pleasant that it almost physically hurt to hear, while every word carried gentle cadence capable of soothing fear effortlessly.

Yasaka listened despite herself.

The child sat in His lap while the trees whispered beyond the firelight, and Haruki looked into the woods as though he knew them intimately.

“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a girl who wandered farther into the forest than she meant to. She had only meant to follow a white bird she’d seen between the trunks. But woods are old places, and old places don’t always return what they take quickly. By evening she could no longer find the path and the trees had begun to lean close together like people speaking secrets. She called for her mother and father until her throat hurt, but the forest gave her back only her own voice.

“At first she was frightened of every sound. A snapping twig became a wolf. Wind in the leaves became footsteps and even the dark itself seemed alive. She walked until her feet bled and finally she came upon a little hut made of crooked pine boards beside a stream black as spilled ink. Inside lived an old charcoal burner. His hands and face were stained gray from smoke, and one of his eyes looked cloudy like frozen water. The girl feared him immediately because children are taught to fear strange old men in lonely places.

“The old man asked her why she trembled so. She told him she was afraid the woods meant to swallow her whole. The charcoal burner laughed softly and stirred the fire with a stick. He said: ‘The woods swallow no one. People lose themselves long before the forest loses them.’

“The girl did not understand. So the old man told her that when he was young he had also become lost in those same woods. He had wandered for three days believing every shadow hunted him. On the third night he came upon a deer standing in the road. The animal was thin and scarred and one of its antlers had broken away long ago. Yet it stood calmly in the rain and looked directly at him.

“The young man had asked the deer in his heart: Why are you not afraid? And in the way animals sometimes answer without speaking, he understood this: Because the forest is my home, even when it is dark. The old charcoal burner told the girl that fear makes strangers of the world. Fear turns trees into monsters and silence into threats. But most things in the world are only themselves. Trees are trees. Wind is wind. Night is only the earth turning its face away from the sun.

“The girl listened while the fire cracked between them. Then the old man gave her warm broth and wrapped her feet in cloth. He told her she could stay until morning. During the night she woke once and saw him sitting outside beneath the stars with his hat in his hands like a man praying. In the morning he walked her to the edge of the woods where the road could be seen below in the valley. Her father and two villagers were there calling her name.

“Before she ran down to them she turned and asked the charcoal burner if he had ever found his own way out of the forest. And the old man smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I learned that there was never any need.’ Then he went back among the trees. Years later, when the girl was grown, she would tell her children that there are two kinds of lost people in the world. Those who wander from the path, and those who forget that kindness is a path at all. And whenever she heard wind moving through the trees at night, she remembered the old man who taught her that fear grows best in darkness, but so does courage.”

His voice flowed like quiet music through the rain soaked woods. Kunou listened completely captivated and Yasaka did not blame her. It was impossible to not be utterly captivated by the deity whose every gesture and words commanded absolute attention even if he were to speak of something mundane.

Yasaka found herself listening too despite every instinct warning her otherwise.

By the time the story ended, Yasaka realized with strange discomfort that she felt genuinely moved by the delicate gentleness with which Haruki spoke to her daughter. It felt impossible to reconcile this calm storyteller with the terrifying reputation surrounding him throughout the world.

Still appearances can be deceiving and this might be part of some manipulation or scheme. Perhaps he deliberately lowered guards through kindness.

Eventually Haruki finished speaking and slowly lifted his gaze toward Yasaka directly.

The moment their eyes met, Yasaka felt something inside her instinctively recoil.

His gaze was overwhelming, intense enough that staring into those eyes resembled looking directly into sunlight too long.

Haruki smiled softly toward Kunou.

“Your mother has arrived and she appears extremely worried about you,” he said gently. “You should go reassure her before she destroys half the forest searching further.”

Kunou gasped happily before immediately jumping from his lap and rushing toward Yasaka.

“Mother!”

Yasaka dropped to her knees instantly and caught her daughter fiercely within her arms while relief flooded through her body so violently she nearly sobbed outright. Kunou buried herself against Yasaka’s chest while apologizing repeatedly for wandering too far, and Yasaka could only hold her tighter while tears finally escaped despite every effort to maintain dignity.

“You foolish child,” Yasaka whispered shakily while stroking Kunou’s hair desperately. “Do you understand how terrified I was?”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

Yasaka closed her eyes briefly while relief and lingering terror crashed together painfully inside her chest. But she did not forget in whose presence she was. 

Haruki Yamashio still sat calmly beside the fire watching them silently. Much to Yasaka’s growing disbelief, he had made no threatening movements whatsoever and simply waited patiently while mother and daughter reunited.

Eventually Yasaka forced herself to stand again while keeping Kunou held protectively close against her side, and despite the fear clawing through her stomach she straightened her posture carefully while facing the God of Devils directly. Haruki regarded her calmly.

“Judging from your expression,” he said pleasantly, “I assume you know who I am.”

Every yokai present nodded almost immediately, as though delayed response itself might prove dangerous.

“Fantastic,” he said, smiling faintly. “Then if you wouldn’t mind terribly, would you care to lead me toward your guest? I have rather urgent business with her.”

He was speaking about Amaterasu, she realized.

A cold dread began spreading slowly through Yasaka’s chest while countless terrifying possibilities flooded her thoughts all at once, each one more dangerous than the last. Did the Sun Goddess already know he was here within her domain?

Had Heaven somehow anticipated this encounter long before it occurred?

Or had the God of Devils simply appeared uninvited at one of the most sacred places in Japan in order to seek direct audience with the Queen of Heaven herself?

Despite the shock caused by the sudden appearance of the terrifying god whose name had become synonymous with calamity throughout the supernatural world, Yasaka gradually became aware of something deeply unsettling about Haruki Yamashio’s presence. 

Nothing about his behavior aligned with the monstrous reputation surrounding him. There was no overwhelming bloodlust, no suffocating pressure of madness, and none of the cruel amusement she had expected from a being associated with destruction and chaos on such a catastrophic scale.

More disturbingly still, the oppressive attention of Tezcatlipoca itself seemed to recede in Haruki’s presence. The vast malicious awareness that had haunted Kyoto for weeks, constantly lingering beneath the city like a predator waiting patiently beneath dark water, suddenly felt distant and muted the moment he arrived. 

Even the leyline flowing beneath the earth appeared different now, because the spiritual energy pulsing through the veins of Kyoto no longer carried the same polluted corruption that had infected it for so long. It felt cleaner, calmer, as though an invisible force had scrubbed away the taint contaminating the city’s spiritual foundation.

And standing there before the so-called Devil God who had become the herald of destruction and chaos throughout the supernatural world, Yasaka realized with growing disbelief that she was experiencing something she had not felt in an unbearably long time.

Peace.

AN: Now, was the story Haruki told Konou necessary or did it contribute anything to the plot? Absolutely not. But I liked writing it, so I did.

This whole chapter was extremely self-indulgent on my part, and I mostly used it to introduce the long-built-up villain that is Tezcatlipoca. To be honest with you guys, back when I chose Tezcatlipoca as the enemy of the Hero Faction around Chapter 11, I mainly picked him because I felt that the usual gods, like Loki, were too overused as villains. Aztec mythology is also criminally underrated, so even though I didn’t know much about the myths at the time, I chose him and decided to see how things would develop from there.

And I think he has the potential to become a very interesting villain, especially since he acts as a sort of mirror to Haruki.

I also received many private messages from you guys saying that the Great Old Ones plotline might overshadow Haruki’s story. So I’d like to clarify that the Great Old Ones are a tertiary plotline and will remain mostly in the background, never truly taking center stage. The story is still about Haruki and his goal of giving humanity magic, that's the main narrative.

Honestly, the Outer Gods can’t be in focus too much anyway, because then they would lose their sense of mystery and threat.