Motohama closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the reishi sliding over his skin with that cold, insinuating caress.
Then, he smirked.
But that smile was no longer a plea for mercy, nor the unconscious twitch of nervousness.
It was the smile of someone who had understood, accepted, and embraced the inevitable.
Let them come.
Now, he was no longer just prey.
Now… he knew how to hunt.
And more than that: he wanted to hunt.
Motohama slowly opened his eyes.
The world around him seemed… quieter.
Not just in sound, but in expectation.
Every particle of reishi, every invisible thread weaving the fabric of spiritual reality, was now perfectly visible to him.
Not as images, but as tactile sensations, aromas, textures.
He could feel the pulse of the world, like a fisherman who knows the exact tension of his line before setting the hook.
The "glow" that once betrayed him as prey was now also the key to hiding.
In his previous life, before the RE:START cycle, he had learned the hard way how most supernatural beings tracked him:
By the uneven flow of his essence, the heat of his restless soul, the volatile frequency of his fear.
But fear… no longer existed.
It was a fossilized emotion, buried beneath the layers of power and conviction that now shaped him.
And now, with the knowledge imprinted by the Essence of All Yhwach, he knew exactly how to silence every one of those signals.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
His spiritual body began to slow down, like a river reducing its current until it became a still lake.
The reishi around him responded immediately, as if understanding his intent, adjusting to his command, dimming his spiritual signature until, at last…
Absolute silence.
He had become invisible.
Not to common sight… but to spiritual sight.
No god, demon, or monster could sense him now.
His presence faded like a flame extinguished under an overturned glass—yet still there… silent, latent, ready to reignite at the right moment.
He opened his hands, letting the spiritual particles slip between his fingers like stardust.
Perfect.
The innate knowledge granted by Yhwach's essence manifested not only as raw power, but as an infinite library of ancestral techniques.
Quincy camouflage.
Spiritual signature reduction.
Total reishi suppression.
Abilities that had taken eons to perfect… and now they were his, like natural instincts.
And with that, a new awareness emerged: he was no longer who he had been.
The fragile, desperate youth was gone—he had died with his former self.
What remained now was someone forged not only by necessity, but by desire.
He didn't just want to survive.
He wanted to dominate.
The reishi around him seemed to appreciate him even more now, wrapping around him with silent reverence, as if recognizing not just a user…
but an heir.
A true successor of the bloodline that once ruled over spiritual forces.
Motohama took one step, then another… and the world didn't react.
The floor didn't creak, the air didn't shift.
He was a shadow dressed in flesh, a living concept, a specter.
And as he moved, the images of the women he had seen—Rias and Akeno—still echoed in his mind.
He knew those spiritual predators were restless, hungry… and that others like them would soon begin to sniff out the shift in the spiritual fabric.
— They'll hunt me… like always… — he mouthed silently, without sound—only the movement of lips.
But now…
Now, he knew the hunt better than anyone.
The memory of every chase, every trap, every foolish mistake made in his past life that had led to his death was etched into him with the cruel clarity of open scars.
But the solutions were there too.
The escape routes.
The traps he would never fall for again.
The mistakes he would never repeat.
His eyes—now colder, more calculating—gazed into the void of the night beyond the window.
He knew that soon, very soon, he would sense other presences stirring.
There would be those who crossed worlds, entire dimensions, just to drain his "glow" to the last drop.
But this time…
—This time, I'll be the hunter — thought Motohama.
He raised his hand, and with a subtle motion, shaped a tiny sphere of reishi—so compact and refined it would be indistinguishable even to the most skilled trackers.
The sphere spun in his palm, until he gently blew it away, and it scattered like a blue speck of dust in the air.
—Let them come looking for me.
At the same time, in different parts of the city:
Kuoh Academy Student Council.
The austere silence of the student council room was brutally torn apart by something invisible, yet undeniable: an abrupt rupture in the fabric of reality, as if the world itself, for one brief and agonizing second, had hesitated to continue.
Sona Shitori halted the methodical glide of her pen across the paper. Her eyes, usually cold and calculating, widened in sudden perplexity… and then, without warning, her violet irises burst into a vivid, deep red — like embers forged under the pressure of a demonic bellows.
Beside her, Tsubaki Shinra reacted instinctively, slamming her binder shut with a sharp snap, one hand rising to her throat as if to choke back the violent surge of energy erupting from her spiritual core. Her eyes too were stained with that incandescent crimson — not just burning, but ravenous, cruel, feral… until, with visible effort, she dug her nails into her clenched fists, took a deep breath, and forced that predatory light to die out, as if snuffing an untamed flame with her own bare hands.
Sona tilted her head slightly, hiding for a moment the bestial gleam that threatened to consume her completely. When she looked up again, her irises had returned to their usual cold purple… but her heart still pounded frenetically, like the beat of war drums summoning the hunt.
— Maintain control… she murmured firmly, though her voice was laced with a metallic tension, like a blade bent beyond its limit.
But not everyone succeeded.
Saji Genshirou was hunched over the table, his whole body trembling, gasping heavily like a cornered beast. His dilated pupils had become red pits, vibrating with an archaic hunger — a need he couldn't name, but understood at the core of his being:
hunt… kill… consume.
— W…what… is… — he tried to ask, but his voice came out hoarse, broken, shredded by the brutal instinct now bubbling under his skin.
Across the room, Reya and Tomoe stood frozen, like statues poised to leap. Their crimson eyes stared into nothingness, but their bodies — tense, coiled — betrayed the imminence of the strike, like predators about to tear into the throat of an invisible prey.
Nimura Ruruko, the youngest, trembled discreetly. Her teeth clenched, jaw tight, while the spiritual veins beneath her skin pulsed in erratic frenzy. Her vision was tinged red, warping the world into an indistinct haze… save for a silhouette, distant, irresistible… something — or someone — she needed to find, to possess… to devour.
Sensing the imminent collapse, Sona did not hesitate. She instantly unleashed the raw power of her demonic authority, expanding like an invisible wall, crushing the air around them, suffocating primal urges and forcing everyone to bow beneath her supremacy.
— Now! Breathe! she commanded, her voice sharp as freshly forged steel, irrefutable.
Tsubaki, already recovered, stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Saji's shoulder, channeling part of her own energy like an anchor, nullifying the chaotic waves emanating from him.
The boy shuddered, battling something that felt larger than himself… and then, with one final painful spasm, the crimson glow faded, leaving behind only cold sweat and an involuntary tremor.
One by one, the other members also began to regain control, like desperate castaways pulling themselves from thick, black, suffocating waters… but even as they surfaced, that hunger still lingered, latent, whispering in the depths of their souls.
Sona inhaled deeply, as one who closes a door that should never have been opened… and only then dared to speak:
— You all felt it…
Tsubaki nodded, her eyes still stained with the residual gleam of that unspeakable hunger.
— Yes… it wasn't just power… it was… something that drew us in… something… delicious.
Sona subtly wrapped her arms around herself, suppressing the tremor she would never allow the others to see.
Saji, still breathing irregularly, asked, his voice dry and fragile:
—What… what was that, President…?
Sona stared at him firmly, unblinking. Her eyes, now opaque, were like twin blades of cold, impenetrable obsidian.
Silence fell upon the room like a death sentence.
Tsubaki, standing beside her, murmured — as if confessing a crime:
—For a moment… I wanted to find him… and…
Her voice faltered, drowned in the shame of that irrepressible impulse.
But Sona did not fear finishing the sentence.
No shame. No masks:
— And devour him. His soul… like we used to do, long ago.
Everyone recoiled, as if the words had weight and shape — each syllable a blade cutting through flesh and spirit.
Sona closed her eyes for just a second, feeling once more that cold, reptilian instinct slither up her spine — that visceral pull which, for a fleeting instant, had almost made her forsake herself… and deep down, still refused to let go.
Then, with the same glacial serenity as always, she picked up the paper and pen once more.
— Meeting adjourned — she declared, with absolute coldness.
But everyone knew…
Nothing was over.
This was only the beginning.
And despite all the self-control they still clung to, no one — absolutely no one — could ignore the most disturbing, seductive truth of all:
They had enjoyed the feeling.
And more than that…
They wanted to taste it again.
Not flesh.
Not blood.
But the soul.
Abandoned Church
The night sky loomed silently over the old, abandoned church, which now served as a refuge for the fallen angels. The atmosphere—always heavy and shrouded in darkness—shuddered slightly. Not from a sound, but from a presence.
Something… or someone… had crossed an invisible boundary.
A subtle but undeniable warmth spread through the air, like the remnants of an angelic hymn long forgotten—distorted, stained with something human and, because of that, even more unsettling.
Dohnaseek lifted his head at once, eyes widening with a furious gleam. His black wings twitched with involuntary spasms, as if, for an instant, an ancient command—one from before the Fall—had been whispered in his ear.
But this wasn't a summons.
It was a provocation.
His fist clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked, his gaze hardening into pure hatred.
— Damn you… — he growled under his breath, his voice hoarse and soaked with bitter rage — How dare you…?
In that moment, he felt with cruel clarity that something had been stolen from him—something he had possessed before the Fall, before black wings and bitterness.
That presence outside…
It held, impossibly, the same celestial purity as before… but mixed… corrupted with humanity, flesh, desire.
As if it were a version of himself he was never allowed to become.
While Dohnaseek burned with seething fury, the three women of the group reacted… quite differently.
Raynare felt her skin prickle, as if invisible fingers caressed her damned black wings. Her hand slipped, almost unconsciously, to her lower lip, which she bit gently, unaware.
That presence…
So close to theirs… so wrong, so human… yet at the same time… deliciously alluring.
— Who… are you…? — she whispered to herself more than to the others, her voice laced with a venomous mix of lust and wrath.
Desire pulsed beneath her skin, hot and impatient, even as her pride as a fallen angel rebelled against such attraction.
Kalawarner let out a low, almost feral chuckle as she crossed her arms, trying to suppress the shiver that crawled down her spine.
— Tch… typical… — she muttered in contempt… but the tension in her body, the quickening of her breath, betrayed the truth:
She too was being pulled into the same vortex of attraction and revulsion.
Mittelt, the youngest, stood frozen. Her eyes were wide, like a child who had just glimpsed something forbidden… and irresistible. Her expression was a mix of hungry curiosity and irrational hatred.
How could someone—someone human—carry a presence so much like theirs? So… so wrong, and yet so captivating?
She bit the corner of her lip, feeling her anger rise, as though that presence was an affront to the very essence of what it meant to be a fallen angel.
— This isn't natural… — she hissed, her voice low, husky with both desire and disdain.
Dohnaseek turned his face toward them, eyes blazing with ancient, untamed resentment.
— Don't be fooled… — he growled, more to convince himself than to warn them. "This is nothing but a curse, disguised as a blessing. Something we… should never touch."
And yet, despite the words, none of them could tear their eyes away from that direction.
Because deep down, they all knew…
They wanted to touch it.
They wanted to possess it.
Or…
Destroy it.
The line between both urges was as thin as the boundary between heaven and hell… and as sharp as the blade that had once severed their wings of light.
Different Areas of Kuoh City
And as the night dragged lazily across Kuoh, something invisible—but inevitable—spread. Like a silent wave, a presence moved across mystical barriers and ancient defenses, penetrating deep into the instincts of every hidden supernatural being in that city.
In dark alleys, a group of youkai simultaneously raised their heads like wolves scenting the charged air. Even those usually timid and weak changed. Their eyes gleamed with primal red, claws extending involuntarily. The eldest among them growled:
—Hunt… — The whisper was hoarse, hungry, as the unseen scent of that presence ignited their predator souls.
But not all felt only hunger…
At the forest's edge surrounding Kuoh, natural spirits—shrouded in mist and old leaves—trembled. Some, eyes glazed and empty, were pulled back to primal instincts: hunt, dominate, destroy.
Others—especially fairies and female spirits—collapsed against tree trunks, sighs slipping from their lips like involuntary moans, their skin shimmering with ethereal sweat.
— Why… why does this make me… want…? — one whispered, clutching her chest, eyes clouded with uncontrollable longing she couldn't name.
Among the vampire clans, hidden in catacombs beneath the city—too weak to draw attention—the reaction was split. The elders snapped open their eyes with a dry click, fangs bared in feral hunger, as if the blood of that presence called to them, promising a satisfaction they'd never known.
The younger vampire women twisted against the cold stone walls, biting their own lips to keep from moaning, as desire scorched their insides.
— Is it… human? No… but so… alive… so warm… — one murmured, her eyes brimming with lust, feeling more alive than she had in centuries.
Even within the hidden outposts of the rogue exorcists, crucifixes trembled. Some dropped to their knees, gasping, prayers torn from their lips as they were overwhelmed by the brutal sensation of being watched… hunted… or perhaps… desired.
Above, on silent rooftops, a supernatural huntress—an exiled succubus—froze, wings half-spread. Her body trembled, not from fear, but from a raw need so intense she had to dig her nails into the concrete to stop herself from flying straight toward the source.
— "I want it… I need it…" she hissed, her eyes glowing a vivid red, wavering between hunger and pure, maddening desire.
And like a perverse echo, all throughout Kuoh, the reactions repeated:
Some creatures surrendered to pure predator instinct, eager to hunt, tear, dominate.
Others drowned in thirst, throats dry, bodies burning, craving something they couldn't explain—only feel.
But among the female entities, from the wildest to the most ethereal, something even more dangerous bloomed: a searing desire, a visceral pull that overpowered reason, inflamed their bodies and invaded their souls.
And among them all, a silent certainty:
Nothing in Kuoh would ever be the same again.