The borderlands between the Underworld and the human world were a cruel country. Jagged mountains split the horizon, forests drowned in mist, and ley lines twisted by old, resentful magic. The kind of place where things went missing. Where names were forgotten.
Where monsters became myths.
Lucien adjusted his cloak against the biting wind as it howled across the ridge. The valley below sprawled in shadows, thorn-choked and unwelcoming. Beside him, Koneko stood motionless, silver hair fluttering around her face, her expression tight.
"Scared?" he asked—not a tease, but quiet honesty.
She didn't look at him. "No. Just… unsure. I don't know if I'm ready to see her again."
"You don't have to be," Lucien said. "But she'll be ready for you."
Koneko's gaze clung to the horizon like a lifeline. "I don't remember her smile. Only the night she ran."
Lucien exhaled slowly, the cold misting before him. "What if she ran to protect you? What if the truth isn't what you've been told?"
A long pause. Then:
"…Then I want to hear it from her lips."
They exchanged a glance. Not a promise, but something rawer. A silent accord, forged not in words, but in wounds.
Koneko's claws flexed unconsciously at her sides. She told herself it didn't matter. That she came for justice, not reunion. But her heartbeat wouldn't slow, and her hands wouldn't steady.
⸻
Deeper in the Mountains
Kuroka moved like smoke through the broken remains of an abandoned shrine. Moonlight leaked through crumbling timbers, painting her in ghostlight. Blood darkened the fur on her left arm where an alchemical wound burned, the flesh refusing to close.
She could feel them closing in. Again.
Old Devil Faction agents—fewer men than rabid things now. The Chimera Project had fused their bodies with the essence of other supernatural creatures—vampires, beasts, even angels—breaking their sanity along with their bloodlines.
Three shadows bled from the mist. Their auras were twisted mockeries of demonic lineage, wrong in the way broken things are.
"Your blood would be perfect for the chimera trials," one hissed, summoning a jagged spear of corrupted crystal.
Kuroka's tail flicked in irritation. "I'm done being your experiment."
Then she moved.
Senjutsu flared from her core, Youjutsu crackling along her limbs. Her claws shredded the first one's shield, driving him back into stone with a sickening crunch. The second fell when she twisted his joints with pinpoint ki strikes, his core bursting in a pulse of violent light.
But the third was faster.
Dark lightning lashed across her back, sending her sprawling with a cry she bit down before it could escape. Her vision swam. The taste of iron filled her mouth.
The world narrowed.
And still, she rose.
Kuroka bared her fangs in a snarl, feral and proud. "If I die, I'm taking you with me."
⸻
Elsewhere — Watching from the Veil
Concealed behind layered wards, Sirzechs and Grayfia stood in cold silence, a towering figure shadowed between them.
Grayroad. Assassin. Shade-walker.
He was little more than a whisper in the veil—hooded, silent, efficient. A child found by Sirzechs and Grayfia during the bloodiest years of the Civil War. Raised in the quiet between battles. Trained to be unseen. Unheard. Untouched.
Now he was their hidden knife.
"She's stronger than they expected," Grayfia murmured, voice like frost against the glass.
"She's running on fumes," Sirzechs replied, his eyes narrowed. "One more push and she won't get up."
"She won't be alone," Grayroad said, never taking his gaze from the bloodied neko in the shrine.
⸻
The Rescue
The third agent raised his staff, dark energy spiraling for a killing blow.
He never got the chance.
A red blur carved through the gloom, a flash of runic teleportation flaring mid-air. In an instant, Lucien was there.
Steel met staff. The weapon shattered like brittle glass under his strike. Lucien pivoted low, driving a hybrid blow—a precise feint from Okita's teaching, followed by a strike mimicking Surtr's brute force.
A sphere of destruction magic condensed tightly in his palm. Crimson light devoured the shadows, collapsing inward before detonating outward like a miniature sun.
The valley wall cracked.
Dust roared through the shrine.
Kuroka staggered back, eyes wide, tail bristling.
"You…?"
Lucien extended a hand. His palm was steady.
"We came for you."
Before she could speak, fresh shadows bled from the mist. Reinforcements. Chimera-enhanced hounds, their bodies stitched with unnatural power, drawn by the scent of battle.
Lucien didn't hesitate.
Grayroad materialized behind them, a wraith of death in the gloom. His dagger flashed once, twice—two bodies fell without a sound.
The third reeled from a crushing blow as Lucien's fist, sheathed in magic, caved in bone and spirit.
The few remaining hesitated… then ran. Cowards without a leader.
The storm had arrived, and it wasn't theirs.
⸻
Aftermath
Kuroka dropped to a crouch, panting, blood still trickling down her side. Her eyes, sharp as ever, flicked between Lucien and the others.
"You're… Sirzechs' brat?"
Lucien smirked. "Technically, yeah. But I prefer Lucien."
"…Why?"
"Because you deserve the truth. And Koneko deserves her sister back."
At that, something cracked.
Kuroka's lips parted. A breath caught in her throat.
"She's here?" she rasped.
Lucien glanced toward the distant ridge. A small silhouette stood in the wind—silver hair, steady stance, unreadable face.
Kuroka's pride trembled, but she forced it still.
The concealment barrier dropped.
Sirzechs and Grayfia stepped into view, their presence crashing down like a storm surge. Magic hummed in the air. The ground itself seemed to tighten.
Lucien rose.
"She's under my protection now," he said, calm, final. "She's not a stray anymore."
Sirzechs didn't reply. Only gave a single, grave nod. At that moment, he wasn't a father, nor a Maou. He was a force of judgment. And Lucien stood against it—and earned his place.
Kuroka stared at them all like the world had gone mad.
"…What the hell did I get dragged into?"
Lucien gave her a grin, weary but genuine.
"Family."