In the quiet residential streets of Kuoh, Issei Hyoudou's house stood modest and unassuming—nestled between others like it, bearing no signs of the storm to come.
Amon stood atop a rooftop across the street, his coat dancing in the night wind. The moonlight painted his face in silver, but his eyes—those intelligent, piercing eyes—burned like black suns. He had observed the Hyoudou household for several nights, measuring every movement, every vulnerability.
To most, they were ordinary humans. But to Amon, they were anchors—tethers holding the Red Dragon Emperor too close to his humanity. He needed Issei broken, isolated, vulnerable.
"Divinity demands sacrifice," Amon whispered, his voice barely more than a breath carried on the wind.
He raised his gloved hand and pressed two fingers together. A dull red ripple surged through the air, invisible to all but the most sensitive beings. His spell was complex—not elemental, but metaphysical. A patch of reality surrounding the Hyoudou house began to distort subtly, detaching it from nearby spiritual perception. It would become unnoticeable, like a dead zone on the astral radar.
Then came the true strike.
From within Amon's coat, a piece of golden parchment fluttered out. It was inscribed with characters from multiple pantheons—angelic, demonic, and even Lovecraftian. This was not just magic. It was ritual.
Amon placed it against his palm. "Let suffering be sealed in silence."
With a whisper, the parchment dissolved into embers, carried by wind toward the house. As the embers touched the structure, the wooden panels caught fire—not with flames that danced and crackled, but with fire that devoured. Fire that muted screams.
Inside the house, Issei's mother, Miki, jolted awake as the heat seeped into her skin. She tried to scream, but no sound came. Issei's father, Gorou, tried to shield her, but his body burned faster than it could move.
The fire fed not on wood or flesh, but on emotion—love, protection, memory. The house became a tomb before either could understand what was happening.
Amon watched with a calm, unreadable gaze.
"No evidence. No trace. Just grief," he murmured. "And one less shield between you and me, Red Dragon."
He turned and walked into the night, the house behind him fully engulfed. A faint ripple sealed the scene from magical detection. To the world, it would appear as a tragic electrical fire. A fluke.
But not everyone would believe it.
Elsewhere…
In a dimly lit chamber within the Grigori base, Azazel reviewed the reports forwarded to him. Kuoh Town was becoming increasingly chaotic—first Amon's unexpected appearance, then the breach of multiple dimensional barriers, and now… this?
Issei's house burned down. His parents were gone.
Azazel stared at the photo of the aftermath. Burned to ash, no spiritual remnants. Just… absence.
"Too clean," he muttered. "No magic residue. No lingering presence. But that's the point, isn't it?"
He remembered Amon's demeanor when Issei's possession was exposed. The Blasphemer had pulled back with little resistance, almost as though the failed possession meant nothing. But Azazel had lived through wars. He knew strategic retreats when he saw them.
"It's not over," he said aloud.
He tapped his fingers on the desk, considering his next move. Amon wanted Issei. And now Issei has nothing left. That's not coincidence.
"Keep an eye on him," Azazel told a subordinate who stood nearby. "I don't care how much he masks his presence. Any interaction, any whisper of his influence—I want to know."
The subordinate nodded and vanished.
Back at the remains of the Hyoudou house, a lone figure wandered through the ash in the early hours of dawn. Rias Gremory had arrived too late, her magic reacting only to the residual silence. She stared at the ruins, tears burning her eyes—not just for the loss, but for Issei, who hadn't even had time to say goodbye.
She reached down and picked up a charred photo frame, the image within mostly intact—Issei between his parents, all three smiling, unaware of their fate.
Behind her, Kiba stood silent, clenching his fists.
"Who could've done this?" Rias whispered.
"I don't know," Kiba said. "But something tells me this wasn't natural."
No one yet suspected Amon. Not directly. But the ripples had begun. The silence surrounding the incident was too perfect. Too surgical. And in that silence, suspicion would grow.
Amon, meanwhile, stood beneath a willow tree near a forgotten shrine outside Kuoh's limits. The fire had been only the first move. There were many others on the board. But Issei—yes, Issei had always been a key piece. A soul brimming with raw fate.
"Time to get serious," Amon murmured, voice low and final. "No more games. Let the march toward godhood begin—with every obstacle erased."
His eyes glinted beneath the moonlight. One target down.
Many more to go.
Author note:
Hey guys! If you're enjoying the story, toss a Power Stone my way—it really helps keep me motivated to write more. Thanks for reading!