Disclaimer - Nothing is claimed by the author, except this story.


"…What are you doing here?"

The human muttered in a low voice, in a tone that sent jolts down her spine. How had he sensed her?

Oh, right.

"Eh…"

She was standing in the halls of the "school" which the human belonged to. It was also the place where the runaway spirit had been detected, observed and ordered re-sealed by her bosses, assigning the job to her two human weeks ago. But ever since then, she'd made no progress, and had watched helplessly as the thing grew in power. She wanted so much to go home and tell the chief about it, to ask for help, except that she'd made her promise with Hakua that she would be a proper demon from now on, and surely she wouldn't approve of Elsie going back on her word?

In front of her, crouched next to a white-painted pillar, was the human – the Capturing God. The one the chief had promised would help her as her Buddy, which meant things would be off to a good start for the junior member.

But the human had refused. And Hell, with its respect for the ultimate choice, couldn't do anything but let Elsie go on with the mission alone, with special directives and permissions due to the lack of a mortal liaison.

"Once more… what are you doing here?"

Elsie stirred, blinking. "Eh… you can see me?"

"Obviously. I was able to sense you for a long time, remember?"

And then apparently, the God was some sort of magic worker! That, and its familiarity with spirits, was so cool and convenient that she'd first thought they'd have to be buddies!

But he'd turned her down, again.

"…Do I have to ask a third time? What are you doing here, Miss Demon?"

"B-but didn't you tell me it was okay for me to watch?"

"I did, and I specified you'd watch me do the deed, not the events and preparation preceding it. I'm giving you the ending – but I don't want you to see the rest of the spoilers. I prefer that you and Hell stand in awe, with more questions than answers."

"Huh?" Elsie could make no heads or heads of what the human had said.

The human sighed, knocking its forehead into the pillar. "It means I don't want you seeing some trade secrets. My methods, my arts. Can you do that for me? Just go away and eat an ice cream or something. Just don't go into downtown – there's a cosplay event going on. You'll probably miss my ritual if you get caught up in there."

"Um… if it's possible… I'd like to stay and watch." Elsie fidgeted with her broom. "Please?"

She saw a flash of the human's eyes; it had turned to look over its shoulder at her.

"I-I- promise I won't get in your way!" she explained frantically, waving her invisible hands. "I'll remain very still and keep very quiet. I won't bother you, honest!"

The human sighed again. Taking its silence as assent, Elsie clenched her fist in victory.

But then a thought occurred to the demon. If the human took care of the demon, did that mean she wouldn't take credit for it? Elsie tilted her head, trying to answer that question herself in her own mind.

The reasoning ran thus.

Spirit sealed equals cured host equals good report equals good job, Elsie.

Yep, that sounded good.

But wait, didn't the human mention 'ritual killing'?

Did that mean the spirit wouldn't be sealed?

"Um…" The human sighed again. "Sorry! Sorry! I just wanted to ask – is it really true you're killing the spirit?"

"…Yes."

"Oh, okay." She tilted her head quizzically. "And what happens-" Another sigh. "-sorry! Sorry! And what happens to the spirit after it's 'killed'?"

"I don't know." The human twitched its shoulders up. "If there's a heaven – or hell – for malevolences, then that's where they go. If it's complete oblivion for them, then that's that. If they burst into tiny infinitesimal evil-atoms then that's a fine idea too."

"Oblivion," she repeated. Her head drooped. "Oblivion's bad." The silence resumed.

"…So-"

"GRAAAGHHH!"

Elsie yelped, jumping up and clutching her broom tighter to herself. She started mouthing apologies and bows as quick as she could. The human had risen, turning to where she was with a cold, fearsome expression on its face.

"Let. Me. Make this. Veeery clear. I have a job to do. I have preparations to make, to do that job. I won't be helped with doing said preparations, if some demon is sitting constantly on my shoulder asking questions of me. Now, this demon-paint glyph isn't nearly done, and I'd appreciate it if I could get some silence to finish this so I can get to the other fifteen things I have to set up before the start of next period. Now, you can go on outside and do whatever you want before the ritual (and I'd much appreciate that) or you can stay here, stand and watch but for the love of all things beautiful and perverse, keep your words to yourself! I am this close to trying out my anti-malevolence on Hell demons. This close!" After that, the human huffed once and returned to whatever he was doing.

Elsie stood with head bowed, fighting the tears. Then, raising her head, a blaze in her eye, she strode over to the human, leaned in close to his ear and shouted.

"I HATE YOU, GOD!"

She then fled, away from the curses and the flailing, following her echoes out the school and to the outside.

She returned, remembering her duty, exactly five minutes after.

Fleshy Cosplays

Trunk

Troublesome.

In that moment, Keima referred to four things.

First, the flag requirements to Hellwalker: Tales of the Nine were obscene and blatantly useless. Repeating new games just for a single changed line in the middle of a route and the need to complete said route to collect the needed flag was a circle of Hell Keima would only wish on his worst enemies.

Speaking of Hell, that lead to his next grievance. Second, the demon girl from Hell, who hovered behind him like a human-sized, invisible bee. Unfortunately at that moment, he could not muster an appropriate response to that thing, especially since it was being very quiet. There were a lot of factors, and Keima struggled to admit to himself that one involved the demon's appearance.

Third, the malevolence. Not the malevolence by itself, but its host. This fact was something he'd found troublesome since he'd first detected the thing, but only now did he acknowledge the apparent difficulty involved with having someone… close by as an indirect target.

Ayumi Takahara was a classmate and was also a friend of his not-friend, Chihiro. He didn't know, and didn't bother to learn, the details behind that friendship, but that alone was enough to make him tiptoe around his duty this time around instead of going in full skip speed.

Fourth and most relevant in this very moment, was the person standing before him. It was the only other student in this school allowed to be out and about in the halls even during class. Like him, she had the necessary academic credentials to put forth a good public reason for the frequent "compulsory" truancy.

"I hope this day finds you well, lady," Keima greeted, bowing. He skillfully evaded the piercing glare sent his way by turning to look at the nearest window. "Today is indeed a fine day – for many things and many deeds."

"Words are pretty," replied Kusunoki Kasuga icily, "but ultimately shallow without proper action." Unlike him, the heiress of the Kasuga Family was dressed in the school uniform, although she had been given special permission like him to wear the clothes of tradition.

"You will of course adhere to the agreement?" Keima asked, still smiling placidly at something outside.

There was never any real competition between the two demon-hunter houses of Majima. They held distinct power in the city - a privilege since the time of the dragon emperors, and so relations between the two were relatively cordial and stable (that had been recorded in text at least). They were expected to cooperate in their duties more than anything, for the threat of evil was very real, and their ancestors understood that needless strife led only to ruin and confusion.

But a rivalry there was, unspoken, unrecorded, and nursed by each side throughout the centuries. Either a Kasuga or a Katsuragi, or both, would have too much choleric blood in them and so declare a rivalry with the other family to themselves, leading to many explosive, contrived situations and fervent killings of the malicious occult with the sole, single-minded purpose of one-upping the other. One had even lead to a surprise marriage involving two scions (later disinherited) with a stormy relationship which modern otaku would have described as a "mutual tsundere-ing situation".

"As I must, Katsuragi," the girl replied, though words to the contrary threatened to burst out from her firm mouth. "And as always I pray that you will succeed."

In this generation, the Kasuga designee inherited the burning desire behind a façade of stoic calm. For whatever reason only she was aware of, Keima was now her demon hunter rival. Most times, Keima found it downright bothersome.

Such times included this very Class A malevolence, though he understood well why Kasuga wanted this to be her kill. It would be their literal firsts, in a way, and how it would be successfully destroyed would be a mark that Keima guessed would linger in the girl's perception for a lifetime.

Kasuga had wanted, fought for the "honor" of having the kill. She'd stormed into the Katsuragi compound, she'd cornered him in inconvenient times at school, and she'd stalked him throughout a play-through of Pricolle~ while he was patrolling the city. It was annoying to feel an indignant gaze burn a hole in his head while guiding hopeful maidens to enlightenment.

He didn't really care about it, in a way. As God, he disliked being distracted by the mundane.

But rules were rules. As much as he disliked having to deal with Takahara, he could not easily disobey the edict of the Katsuragi.

This 3D world is too troublesome, he'd thought.

Keima turned his gaze from the window to meet Kasuga's. "Thanks for the kind words, lady. No doubt they shall be instrumental in chaining that thing."

Kasuga's eyes flashed. Restraint and anger warred in her expression. "Have a care, Katsuragi – and I don't say this lightly." She took one step forward, a jagged edge in her voice. "It feels strong, stronger than it was at the start, at least. Ensure you are well-prepared. I would not want to lose a worthy… and able fellow hunter." He knew she had intended to say "rival", but she seemed to be cultured enough to remember her clan's stance.

"Lady, your heartfelt concern is sweet, sweet nectar to me. I shall not disappoint." Making a final bow, Keima walked past Kasuga, who stood as a seething statue and watched him go.

His slow, clacking footsteps echoed deliberately through the corridor. Keima didn't look back until he was near the corner, where he could stop and glance at the staircase without looking suspicious.

The PFP's reflective surface brought to him the image of Kasuga, who'd turned to glare after him with her arms crossed, and the faint emanation, like a shimmering heat haze to him, of the devil floating an inch above her head.

Grunting in satisfaction, he turned his machine on.

Interesting.

There were as many ways of eliminating malevolences as there were of preparing food. In both cases, something ended up being served.

Keima's personal favorite was the no-nonsense anti-malevolence weaponry. Numerous games proved it, the sometime successful police and local defense forces made effective use of it: nothing declared annihilation more than a rifle that shot conceptuals, each with the force of a speeding bus, twelve times per five seconds. (Conceptuals ranged from solid-packed purification salts to silver)

But as he couldn't just show up in front of Takahara bearing that kind of weaponry (at least, not without the risk of starting up a wildfire of rumors—no Katsuragi art existed that modified memory), Keima had to resort to a way he loathed doing – taking the longer, meandering approach. They involved the type of esoteric applications that the Kasuga and clans from other cities preferred.

Keima's eyes glanced from the paper to the image on his PFP. It had been repurposed for now into an imager, showing him pictures of the proper glyphs he had to copy. Each detail had to be inscribed accurately and precisely with the right materials and then positioned carefully in their place. Each glyph was a separate, individual task as he'd told the demon, and each had their combined purpose of forming a pattern of energies, known only to him, around the school.

That, and a couple of other preparations he'd made throughout the afternoon (including securing Kasuga's reluctant aid in some small matter) would lead to a straightforward, at least more or less normal, ending. It was the kind he preferred.

As he laid the finishing touches, the bell signaled the end of the last period. Keima stood to full height, switching the imager to his last saved game. The special ink he'd used had yet to dry, and made him look as if he'd dipped his hands in a tub of agitated octopi, but it didn't matter in the slightest.

In a short while, the usual after-school buzz and bustle would sweep through the school. He returned to the vicinity of the classroom and then sensed the demon's presence hovering nervously nearby.

He paid it no mind. Not now.

Keima heard a small, soft gasp come from behind him as he produced a palm-sized paper airplane that flew of its own volition. It carried a small camera near its nose which fed images directly to his PFP.

He glanced towards the source. He could almost feel the curiosity emanating like heat from the demon. Clucking his tongue, he turned his attention to the screen.

The students came rushing by, in singles and in threes and in droves, and each made sure to give the kimono-clad, ink-stained person leaning against a classroom wall in the middle of the corridor with his eyes on a PFP a wide berth. It wasn't only because he was of the Katsuragi – as Chihiro had claimed, he had long acquired reputation as an acidic, anti-social otamegane. Which was not an untrue supposition, as long as one added the additional eminent title of "God".

Keima pushed back from the wall, now moving into position, and the demon followed.

"Where is that guy?" asked Takahara. He could barely hear the people in the video his paper spy brought back, but he fancied himself something of a lip-reader. (It wasn't hard, from context and the slight understanding of each of his classmates to make an educated guess) "He didn't show up all afternoon!"

"And this comes as a surprise why?" asked his not-friend this time. He saw her grainy image shuffle against his chair and heard a distinct thump of knocking against wood. "Anyway, why do you- oh. Oh yeah, I remember now."

Today's cleaning duties had fallen to Takahara and himself. He hadn't specifically planned it in advance and it was one of those rare occurrences of serendipity that greatly benefited him.

"Well, last I saw him, he was in the rooftop. Doing god knows-"

"And that was… lunchtime? Gosh! Someone's brains could get fried up there-" Another unknown voice, most likely one of their other friends.

"I think someone's already did-" said another unknown with a laugh.

There was another, stronger thump. "I don't believe it! So am I the only one on cleaning duty today?"

"Looks like it-"

"Don't worry, we'll save you a spot-"

"Arrgh! I hate you so much guys. So much-"

He stopped at the approximate center of the school building, a spot on the small, inner park filled with stout stone benches, shrubs, bushes and trees. A glyph had been placed here, and was a central portion of the grand pattern. The reason why he'd chosen this place to initiate operations was because it was a spot that could not fail to be seen by any students passing through to the exit.

He checked the PFP again. The friends had left Ayumi to her fate. He was about to estimate the time when a flicker caught his eye.

The demon had reappeared, and was now slurping on a popsicle, her purple-tinged tongue lapping the treat up with delighted haste.

When she noticed his bewildered glance, the demon flushed, giggling nervously before approaching him.

"Stop," he hissed, shooing her with his hands. "Please hide. I'm about to start a sensitive part of the operation."

"Oh, sorry!" said Elsie in an overly loud whisper. The image of the ice cream eating demon faded like a mirage, and Keima fought the instinct now to dwell on that… delectable image of licking.

Cute yes! But no, no NO! Not my business!, he thought furiously.

Shuddering, he turned back to his PFP, and now spied his not-friend's face peeking at him from a window above. She looked smug, and was dialing something enthusiastically on her cellphone. He blinked and shrugged, giving off the air of someone fervently concentrating on his PFP.

There was the distant sound of a bell, and Keima recognized it as Kasuga's part. In order that no teachers or students be witnesses to Keima and Takahara being together, she had ordered an impromptu display of traditional dance by some of her clan's retainers, of which the principal had been informed and subsequently made to order all faculty attend. The faint, faraway strains of taikos and flutes signaled the start of the performance.

It was an improbable development, the sudden appearance of which should have excited some suspicion in the perceptive. At least, if Keima hadn't been the writer of this scenario he would've been, following the Real's event probability matrix.

Then again, Keima thought, there was that demon to consider…

Later!He refocused on the troublesome game. Damn! Why is there an endearing devil character in this half-assed game!

He was thankfully jolted from his inner distractions by the heavy sounds of rapid footsteps. Keima cleared his throat, shooting a significant glance towards the devil's position that he hoped the other would get.

Still, he didn't think Takahara could have arrived so fast, he thought, as he traced the intricate carving on his waist. Their classroom was the floor near the very top, and was situated along the outer part of the building whose windows overlooked the sports fields. Even with a running pace, it would have taken two-

"There you are otamega!" said his grinning classmate, who didn't look the least bit winded. "You weren't planning on ditching me with all the work, were you?" She held out the one broom she'd brought.

Of course, he thought, catching her intent.

Keima took the time to give the girl a once-over which to her would have taken only one second of him looking at her over the rim of his glasses. Slender figure, runner's legs, relatively attractive face, an easy smile – and not a single indication of malevolence influence. Well, aside from the massive undercurrent of negative supernatural energy lurking beneath the surface, just barely hidden from the sun of his gaze by a flimsy canopy. But Takahara seemed to be as any of his other targets, intact and oblivious to the thing inside, unlike what the demon had claimed.

"Did you know Kasuga-senpai's got something going on outside?" she said, in a way which Keima recognized was conversing purely for the sake of pleasantries. "You should totally come see! I mean- if you can spare the time after this-"

"Takahara," he interjected crisply. "Why are you giving me that broom?"

"Huh? Don't you remember we're on cleaning duty today?"

"I do recall that fact; but I do not know how it relates to this scene of you handing me the only broom you've got." Takahara's eyes widened. He flicked imaginary dust from his finger and took one step toward his classmate. He tilted his head. "And since I don't see any other cleaning instrument in sight, I would assume you're either done with your duty in the five minutes since the last bell rang (which is a remarkable, albeit superhuman feat), or you think you'll perform much better without carrying a broom around, or it's some other undisclosed reason you're gonna explain to me now…?"

Ayumi crossed her arms over her chest, all the cheer seemingly stripped from her expression. "You know, Katsuragi, at the moment, I'm very busy with club-" she began.

"That still would not excuse you, Takahara," he said with some asperity, taking on a confrontational stance. "A duty's a duty, whether it's cleaning or our studies."

He thought to put all the authority his clan name could give him in his demeanor. No person who'd lived in Majima long dared to defy one of the Katsuragi, be they seasoned yakuza or fresh-faced beat cop.

(Though, he disliked using this vain tactic. There were lots of other ways to win a confrontation rather than throwing one's family name around like a haughty Kasuga.)

His classmate, who looked slightly intimidated, glowered. "Oh yeah? Then what about you, mister responsible? What gives you the right to brush off class like that? Rather, you're the one I found out here, playing your stupid games and so obviously avoiding your 'duty'!"

"I have my reasons-"

"And I've got mine! And unlike whatever you have, it's really important!" The girl had raised her voice, which caused even Keima to quirk an eye.

She'd gotten a tad riled up. That was a bad sign. He didn't know (and didn't want to know) what had gotten her emotional like this. He also didn't want to have a loud shouting match that would bring curious onlookers to this position.

And so Keima made a face that looked a tad guilty, shifting his feet in a show of discomfort before shrugging and turning the screen of his PFP down. "Pitting two truants together like this was a mistake from the start." He made a sigh, and then tilted his head as if deciding. "Let's compromise then. I will take the broom operations. You take care of arranging stuff. And picking up the stray litter. Things like that, now that I mention it," he nodded towards something behind Takahara in the distance, where an empty can lay on the ground.

He had the not-friend to thank for that.

Takahara made an impatient, exasperated sound. Eyes blazing, she glared openly at him now, as if he could be seared from her gaze alone, before relenting and shrugging her shoulders. Rolling her eyes, she placed the broom down and turned around to sort out the litter.

The very second she did that, Keima moved right into action.

The small switchblade, custom-embedded into each of his PFPs snapped into position as Keima made a quick cut into his palm. He wasted no time in pressing his bloodied palm onto the slip of paper right next to him.

The glyph activated with a faint, purplish glow followed by the sound of the soft tinkling of breaking glass. The sudden sight and sound should have alerted Takahara, but the girl had stopped in mid-walk, her back still turned to him.

Keima closed his eyes briefly, feeling the distinct, claustrophobic feeling of being pulled from the world, his whole being suffused with illogicality and unnaturalness to sever his physical ties with reality. It was not unlike entering into a spirit trance, although that one's purpose was only banishing a spirit from the physical and not one's whole existence, as was now happening to him.

He opened his eyes to a world bleached of light and colors, as if the sun had been swallowed by something large and unnatural. Keima could hear nothing but the ringing in his ears, for nothing else existed to make a sound here. The only, temporary source of light was the body of Takahara in front of him, which was now surrounded by brightly glowing purple chains, a multitude winding its way around and about the girl and the park, some embedding themselves into the walls and the pillars and the windows, some extending upward to disappear into the coal-choked sky. Something glowed brighter than the chains, situated in her chest area, and it was that which Keima now scrutinized. The girl herself was a monochrome color, unmoving and unaware of Keima (or anything at all).

The light was certainly something new. He supposed that was linked to the malevolence's distinct category.

There was a small gasp, and Keima whirled to see the demon materialize over where she'd last disappeared. She appeared unchanged save her relative lack of colors and wore a look of abject wonder and awe at her surroundings.

"How- How did you do this, mister God? This is like… this is like magic!"

"What—rather- How did you get in here?" Keima demanded. It was a real inquiry – he really wanted to know how the demon came to be here.

"I don't know… one moment I saw you disappear into that weird light, the next I appeared right here! I didn't do anything, I swear!" She caught sight of Takahara and the chains. "Is that- what is that, mister God?"

There were certain special permissions he'd specifically made into each glyph he'd inked. Only those who made a blood pact, which he'd done with the central glyph, could enter and trigger the void trap. The array of glyphs essentially dragged the user into a small, pocket dimension for a period of real-time, and in here he wouldn't be disturbed nor witnessed doing his extraction operation on the malevolence. Initiating it himself ensured he was the master of the trap, and could banish or drag other beings inside.

He had certainly not invited the demon in, he'd insisted to the being, after he'd explained all that to it.

"But I thought you wanted me to see, mister God," she said reproachfully.

"The ending, as I've said- not the route itself. But I suppose it's too late and too irrelevant to get worked up about it now." Keima adjusted his glasses. It would be too troublesome to attempt forcing the demon outside now, since he had nothing to go on about "Hell" beings. He thus pointed imperiously at the demon, saying in a commanding tone. "You will not interfere."

"Alright!"

"You will not breathe a word of what you see here to anyone else." He couldn't and wouldn't hold her to that for now.

"I understand!" She saluted, though Keima couldn't tell in the darkness if it was real or mocking.

"I need you to swear."

"I swear on the pride of the Hellian!"

"The what?"

"Sorry," it had the nerve to stick its tongue out playfully in a sickening-sweet manner. "It's just something my friend always says-"

"Never mind," he interrupted. Remember your oath, Katsuragi!"I hope you Hell demons are true to your word." He still couldn't (and wouldn't) hold her to that.

"Oh we are! Elsie can guarantee that!" Keima grunted, pushing the final distraction aside as he withdrew several tools from the slips of paper inside his kimono. Methodically, he laid them out on the ground around Takehara: a metallic talon, a scalpel-shaped blade the size of his forearm, several vials of differently-colored liquid, a box filled with curios, and another box stuffed to overflowing with pieces of paper.

Keima set the PFP on standby and got to work.

He sprinkled some liquid from a vial onto his hands.

He held a dragonfly figurine in his mouth.

He planted the talon on the ground, which turned into a crane-shaped thing that grasped the light in Takahara's chest tightly.

He unfolded a long, winding strip of paper and wound it about the handle of the blade.

He brandished it now, and it was either the trick of the light or the world's fancy that it seemed bigger than before, its blade the size of a king-sized bed, which he hefted as if it weighed nothing.

"Um…" Keima breathed out, resisting the urge to turn and threaten the demon with the blade.

"…What?"

"…Will you be… using that on the spirit?"

Keima shrugged, deciding to humor the demon for now. "To make it brief, I won't be doing the cutting, this one is." So saying, he turned the titanic scalpel horizontally across his chest and pushed forward, stabbing the point of the blade into Takahara's chest. The light suddenly sizzled, as if it were brimming with electricity. Almost immediately, numerous black ribbons erupted from it, streaming outward in all directions. The chains shook, as if something were silently struggling in its bonds.

He let go of the vibrating handle, and the blade was left sticking into the girl while the sharp sound continued in frequency and volume. After checking to see nothing was out of place, Keima then stood back and produced his PFP in his hands.

He glanced toward the devil, who seemed absorbed with the activity in front of her.

"If it's not apparent, I'm basically giving that thing a slow, painful death," Keima explained. The PFP screen flashed light and color and sound onto the bleak world. "Even if I'd rather prefer the quicker route; in this case, this elaborate setup is necessary due to the nature of the… target."

"Um…"

The game was seriously giving him aneurysms left and right. He'd come across a bug, a damnable bug! right in the middle of the repeat routes. He couldn't reproduce it, which was doubly frustrating since he needed to make a good case to present in flaming prose to the company's review site. "It's going to take a while to do. Ten, fifteen minutes, almost as long as this dimension will last—though I hope it doesn't last that long. I still have to make sure that everything's been flushed from the host."

"Um!-"

He'd had to avoid saving to see if that triggered the bug – and it made the game doubly infuriating to conquer. "If you're wondering about how you came here, you'll find no answers from me. I certainly didn't intend for any other to come here aside from the target."

"M-mister God…"

"We shall have to talk about this later, if that's alright with you. I mean, I had an inkling your kind existed, since if dragons and beasts from faerie are truth even as humanity calls them fantasies, then who am I to discount the Underworld? The question then is, is it the 'underworld' per se, or another sort of Hell…"

"Mister God! Please-!"

There was now an insistent beeping sound coming from behind, and it was so familiar that he could've placed it if he had a mind to it. But- "Please don't disturb me, miss demon. I'm in the midst of a delicate operation." He referred to both the extraction and his bug troubleshooting. "Please stand over there and wait-"

"Look out!"

The demon's scream rang so close and so loud that he cursed, looking up to verbally pummel the demon again. The moment he did so, he noticed the sight of the target for one second before there was a loud explosion; and at the same time, he felt himself yanked backward strongly by something on his neck, and that was an altogether painful experience were it not for him landing on something warm and soft.

"What in-" He blinked, in that next instant, something whizzed past his sight, something crackling and loud and hot. Then it was as if the whole pocket dimension was filled with the sound of live, untamed electricity, and Keima finally took the initiative of sitting up from whatever it was he'd been lying on.

And he promptly crushed the figurine in his mouth, wounding his gums and his tongue but having the effect of throwing up an invisible barrier against the burst of energy that headed his way.

"-the fwaying fook-" He tumbled away, and something behind him yelped and he paid it no mind as he scrambled for the box of curios, his gaze disbelieving at the chains that lay broken all around the visible world, at the shattered remnants of the talon and the blade, and on the mobile figure of one Ayumi Takahara, light spilling from every orifice on her face and the glow on her chest now replaced by a white-and-black miasma of ribbon-like strands and smoke.

"-is this!?" As if in response, the thing that was supposed to be his target flared in brightness, and it was all he could do to dodge its charge; he smelled something burning and realized that had been part of his kimono that had been singed in that instant.

He quickly turned around, now seeing the demon stumble to its feet, eyes on the thing that had barreled past the two, which was now crouched on the other end radiating the foul energy.

It was then that Keima noticed.

The demon was frantic, jabbing a finger at the Takahara-thing. "Mister God! This is serious! This is what I was talking about!"

He couldn't believe he'd missed it. Then again, it had only been twenty seconds since "all hell" had broken loose.

"Mister God?"

He looked at the two pieces of the PFP he held in his hands, piecemeal hanging off the severed parts of its frame. The two halves of Yokkyun's printed face smiled lovingly at him from each side of the electronic rift. He stared blankly at it, and he gulped several times, hands trembling, mouth dry. Then he gritted his teeth, and it was as if a wave of white-hot rage had burst from his mind, setting his entire body on fire.

"Godfuckingdamnit!" he shouted, glaring past the puzzled demon at his enemy.

"I hadn't fucking saved that yet!"