3-week time skip.


Azazel

Azazel held a certain fascination with the 'bad boy'. Throughout history, the human men that he admired the most were the ones that were willing to sacrifice their soul for the sake of accomplishing their goal. Such people were mostly found in fiction. His fascination quickly a conscious effort to make one of himself, an antihero, someone who worked from the shadows for the greater good. He justified his actions by fancying himself a misunderstood bad boy. With great reluctance, he was starting to wonder if the one who deserved such a title was not in fact himself, but Kokabiel.

Azazel sat down by the piers at night staring out over the water as he had often done since the attack. Before Kokabiel, he would've had his fishing rod with him, lounging away the nights with a smile on his face, perhaps with Issei or a pretty woman for company. Now he just sat looking out over the waters, ruminating endlessly over Kokabiel's words to him. Ultimately, Azazel knew that he wouldn't change, he couldn't. But his course of action could change; the leader of the Grigori could change.

Following the capture of Kokabiel, Azazel had called for a peace conference between all three factions hoping that Kokabiel had heated up the tensions allowing them to be tempered into lasting peace. Of course, diplomacy wasn't metalworking, but so far, the reigning Lucifer had vowed to attend, so something was working. The Church, comprised of three major branches that ultimately answered to the archangel Michael, had given no response as of yet, something that worried Azazel deeply.

Was there some trouble brewing within the Church that prevented them from attending? If so, it was beyond the knowledge or deductions of Azazel. The Church should've reclaimed the Excaliburs by now, and that was the only problem worthy of delaying the peace conference that Azazel was aware of within their ranks. It raised his suspicions that it the rumored fourth faction, the so-called Khaos Brigade, might be stirring up something in Church territory. Perhaps he could use Cato to sniff out some information about them.

Kuoh in the meantime was as unchanged as it could be considering the damage that was dealt. The memories of affected citizens were wiped of anything related to the destruction Kokabiel caused, and repairs were underway to deal with the structural damage, explained to the public as damage caused by an earthquake. The human mind was easily manipulated like that. When given an explanation, few questioned it.

Azazel walked home in the early morning hours, resigned to another day without a night's sleep as his mind remained tumultuous. His home was separated into three distinct parts in addition to his bedroom. There was the living room area, which doubled as a gallery, where he spent most of his lounging time. It was a pleasant place with beautiful artworks and flowers and luxurious seating arrangements. His office was the second part, a more serious place, but without any of the secrets that he wanted hidden from the world at large. He often let Vali barge in there without thought. The third part was the laboratory in his basement, accessible through a hidden door in the wine cellar. No one save for Azazel himself knew about it.

He debated taking a seat on the couch and wasting a few hours watching whatever morning TV Japan was fond of today. What day is it even today? He was almost seated before he changed his mind and instead headed for his office. Kokabiel had left him with more than just words, after all.

The dagger had been bugging him for weeks. The devil girl, Rias, gave it to him after the dust had settled on Kokabiel, saying that Kokabiel apparently gave the dagger to her for her to then give to him. Which raises more questions than it answers. He debated taking those questions to Kokabiel himself, sealed within his dark cell as he was, but Azazel knew that he couldn't face his Fallen brother after the revelation. Kokabiel fell because he refused to kill me. It called into question who was in the right or in the wrong, but above all, the condemnation from his father hurt him.

That wasn't to say his convictions would waver; no, Azazel would fight for peace all the same, albeit with less confidence than before. Nonetheless, he couldn't find it in him to face Kokabiel, so he had to continue researching the dagger on his own. It was a single cut with ragged edges, not a refined piece meant for enduring in combat. A ceremonial dagger then? When lying on his desk, it was a light purple in color, like a murky amethyst, but when he picked it up, it became a blackish purple with strange swirling tendrils inside. There was no change in its magical signature when he held it, so it might as well be a cosmetic effect, perhaps related to whatever ritual it was intended for.

Finally, there was the strange scribbling that trailed along its surface, tiny scratches made into the gem itself that were arranged in several layers around the blade's circumference. They had no magical signature, nor could he discern any meaning from them. He shook his head to clear it. There was no way Kokabiel had made this weapon, and that raised a pertinent question. Who had made such a thing and for what purpose?

"Every time I come in here, you look like a mess."

The smug voice could only belong to one person. "Vali."

"Can't you just one time greet me a little warmer than that?" Despite his words, Vali didn't look bothered as he strode up next to the desk with gait as though he owned the place.

"It's not that I don't appreciate you stopping by, I've just got a little something on my mind. Care for a drink?"

"No thanks." Vali never drank alcohol. The devil was a strange one, always so serious underneath his arrogant and playful mask, always working toward that absurd goal of his. The kid needed to let loose a little. "Is it related to that weird knife? Looks like an awful weapon to be honest, ragged edges, would probably shatter the moment it jammed into something."

Vali moved to pick it up; Azazel didn't stop him, he only curiously noted that the dagger was starting to glow. As Vali's hand made contact with the dagger, it shone blindingly bright, and Azazel could feel his jaw drop. Vali didn't cry out, so the light couldn't be because of a holy property in the stone.

"The hell is this?" Vali laughed. "You've lost your cool over a damned disco-ball party-trick thing?"

"Put it down again, quick!"

Azazel breathed deeply. Vali shrugged as he put it down, and the dagger returned to its amethyst-like hue. Azazel picked it up, and, as had happened every time up until that point, it turned into its blackish purple, although it did glow a little brighter than it used to. Or am I just imagining that?

Vali whistled. "All right, yeah, that's pretty cool."

"Why though," Azazel said, once more putting down the dagger. "Why is it bright when you touch it?"

"Different from person to person?"

"Can't be. It was black when the Gremory girl held it, and since she didn't comment on the fact, it was probably black when Kokabiel held it as well."

Vali picked it up again, as though to check whether it had just been a one-time thing, but sure enough, it shone brightly in his hand. "Oh, what's that?"

"What's what?"

Vali shook his head at Azazel, indicating for him to be quiet.

"Albion tells me that these scribbles," Vali gestured at the markings on the dagger as he spoke. "Are some sort of dragon language."

Azazel could feel the excitement build in his stomach. The stranger the mystery, the more joy when it was solved, wasn't that right? "What does it say?"

Vali was quiet for a moment. "Well, he can't tell. Apparently, my companion here is illiterate." Vali did not look amused, and Azazel slumped back in his chair. "Oh, and now he's mad at me. Yes, yes, of course you can read other dragon languages, idiot, we don't care."

What use dragons had for multiple languages was not Azazel's present concern, though it was puzzling. They were solitary creatures, after all, and if they did find the unmistakable need to communicate with each other, they could do it in the tongues of mortals.

"Even though he can't read the words, he says that he can feel it calling out to him somehow."

Calling out? "How?"

"Like a tug at his soul? Something like that. A summoning maybe. At any rate, it's unpleasant," Vali put down the dagger again, and for a while, they were silent.

A ritual dagger to summon a dragon? But if it had the purpose of summoning a dragon, then surely it wouldn't need a dragon already there for it to react. Perhaps the clue was something else, something about the soul? More questions than answers once again; the more you know, the more you know that you don't know. Azazel felt tired, the lack of sleep was catching up to him. He turned his attention back to his visitor. Although seeing the boy again was pleasant enough, Vali rarely visited if he didn't have a reason to do so, especially not since he hit his teenage years.

"Well, enough about that, what's going on with you, Vali?"

"Just here to remind you to do your duties at the peace conference, I assume I'll be attending with you?"

Ah yes, the peace conference. Azazel knew that he should give it more consideration, but despite being one of the greatest inter-faction events to happen since the ceasefire at the conclusion of the great war, other thoughts were still dominating his mind. Thoughts of a certain black-winged angel. A part of him was sure that he needed to learn the secrets of the dagger before the peace conference, but without anything rational to go with his instinct, he suppressed it. Rationality was the greatest strength that he had left since he abandoned his faith.

There were numerous considerations and preparations required for the peace conference to be something more than just a high-tension get-together. The factions needed to do more than arrange for a permanent peace solution at the highest levels – Kokabiel had shown that such a thing was irrelevant. As long as there were dissenters powerful enough to upset the equilibrium of whatever peace they negotiated, then their efforts would be forever fruitless.

"In a manner of speaking. You will attend with me, but you will represent yourself."

Vali was required to attend regardless of what else happened. The two celestial dragons were powers that by themselves could rival an entire faction, perhaps even topple one, even in their reduced forms as sacred gears. A treaty between the factions meant nothing without the consent of the wielders of the two celestial dragon gears. Fair fortune that Issei Hyoudou would not only be easy to convince of the merits of peace, but that he would also be attending naturally along with Rias Gremory's peerage.

The peace conference was to be a major occurrence hosted in Kuoh city, on the academy grounds that were now rebuilt. It was vital for the event to happen in the human world, as close to neutral ground as they could get, and Kuoh Academy was fitting given recent events. All the major figures from each faction were attending – or would be once the Church finally agreed. The conference was a symbol of unity; Kokabiel had failed… then why do I feel like I'm the one who's lost?

Vali smiled and waved as he left, and once more, Azazel was left to his thoughts. Were the factions really as bad as Kokabiel made them out to be? After the fall, Azazel organized the fallen angels into the Grigori hoping to contain their destruction in a manner similar to what devils later did with their peerages. If a subordinate to a devil broke off their connection with their king as per the evil piece system, they became a stray devil, and eventually their desires would overwhelm them, and given time, they lost even their sentience.

There was no such system in place for the Fallen. Azazel had established the Grigori to prevent a complete state of nature knowing full well what nightmares that would entail. The truth of the matter was that the Grigori barely did anything. The Fallen weren't a cohesive unit, the very reason that they fell was because they gave in to individual desires, and them all being identical in that regard, it made for a poor adhesive to bind them together. Still, Azazel had tried to play peacekeeper, outing the worst of the Fallen much like what he did with Kokabiel. But therein lay the crux of the issue. Who was Azazel, the worst of the Fallen, to judge anyone?

A knocking on his door startled him out of his depressing thoughts.

Standing outside holding a bottle of champagne was Cato. Azazel sighed.

"Come on in," Azazel tried to sound friendly, but even he could tell that it was a miserable attempt. He mustered up all his willpower to put his brooding behind him – he had to at least pretend that all was peace and tranquility in front of the man who helped stop the calamity.

"And here I thought you'd be happy after you managed to prevent a war."

"Well I've been missing my drinking buddy in the meantime, haven't I? Where've you been?"

Cato chuckled. "I thought it was a good time to go on vacation, actually. I won't lie, after that girls' academy blew up, I high tailed out of there as fast as I could. I figured that further away meant safer, and safer is good. Still, I thought you'd be in higher spirits," Cato wiggled his eyebrows and held up the champagne at the last word.

"Perhaps a drink will cheer me up, yes?" Azazel got out two tall glasses. A proper drink demanded the proper vessel – a drinking bowl for sake, a wineglass for wine, and of course a champagne glass for sparkles.

"Victory champagne, nothing better. There are many things on my mind, I'll admit, but first of all, why don't you tell me what's troubling you, friend?" Cato poured two glasses. "Cheers!"

What was troubling him indeed. "There's a lot going on, I guess. Kokabiel is finished, he failed, it's over, but the fragility of our peace is still a problem. We have a peace conference coming up in about a month's time, but… it's something more personal that's bothering me," Azazel trailed off. "Tell me, Cato, do you know how angels fall?"

Cato shook his head. Of course he didn't know, how could he?

"All angels were made by the Christian god for a purpose, all of us perfect for our role within his service."

"He's said to be omnipotent, isn't that right?" Cato said.

"Some have made the claim, yes, but he isn't omnipotent, nor is he alive."

If Cato was shocked by the revelation, he hid it well, but then shock was reserved for those who cared, and Cato had yet to show an interest in the creator.

"He had a penchant for giving his creations free will and the ability to build and imagine according to their own desires, and that was the case even for us, his angels, his children, his slaves. We lived out our purposes in his blissful presence, but as we watched humans, his favorite creation, some of us started to envy them. I guess that's how it started. With envy. Soon, our envy turned instead to affection as we watched them stumble about, failing mundane tasks while learning little, and soon it became admiration as they overcame the flaws in their nature and began creating things for themselves – art, music, architecture."

That was how it all began for him, wasn't it? The desire to do what humans had done. The desire to create something for himself was what led him to wander the human world, and all too soon, he fell in love with the human women. Why would father condemn us so for loving his most beloved creations?

"We started mingling with humans…" Azazel trailed off. "No, that's not right, not we. I was the one who started, wasn't I? It was me who made that first move. I lay with a woman, and even as I was with her, I felt my father's light leave me. When I tried to return to the heavens, my wings blackened and refused me."

Cato sat in silence as Azazel spoke, but Azazel could tell he was listening intently to every word.

"After I fell, a few others fell. Among them was Kokabiel. He had always been different from me, even before our fall. He was the angel of judgment and vindication, a holy executioner who smote the enemies of our Father without hesitation, and when I fell to my lust, I knew that he would fall to his bloodlust eventually. He was more distraught at his fall than anyone, and he isolated himself from the rest of us, though he still deferred to me for leadership when it became clear that we needed to organize. But…"

Azazel downed his glass. It tasted bitter as it went down.

"It wasn't bloodlust. He fell because he refused to kill me, the one who led the angels astray."

Azazel fell silent. Tears were fighting their way outward, credit to his fatigue, but he forced them down, sighing with a shaky breath before he took a draught straight from the flask. Azazel felt grateful for Cato's silence.

"In a way, it doesn't matter. I always knew that we Fallen were the bad guys, but I thought that at least by keeping the peace for the sake of humanity that I was doing something right. Then how, tell me, how can it be that the only Fallen to remain true to our Father to the very end wanted war more than anything?"

Finally, Cato stirred, clearing his throat and taking a drink from his still full glass before he spoke. "Perhaps he thought the world would be better off without the factions."

"Without the factions, devils and Fallen would be going rampant, you can't be-"

"You misunderstand. He wanted total war, didn't he? He wanted the factions destroyed entirely, not just dissolved."

Azazel's face darkened. "And you think he was onto something?"

Cato shrugged. "The problem would disappear, wouldn't it? But, before you slaughter me, that doesn't mean it's the only solution now, does it? Your peace conference might well be good enough, and perhaps he accounted for that outcome? Or perhaps he was just mistaken in the first place." Cato sighed and ruffled his hair. "Look, the only thing you can ever do is what you believe is right. You find out that's wrong, you learn your lesson for next time. That's all. Just make sure that you know what it is you really want, make sure that you know what you're fighting for, because if you make the right choices for a goal that you resent, the regret will last you eternity."

What was he fighting for? It sounded like something out of an action movie pep talk, but there was wisdom in it to be sure. Now, what was he fighting for? "For things to stay the way they are… do you think that's a valid goal?"

Cato shrugged. "Not up to me to decide. Anyway, I suppose I had best head back home seeing as you somehow emptied the rest of the bottle."

Azazel looked at the flask still in his hand. Huh, it really was empty. "I have some sake…?"

"No thanks. Morning-drinking isn't really my thing to begin with. I just wanted to share a celebratory glass with you as soon as I got back. It was good talking to you; I'll be by tomorrow."

Cato stood up to leave. A sudden thought occurred to Azazel. "Wait, Cato, come with me, it will take only a moment," Azazel went into his office and to his desk. The gemstone dagger was there, inert but somehow still imposing. Cato froze as he saw the now familiar blackish purple phenomenon as Azazel picked it up. "Can you try holding this?"

"Hold that?!" He looked disturbed by the idea as he almost jumped back and out of the room. "What the hell? Get that voodoo shit away from me."

Before Azazel could even respond, Cato was already halfway through the living room on his way to the door, but then he paused.

"There was one thing I wanted to ask you, actually."

Oh? "Go ahead."

"Does the name Baraqiel ring a bell?"

Baraqiel, the stoic Fallen. Among the first who fell, and one of the few to keep his hands mostly clean over the centuries. "I'm happy to call him my friend, why?"

"Is it possible for me to meet him, perhaps?"

Azazel frowned. "I don't see why not; he will be here at the peace conference, and I can give him your card."

"Wonderful, yes," Cato turned to leave, his breath turning to mist as he muttered into the fresh morning air. "That's wonderful."

Azazel closed the door before looking to his hand which still clutched the gemstone dagger.

The darkness that had clung to his heart was lightened. I suppose I'll ask Kokabiel after all.


Cato

The plan had been beautiful in its simplicity.

Kokabiel, a bona fide villain, would carry out the attack that everyone already knew he was intending. Only, instead of killing the two girls like everyone expected, Kokabiel would instead unleash the great celestial dragon upon the world. With the dragon loose, the gathered parties would have to retreat, and then Cato would swoop in and save the day. He would have just cause for his use of force, and no one would suspect him of setting up the event. If all went well after that, he would be hailed a hero and have the full support of two factions for what came next. All of that was assuming that the dagger worked, of course.

It had been an uncertain thing, the dagger. The nature of sacred gears was hard to comprehend, but from the knowledge Cato managed to get ahold of, the sacred gears that held the two celestial dragons were different from other sacred gears. Where most sacred gears were a weapon for the wielder's soul, the celestial dragons were independent souls bound to the gear first and then to the wielder. Dragon souls, Cato's specialty.

Because the wielder of the gear was not directly in control of the dragon, it should be possible to sever the dragon's link to the sacred gear without having to care about the wielder. The problem then was that a severed soul was useless, and even capturing the dragon's soul within a powerful soul gem would not let Cato eat the soul – he knew this much from experience.

Instead, he thought that by first severing the link between the gear and the dragon by pulling its soul with a dragon soul gem and then resurrecting the dragon before the soul was trapped, the dragon's chains would be broken, and it would be released in a weakened state like a newborn babe in the manner of what happened when Alduin first returned and began resurrecting dragons all over the place. Weakened was good.

Fighting other humans or humanlike beings was easy. Humans were susceptible to illusions, to preconceptions, and to trust. All of them weaknesses. Killing a human, no matter how powerful, only required you to hit them in a place that they couldn't defend, which more often than not simply meant a dagger in the back. Killing a person was often down to outsmarting them or just plain playing dirtier than them.

Fighting a dragon?

Dragons were unrestrained forces of nature. The very notion of sneak attacking a dragon was laughable. When fighting dragons, all that mattered was power and preparation. It was a truth that Cato learned long ago, and one that was battered into his skull and limbs again and again and again. There was no such thing as fighting dirty with dragons. Too many Nords succumbed to the heat or cold of a dragon's shouts, thinking that as long as they whittled it down with their arrows, they could win. No, the only way to face a dragon was to meet its might head on and overpower it – so a chance to weaken the dragon should be jumped at. The dagger was the chance to do so.

Cato grit his teeth in anger, not the first time since he left Azazel's house. He should've known something was wrong. Kokabiel had made a grand show out of it, gathering everyone's attention by blowing up the academy, and Cato had stayed just far enough away that no one would think it strange but close enough to intervene if the dagger accomplished its goal. He should've known.

Cato had assumed that his dagger failed, that the theory behind it was wrong, and that he would need more research into the sacred gears, hopefully with the help of Azazel, in order for him to make a weapon that would work. The dagger was made to shatter once its magic activated as a precaution to prevent the dragon soul from getting trapped. The fact that the dagger was still perfectly intact meant that it was never used. His blood boiled. He was the one who outsmarted others and watched them writhe, he was the puppet-master for whom everyone danced when he pulled their strings. You will die, Kokabiel.

He could barely keep his head clear enough to keep up his clairvoyance and find Kokabiel's prison. Serana once said that using clairvoyance was cheating, but Cato always maintained that cheating was a word coined by morons.

Kokabiel was hidden away in a remote location outside Kuoh, and when Cato finally reached the dark spiral stairs that would take him down to the Fallen's cell, he could barely remember how he got there. The familiars set to guard the place were easy to pass, though Cato needed to restrain himself lest he destroy them – absolute stealth was of the essence. Letting Azazel know even the time of Kokabiel's death would be enough to tip the Fallen off. Cato made sure that Kokabiel could hear his footsteps as he approached the cell, the footsteps of Kokabiel's doom.

The Fallen threw his head back and laughed maniacally. "Oh, it's good. It's so good! I worried that maybe you had given me a dummy task, that you had seen through me and schemed for this to happen," he laughed again. "But no. No! You failed," Kokabiel spat the word. "You were so sure that you had me bent to your will that you didn't consider the possibility. You failed!"

Cato scowled. The rage boiled inside him, threatening to spill over into a shout. "I did not fail, you pathetic worm. If you think you've thrown a wrench in my destiny, you're a greater fool than even Azazel the Clown. War will come, and I will have my dragon, the Scrolls are clear on that. But you will rot in this cell with no one to remember you or care for you. A dog's death for the mighty Kokabiel."

Kokabiel shook his head, the smile not even diminishing at Cato's words. "What joy that I get to see you this angry. You were so smug. But you can bleed. You walk around so superior, so sure of yourself, but you're no better than anyone else. You can bleed, and I go to oblivion to be with my creator in peace."

Magic began to crackle in Cato's hands.

Kokabiel screamed, but even his scream turned into laughter before his body eventually shuddered to a stop. His eyes were frozen wide-open with bloody tears streaking down his ruined skin, creating a horrific look with the wide smile that still graced his face.

Cato walked up on shaky legs and kicked the corpse.


Sadly, I will be very busy in between work having started last week and university starting this coming week. I will do my best to make writing a part of my routine, so I'm not going on a hiatus or anything like that, but frequency of updates will be sporadic. I wish I hadn't procrastinated so much this past week so that I could've written ahead a little more.

This chapter and the last were the last somber chapters for a little while, so if you didn't like them, don't worry. It will still be a little while longer before we find out more about why Cato is doing all this weird shit beyond just the whole prophecy excuse.

Also, 1 month anniversary for this story \o/

Anyway, thanks for reading.