A/N: Slight shout-out a story written by a certain Malady-magnet, who should make an effort not to be so magnetizing… ^_^'

Refs to ch: 67, 79, 90.

I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

"Walking the plank", some humorous side of him commented, as Shiro strode out on the narrow ledge above the black abyss.

Not that it had to be like that. It all depended on the decision the Knights made, after hearing him. All the highest officials of the Order, gathered at the Round table… He kept his gaze firmly fixed on a spot above the head of Leon Beaumonde, the Paladin, whose seat was at the far end of the long table. Ledges like his own reached out to the platform suspended at the centre of the room, each ending with a ridiculously high-backed chair. Shiro could see the purple curl of hair bobbing on the right-hand side… but he wouldn't betray his insecurity by seeking the Japanese Branch Director's eyes for support.

At the far end of the ledge – the plank – he stopped.

"So, as we are all gathered, I declare this hearing opened", said the first speaker; an aging European man with a prominent scar over the ridge of his nose. He didn't say it in Japanese, of course not: but for a meeting hosting Branch Directors from all over the world, Mephisto had been tasked to place a spell on the room that let every tongue spoken be understood by the rest as if it had been their own. "One, you are not allowed to speak unless addressed. Two, you are forbidden to repeat any aspect of the details discussed in this meeting. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"State your full name and affiliation, please."

"Fujimoto Shiro, Esquire, student at True Cross Academy in Japan, sir." His voice rang loud and clear in the aged stone arcs, bounced around and fell flat on the stern atmosphere.

"And you are aware why you have been called here, Mr. Fujimoto?"

"I have been called because I attacked a woman while I was possessed. And because I am a potential vessel for Satan."

The man with the scar cast a quick glance down at his papers before he spoke again:

"Four months ago, when Sir Pheles reported your unusual compatibility with demons to us, you were permitted to keep your status as student at True Cross Academy on the condition that you learnt to shield yourself against demonic possession." Having gotten the digits and details right, he took his sharp gaze from the paper and levelled it at Shiro. "Could you tell us about that development these months, Fujimoto?"

Shiro gave a methodical account of how he had become more and more apt at detaching from heart and emotion, how he meditated to maintain his focus under pressure, and how he had neglected to do either when spending time with his love interest. It did strike him that it would be tactical to linger on how much Kasumi meant to him, to use his youth and affection as excuse for the misconduct; maybe tug a few heartstrings around the table…

"And confirm just how rotten I am", he huffed darkly at the fancy, and related the event the way it had been: that he had been careless and caused a young woman irreparable damage, although it wasn't going to impede her everyday life.

"Are there any further questions to Fujimoto?" asked Nose-scar and swept a glance over the variety of faces along the table.

"I have a question", spoke a dark-skinned woman with hair like woven iron. "How come you are able to host Satan, Fujimoto? What makes you different from others?"

"I think that question is best answered by Sir Pheles, ma'am", he replied, and all gazes turned to the one attendant who seemed to enjoy all this.

"Why, I fear I will have to disappoint you, dear colleagues." There was a noticeable cringe, like ripples on water, travelling through the line of seated Knights. "All I can tell you is that Fujimoto-kun is different; how or why, I know no more than you."

"How do you know he's different, then, Honorary Knight?" Beaumonde inquired, using rank to make it perfectly clear that he considered no demon his colleague.

Mephisto was pleased; Shiro could tell. Pleased to have gotten the reaction he wanted out of the hostile Paladin. And the Paladin hadn't even realised that he had been baited. Once again, Shiro was reminded that while it was obvious to him how demons acted and why, others could be completely blind to it. Even if they were considered to be the Order's highest ranked exorcists.

Mephisto braided his gloved fingers together and placed them neatly atop his crossed legs.

"No one knows the human heart like a demon", he responded with one of those sincere smiles he reserved for psychological warfare. "I can tell he's different, but I cannot explain it to you any more than I can explain the scent of a soul."

"Then, is it possible there could be others like him?" the iron-haired woman resumed when she was given the word.

"I doubt it", Mephisto replied. "No human or demon has ever heard of a mortal able to host the God of Gehenna. Fujimoto-kun is a unique anomaly, a twist of fate with uncharted possibilities."

"In that case, I think he should be withdrawn from exorcist education post haste." A man with a big beard and a bucket-shaped headdress shot him a measuring glance.

"Shot it a measuring glance", Shiro corrected himself as the man spoke again:

"We're not serving Satan his meat-suit on a silver plate, that's all I'm saying. I know this won't sit well with you, and it doesn't sit well with me either, but there is no margin for error here. The boy should be treated like all other dangerous artefacts: kept somewhere safe, for his own good and ours. Studied, if possible, to find out why he's compatible. We might even figure out how to prevent anomalies like him from arising in the future."

"Make him a lab rat, is that what you suggest? You know full well there's no walls or wards that can keep Satan out if he wants in", snapped a man Shiro recognised as Deslauriers; the man whose wife he had saved in the attack on Kiridani Ryokan. "The only wall we need to worry about is the one in Fujimoto's mind, and I've witnessed with my own eyes that he's perfectly capable of keeping that in place on the frontlines!"

"Order, Deslauriers", Beaumonde's deep, unrelenting voice smothered his countryman's. "You wish to leave reply, Nikodim?"

"I do", said the Beard, turning his attention to Deslauriers. "What if he's captured? What if demons grab him and torture him till he slips? We're all human, that's the point I'm trying to make", he said, gesturing with a thick, square lumberjack's hand. "Humans make mistakes. Most of us can afford that, but he can't. Better not take the risk at all in his case."

"Nikodim has a point", stated a Chinese exorcist whose eyes were so narrowly slitted that she seemed to be talking in her sleep. "We are the ruling body of the exorcist society. It is on our shoulders to make the decisions. They may be tough and they may be easy, but they must always be made for the benefit of the society as a whole. As exorcists it is our duty to sacrifice ourselves for the people we protect. As an exorcist, Fujimoto has declared that he is prepared to sacrifice himself for the people. This may not be the way you intended to do that", she said, turning to him and parting her eyelids ever so slightly, "but I trust you will understand that we must decide what is best for the many."

Shiro felt his heart sink in his chest at the many nods and murmurs in favour of this course of action. No, they couldn't do that – they couldn't lock him away in some Deep Keep cell and-

"If I may?" chimed Mephisto's familiar cadence. "The best defence is a good offense, I believe it's said. Rather than deny Fujimoto the training that would allow him to defend himself against such attempts, why not let him develop his full potential?" he suggested glibly, spreading his hands. "He does have a remarkable amount of it."

"Enough to hold his own against hordes of high-level demons?"

It was a good thing Shiro was forbidden to speak unless spoken to, or he might have delivered a snide retort to Beaumonde's barely concealed disdain. As it were, he didn't need to.

"Enough to hold his own against me", Mephisto responded pleasantly. "I owe my new haircut to our sparring." He flipped the decimated tress of purple hair and met the surprised glances with an easy smile.

"Leave the rest to the Honorary Knight", Shiro repeated quietly to himself.

"As I'm sure you already know, Fujimoto-kun is a swiftly rising star in the Japanese Branch of the Order", Mephisto continued, weaving twirling trails of words to lead his colleagues down the garden path. "His expertise spans all five disciplines of exorcism; a field of work which he, if you'd excuse me for reminding you, was unfamiliar with up until a year ago. In this short time he has become the Academy's highest ranked Dragoon, secured the respect of Japan's most prominent family of Tamers, and been trusted to partake as Doctor in missions reserved for Junior Middle Class exorcists and higher. He is, in the best sense of the word, unique." A hand in purple glove swept gracefully in his direction. "Unknown potential stands here before us, perhaps the first of a new breed of exorcists in the Order's long history; and we would rather throw away this talent than make use of it? A terrible waste, I say."

"A precaution", replied the same Chinese exorcist. "The Order has long experience with fighting demons without making uncertain gambles."

"I was a gamble when I was first accepted into the Order", he reminded softly, "and the addition of my abilities has brought you naught but advantages, even if I am a demon. And, if you excuse me for getting personal, Mrs. Long; are you not descended from the white snake demons of Zhejiang?" he inquired as if just recalling a pleasant anecdote. Mrs. Long showed no reaction to this, but made no move to deny it either. She simply sat, still as a viper in wait, and let Mephisto continue: "Long ago, individuals with a heritage like yours would have been a threat unable to serve as part of the Order; now, we consider you an asset for your aptitude at Taming. That, too, was a gamble, and I dare say that the present members of the Order are grateful for it."

"Individuals with a heritage like mine have an affinity for demons, not for Satan himself." Her voice was as thin and precise as a sashimi knife; and when her eyes opened up a bit more to land a warning gaze on Mephisto, they were a clear, venomous green. "Can you guarantee us, then, that he won't be a threat to his comrades? That he won't become possessed again, and harm more people?"

"Guarantee, no. Nothing is ever guaranteed – not even the rise of tomorrow's sun." Mephisto spread his hands in an elegant gesture of unaccountability. "In a world that operates on the shifting laws of uncertainty, the only thing certain is that Chance can, at any time she pleases, turn the tables on Probability and render all our calculations redundant. When every choice is a gamble in its own right, the one thing we can do is trust Lady Chance's judgement when an opportunity like this is presented us."

"Silken words from a split tongue." The Paladin twirled his reservoir pen between his fingers as if he pondered how to kill Mephisto with it. "What you so eloquently try to pass off as fact is that we can't know he won't fall to Satan, and that we should put our trust in him simply because there is also the possibility that he might prevail."

If this was payback for his defending of Mephisto in Court over Christmas, Beaumonde had a particularly nasty habit of holding grudges long past expiration date.

"My good sir, I am willing to prove to you in whatever manner you see fit that my tongue is in no way forked", he replied pleasantly. "What I'm passing off as fact is that we can't calculate with our minds the outcome of our actions, and that the one thing we can then rely on is faith." His tongue curled around the word, caressing it gleefully as it leapt from his lips to grate nails over the ears of the Paladin: the Vatican's holiest knight.

"Oh you're good, you're so damn good, you snake-tongued son of a bitch."

"As a demon, I consider myself a good judge of character", Mephisto continued, voice soft and effortlessly resonant in a way that reeled listeners in like fish on hooks. "I have followed Fujimoto-kun's development these past months, beyond the scientific reports I have sent to you. As for trust and faith and where they're due, I implore you to listen carefully, for these are words you aren't likely to hear from me ever again: I would place my life in this young man's hands."

Shiro didn't even register the reactions around the table. He registered nothing after those words. Had Mephisto really said that? Had he... Did he...?

"That might have something to do with Fujimoto being your friend."

The mention of his name tore Shiro's focus back to the meeting, and he started breathing again.

"As I said: a good judge of character", Mephisto deflected the Paladin's snide remark with a beaming, clueless smile. "One has to be careful when choosing friends and careful when choosing enemies – and careful not to get the two mixed-up, non, Beaumonde~?"

Shiro had seen that kind of face before, on Fuji every time he was late for class. That naïve ignorance that almost had you believing he truly didn't understand what he was being accused of.

It's one thing to see such a charade pulled by a harmless teenager, but when Mephisto did it… Shiro couldn't decide if his guts knotted because it was hilarious or because it was ominous. He scanned the faces of the assembled Knights, wondering what truth their eyes saw. Did they see the carefree quirk on display in the high-backed chair…? Or did they see the wicked glint in the corners of that bright smile?

"I think Sir Pheles has made a point that the rest of us have temporarily forgotten." The speaker was a man with skin like a panther, and the resonant voice granted by mass and volume. "Namely that this is a human we're talking about. A young man – in his own country he isn't even a legal adult. And yet he stands here, shouldering a burden no one his age – no one at all – should have to carry." He folded his fingers on the table in front of his burly frame, looking at each and every face at the opposite side. "If we have made gambles by admitting half-demons, then surely we can gamble by admitting an unusually talented human. I'm willing to believe Sir Pheles' account of him. As for the danger he potentially poses, I believe the saying goes 'learning from one's mistakes'." Eyes as black as coal settled on Shiro with the first hint of warmth he'd seen around the table so far. "You've seen the consequences of carelessness, Fujimoto. And I think you've learnt the hard way what carelessness can cost", he spoke softly; sadly.

"I have, sir." The man tipped his rounded face forward, and the black eyebrows rose up. He was... urging Shiro to continue...? "And it's not a mistake I ever want to repeat."

Maybe he made a good impression; maybe Mephisto's smooth speech helped. Maybe Lady Chance was on his side, for once. In either case, Nikodim and Long weren't.

"We can't disregard the complications of Fujimoto's condition", the green-eyed Mrs. Long persisted. "Why is he like this? What makes him different? How can we prevent his type of anomaly? These are questions that need answers – perhaps not by removing him from the field entirely, but at least detain him for a while to study his condition."

Many agreed on that – even Deslauriers, who had spoken out against it so sharply, grudgingly admitted that yes, those questions needed answers. But what if those studies didn't provide any answers? How long would he be "detained"? He didn't like it. He didn't like any of this… this hostility dressed in formal words and clothes. His feet were starting to feel sore from standing still so long, and-

"You say he's a friend of yours, Sir Pheles…?" Nikodim mused slowly, stroking his impressive beard thoughtfully. "And no human or demon has heard of a mortal that can host the Devil. I had never heard of a human having a demon for a friend, either. Could it be the two conditions are related, and that prolonged exposure…?"

Shiro tried not to tense up as the discussion veered dangerously close to the truth. If they pursued this track then- The discussion came to a brusque stop when Mephisto erupted in pealing laughter.

"Ahahah-hah-haah~ forgive me my outburst, dear Knights, but this theory i-hihihis rather entertaining. Why, 'demonicness' isn't transmissible by exposure, like some common cold", he snickered merrily. "Fujimoto-kun's compatibility with demons is innate: an integrated and inseparable aspect of his own essence, present in him from birth. Finding the cause for that is impossible – through your own doing, I should add. Clinical study of the human soul was banished by the Vatican over four hundred years ago. Unless you wish to revive that practice, and condone the wilful manipulation of souls, I fear Fujimoto-kun will remain a mysterious anomaly: a fluke, a one-in-a-billion possibility granted us by Lady Chance", he smiled, knowing perfectly well that the Vatican would never permit that branch of science to rise from the grave. "And if you allow that possibility to remain in the Order's ranks", he added, voice pitching a lower octave, "I will wager the name of the next Paladin is Fujimoto Shiro."

…if he could, he would have stuffed a sock in Mephisto's mouth. As it was, he could only stand still and quietly burn to cinders under Beaumonde's glares.

"So, the devil has named his champion." The dry, chilly tone made Shiro wish he could go poof like Mephisto. "What are your opinions on that, Fujimoto? Do you see yourself as the next Paladin?"

"No, sir. I don't consider myself Paladin material." Damn the old goat, getting carried away like that…!

"That's the one opinion we have neglected to ask, I believe", said the current Paladin, lips curling faintly as he spotted easier prey than Mephisto. "What do you think of yourself, Fujimoto? What do you think of this situation? Should we trust you, as your friend says?"

What did he think of himself? Just what the fuck did Beaumonde think he thought of himself? Tch, but that was the whole point with that double-edged question, wasn't it? Make him bow his head in shame over what had happened, and say that he couldn't be trusted: would look both honest and modest, wouldn't it? Would be all Beaumonde needed to claim that he had consented to be subjected to whatever judgement the asshole Paladin decided on.

Or he could choose the other option. He could hold his chin up in the tattered light of the future he hoped for; claim he could be trusted, and give the impression that he thought Kasumi's injuries could be overlooked in favour of his own ambitions? Oh yes, what a good impression that would make.

...and then there was a third option. Worming in the back of his mind was an option that had developed from the imprint through the many verbal fencing matches he had played against Mephisto: speak like a demon. Pick the right words, twist them the right way, mix truth and lie into the perfect blend that would give him what he wanted.

"What I did was grave. It was a fatal mistake I can't ever forgive myself for", he said levelly, picking words that were picked for him by the unnatural instinct in the back of his mind. "Regret can be either a strong paralytic, or a powerful motivation. In this matter, it will be both. I can never forget the mistake I made, and therefore I will never repeat it. Sir."

After another hour of nerve-wrenching discussion back and forth, of whether he should be detained or not, it was decided by majority vote that Shiro would be allowed to continue his studies and serve as an exorcist: but if he mishandled his obligations one more time, he would be stripped of his rights and serve the Order as an object of study.

Their footfalls echoed hollow against centuries-old stone that bent its back in arcs above them, as if to peer down on the peculiar duo that marched through the Headquarters' catacombs. The dark corridors reminded Shiro of catacombs, at least, and not in a good way.

"Is there even a good way for something to resemble catacombs…?" he mused, glancing at the Roman statues that adorned shadowy alcoves along their path. "Some sales-pitch, that", he said dryly.

"Not my best performance, but it served its purpose. Wouldn't do for me to make it seem like there was a conflict of interest", he grinned and shot Shiro an impish wink. Hated to lose, loved to win. "You weren't half bad yourself. Really, Shiro, to have a way with words but never showing it is quite-"

"You don't think you could have left out the Paladin-part?" he cut in with a bit more acid to the tone.

"And miss the look on Beaumonde's face?" And all the glee he'd held in during the meeting exploded out of him in mad giggles and flourishing… pirouettes…? "Nihihihiii~ his face when I brought faith into the discussion – aah I couldn't stop looking at it kieheheheheheehee! Dear old stone lion, I'm sure he's twisting his mane into knots right now, thinking of Satan's vessel as the Paladin!" He brought the key ring out of his pocket and sent it up in the air, spun a cackling whirl and caught the right key as they came down. "Haah, the religious: what would the world be without them~?"

The door they reached seemed as ancient as the grey stone enclosing it, its artful iron fittings nearly merging with the grain that rose out of the wood like veins on the back of an old man's hand. The key to Faust Mansion rattled in the complaining lock, and among the jingling keys an out-of-place string of dice was kept company by two equally out-of-place mecha robots.

"Stop screwing arooouund…!" Shiro groaned as they stepped thousands of kilometres into Mephisto's spacious study. "Why'd you have to go and say I would become the friggin' Paladin? Oh, right, 'cause you wanted to piss the current one off – good job with that – but I'm the one stuck with the Gojira-sized expectations on my back!"

He couldn't make him stop, no. Mephisto loved to play; a demon down to the bone who loved to press buttons, pull strings, and lead humans along on whatever merry dance he chose. There was no breaking that addiction: but one thing Shiro would never allow was for the game master to use him as a gambling chip. Once stuck in that shadow web, you would never come out of it.

…and still, he couldn't help but skirt its edges, drawn by an equal measure of fear and admiration for the beauty of it. For the intricate thrills the soft strings whispered of, far below the surface layers of the world.

"Why so heated~? You would make an excellent Paladin, Shiro", the demon smiled blithely.

"Sure, an excellent Paladin", he mimicked snappily. "The only reason I'm not in an isolation cell right fucking now is that Beaumonde wants to see those madman ravings of yours fail, miserably: see me fail miserably! Joke around as much as you want with the guy, I don't care, but don't go dragging me into your crap!"

…Shiro had learnt, over time, to interpret a wide array of Mephisto's grins. There were grins of pure smugness, of gloat, of knowing-what-you-don't, grins of watching people wander lost in his labyrinths of words… and then there was the grin that stabbed him with the sudden remembrance that Mephisto's true name was Samael.

"Joke around…?" he purred low, smiling. "I do no such thing. I'm a good judge of character; and you", he poked a finger in Shiro's forehead, "will accomplish great things in life, little lion."

It was on his tongue to ask about the path of the future, and what forks and turns the King of Time had glimpsed on it. It was on his tongue to ask, but before his mind could question the wisdom in that Mephisto had moved on to other topics: namely, Shiro's hair. Which seemed to offend the demon no matter what was done with it.

"Just what were you thinking?" Mephisto's features settled somewhere in between insult and disgust as he yanked out a white hair.

"Make a good impression on the Knights?" Shiro repeated, rubbing the sore spot on his scalp through the prickly, barely a centimetre long hair. "I thought it would look better if I didn't come in there with pink hair."

"It's horrible", was the short verdict. "You look like a nail brush."

Really, why wasn't he a hairdresser? Weren't they usually gay anyway…? But before Shiro could piece together any prejudiced jibe of that, Belial was at his master's side. With a package that looked like it had been sent by express mail.

"Pardon my intrusion", the butler said with a bow. "As per your instructions, your highness, I have brought the delivery as soon as it arrived."

"It's here!"

One moment Mephisto was standing beside him, and in the next there was a lone white cape frozen in surprise before it fell limp to the floor. Letting human pretense fly, the demon darted for the package like a cobra. Simultaneously, Belial managed the reverse manoeuvre, dropping the package and reflexively diving to save the cape. He caught it in time, and caught his own exasperated expression before his master noticed it.

"It's here! Look!"

The wrapping was gone in one swift motion, as of a magician pulling the tablecloth off a table and leaving all cutleries standing. Left in Mephisto's hands, held out for scrutiny like the Holy Grail in all its glory, was a Betamax cassette that Shiro had to read twi- no, three ti-

"What the…?" He leaned all the way into the cover of the cassette and pulled his glasses down to peer over the rim when he read: "'Grendizer, Getter Robo G, Great Mazinger: Kessen! Daikaijuu'. For real? You found a film with all three of those mecha crapbots?"

"Shush, you! I had it pre-ordered directly from Toei: this is the first tape of the first edition ever!"

Like his firstborn child, but much less noisy and in a much more manageable format; Mephisto hugged the cassette close to his chest and wiggled happily with a high-pitched, humming sound. Shiro could have sworn for a second that his hair curl turned heart-shaped. Belial stood at appropriate distance and watched, calculating behind a professional face whether he should stop his master from making an idiot of himself before a human, or if it was better to keep quiet and keep his job.

"Wanttowatchit?" he bubbled, even though he knew Shiro had no interest in mecha anime…

…but he also knew just how effective that childishly happy face was for persuading him.

Come on. It was like the cutest little puppy ever dropping a ball at your feet and looking up at you with eyes shining brightly with expectation. Exactly how that comparison was applicable to a one-ninety-five tall demon was… unclear.

"Alright. If I get my own popcorn bowl." Shiro emphasized the matter by crossing his arms. He really did want his own popcorn bowl.

"Why, certainly." He blinked in surprise. "What spawned that condition?"

"For one, you eat all of it when we share." Shiro unbuttoned his school uniform jacket with some difficulty for the splinted finger. "And two, you've got claws." He dropped a meaningful glance at the hands holding the videotape. There was no way Mephisto would dirty his gloves by keeping them on while eating popcorn. "Salt in scratch marks stings like a bitch." Ah, free at last from the garment that was far too warm for August. "Besides, I tend to lick my fingers. Can't soil the Princess' food with germs." Trap set…

A suggestive grin stretched Mephisto's lips to match his own.

"What makes you think I would object to sharing saliva, Shiro~?"

…and tripped.

"It's the same fingers I use to pick up horseshit." Ah~ Shiro could see him cringe all the way out in the tips of his ears. "Love that look on your face, Princess. Hey, Belial-san – could you put this away for me?"

"Certainly, bocchan", the butler replied, accepting Shiro's school uniform jacket and putting it atop Mephisto's cape. "Your popcorn will arrive in a few minutes, your highness. Anything else?"

"Bocchan...?" Apparently, it was the first time Mephisto heard it.

"I'm trying to take over your mansion, haven't you noticed?" he explained with a face of mild surprise. "First I make your familiars like me, then your servants, then I get my own key – before you know it, I'll be the new master of the house."

…he should so remember to make that the stake next time they had the opportunity to bet. Make himself master of the house for a day, and Mephisto the servant. Oh, the possibilities…

"That is one thing I can guarantee will never happen."

"Never say never to Lady Chance, Sammy", Shiro pointed out with a cheeky grin.

"Of course, if you were to marry me, you could be mistress of the house."

"Get that stupid mecha thing rolling already."

No, Shiro had no interest in mecha. That didn't really matter at the moment. The mental tension the hearing had exerted had left him more fatigued than training did, and he could think of nothing more relaxing than to be lulled to sleep by explosions and shrieks of giant sea monsters.

I would place my life in this young man's hands.

Shiro smiled sloppily and lowered his eyelids over the anime. Took a pinch of popcorns from the bowl resting on his belly. It would tip once he fell asleep in the beanbag. Spill all the popcorn. Give Mephisto something to complain about.

None of that mattered at the moment.

A/N:

Gojira is the Japanese name for Godzilla.

Grendizer, Getter Robo G, Great Mazinger: Kessen! Daikaijuu - yes, Toei made an anime film featuring all three of the biggest mecha heroes of that era. It aired in mid-July that year, so I suppose Mephisto must have paid quite an amount of money to get them to make that tape so shortly after. xD But~ if you're a hardcore otaku and a multimillionaire, I suppose you'd think it was worth it.