A/N: Refs to ch: 11, 36, 55, 107.

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

He had plenty of spare time, now that he had technically graduated from high school. Special schedule ate that up quick enough, though. Attending classes with the senior exorcist students. Writing extra assignments. Helping Moriyama Mayu with her garden and receiving private tutoring in pharmacognosy.

Model student. Two words that left a bitter ring of irony in his ears.

August shone brightly on the white facades of the campus buildings. It was lunchtime, but most students chose to linger in the corridors for the benefit of air conditioning. Shiro was already headed to the Eastern library to do some in-depth reading on the migrating patterns of water demons. Kohu-sensei had assigned him another extra paper to work on. He needed to work on his academic writing, she said, because he would be required to write candidate and master papers in later years: "academic writing" meaning using words that nobody except Mephisto knew, as long and confusing sentences as possible, passive voice preferably, and under no circumstances was any average human being supposed to understand a shit of-

"Shiro! Shiro!" Shizuku's voice dangled on the last thread of his breath. He must've run quite some distance; otherwise he had the same unending stamina Kasumi had. "Shi-haah bloody hell ye're a hard one ta haah track down…"

There was something… off… For while Shizuku panted and sweated, as you'd expect from one who comes running like a madman on a warm day, his face was a disturbingly pale shade of the usual tan.

"What's the hurry?" He stopped on the slope rising up to the library building, waiting for Shizuku to catch up and catch his breath.

"Ye haven't heard? Haah no, of course not. The Kita shit-head's spreading word that ye're Satan's host vessel."

"He's what…?" Shiro felt his lips form the words, but couldn't hear if he said them or not. He could see Shizuku's chest heave beneath the damp shirt, but heard no breath wheeze from his mouth.

Then sound came rushing back in. Like water through an opened dam, choking him with nausea.

"'E's saying ye're Satan's vessel in Assiah", Shizuku repeated while wiping sweat from his brow. "Claims haah claims 'e heard it from grandparents working at 'eadquarters, or somethin'."

Yes, Kita had grandparents in the Vatican… In the Council… In the archives… Oh no, no…

Shiro could feel it creaking, the world around him; breaking apart, like a ship groaning in full storm.

"Oi, d'ya hear me? Shiro-san?"

When he snapped back, Shizuku was watching him like one would watch a dog that might-or-might-not have rabies. Watchfully. Tensely. Suspecting, but hoping he was wrong.

"What do I do now…?"

His reactions had already betrayed him. And even if he denied the claim, there would be others who asked. And sooner or later, when enough people had heard and enough people asked, the truth would come out. All because of bloody Yaonaru Kita.

"Where is Kita?" Shiro heard himself ask.

Shizuku had expected… What had he expected? Not those words, that was for sure. It took him an extra moment to replay the question. Enough time for residual doubt to evaporate.

"Ye mean…?" His eyebrows drew together, as if he still couldn't believe, still couldn't be sure unless he heard it out loud. "It's-?"

"It's true."

Shiro had been to the river once, with his mom and dad. Early spring, when the leaves were still sleeping in their buds. His dad had hoisted him up to sit on his shoulders, so he could see the vast sheet of ice that blanketed the water. Winter had begun loosening its grasp on Japan, and so the ice had begun to reluctantly release the river from its hibernation in the white cocoon. All the way up on the riverbanks, they could hear its birthing pain: gunshot cracks and agonised groans as ice broke, collided, ground into and up on top of each other. Like a herd of slow, panicked cattle struggling for their lives in the pitch-black water.

He'd watched, breath held, as nature demonstrated her raw power over the elements. It was the same awe-inspiring force that streaked his skin with goose bumps during thunderstorms. Mesmerising. Terrifying.

It broke. It broke, like one massive sheet of ice: shattered the façade covering the cold, dark truth. The silence. The world. All of it… shattered.

"It's true", Shiro heard himself say. Terrified. Mesmerised. Not quite believing that the silence was finally broken. "I'm a compatible host: that's all there's to it. I'm still just a regular guy aside that. Where did you last see Kita?"

If he could find Kita, he could find the source. Stem the leak. Damage control. Maybe, maybe he could save something in this shipwreck of spilling secrets.

"What are…? Ye... How can…?"

Fractured questions and disbelief were swirling over Shizuku's features, dropping assorted words onto his tongue; a hurricane sweeping through his mind and tearing up what he had thought he knew. And in the eye of the storm, in the deadly calm in the midst of chaos, one word anchored in his thoughts with hostile certainty:

"Pheles", he hissed, eyes darkening with thunder clouds. "What did he do te you?"

"He has nothing to do with this", Shiro replied coolly, not wanting to ignite Shizuku's temper. "He-"

"Don't ya dare protect his ass, Shiro", Shizuku snarled through bared teeth, stabbing a finger harshly at him. "Ye know damn well no one can host Satan so don't go fuckin' lyin' ta me. This 'compatibility' thing stinks o' demon magic."

"You can't 'make' a human compatible with Satan", he pushed, trying to appeal to reason although Shizuku was probably agitated far beyond that point. "No one can do that. I had host potential from birth, and-"

"An' when Pheles noticed that 'e wound you round 'is little finger ta make the most of it?!" the pilgrim snarled viciously. "Do ya hear ye'se-"

"He noticed when I started attracting demons, and ran tests to figure out why", Shiro snapped coldly. "It turns out I developed my potential perfectly well on my own as the stupid fuck I am. Mephisto did nothing."

Shizuku looked like he was about to shout back, or punch him, when the black fury in his eyes faded… and became something infinitely worse.

"When ye started attracting demons…?" he repeated. Slow and steady. A rising river that will eventually sweep away everything it touches: and there's nothing one can do to stop it.

"No… shit, no…"

"Ye started attracting demons in April. No, in February. When ye were found on that balcony." Ice. Tendrils of frosty lace eating into Shizuku where he stood, fists clenched and knuckles white. "How long did ya know?" You could see him bristle visibly; see the low, ominous tone in his voice vibrate in every hair. "How long did ya know this without telling us? Without telling my sister?" Any moment now, his vocal cords would become so tense they snapped. "Or you were gonna wait an' let Satan tell her when he took yer-"

"I've known since April", he cut off. Not that he wanted to speak. But he couldn't bear to listen. "I didn't ask for this shit, and I never meant to do anything to Kasumi. You have to realise that, Shizuku: I never intended to do any har-"

"Ye don't get ta fuckin' call her by name!" Shizuku shoved him hard enough in the chest that Shiro staggered backwards on the path. "What bloody intention?! What the fuck did ya think would 'appen?! Ye shouldn't 'a gone near her at all!" Another shove, with all of his weight behind it.

"I made a mistake." He grasped for Shizuku's wrists, bracing himself against the thrust. "A huge bloody mistake, but I never-"

"Lemme tell ya what fuckin' mistake ye made, ya little shit", he hissed, black eyes boring into Shiro as he pressed forward, arms trembling with rage and strain in the tight grip. "Ya bit my sister's face off, all because ya think with yer dick instead o' yer head!" Shizuku tore free and barrelled into him, using his advantage in weight and height to knock him down on the stone pavement.

Fists, knees, elbows – Shiro couldn't tell what was what as they grappled for any extremity they could catch. Besides, he had to be careful not to be too rough on Shizuku. Easier said than done.

"Get a hold of yourself dammit!" Finally. Shiro was pinned down on his back, but he managed to lock the pilgrim's wrists and hold him fairly still. "I'm sorry – more sorry than you can ever imagine! What else do you want me to say?!"

Nothing. There was nothing he could say: he knew that the split second he looked up at Shizuku, before the latter's forehead came down hard on the bridge of his nose.

Feelings aren't good at thinking. Feelings like fear, and love. And betrayal.

Shizuku had lost two sisters to demons. Because of a friend, he'd almost lost the third.

Shiro's glasses wouldn't budge thanks to their magic, but dug hard into his nose bone. He wrenched Shizuku off of himself, groaning and feeling a choking hotness fill his nostrils. Staggering to his feet, he wiped the worst away with the back of his hand, spitting the rest on the walkway. Shizuku braced himself to get up, but his arm wouldn't support him and he flopped back down on the ground in a hailstorm of hissing curses.

Screw damage control. Screw stemming leaks. The ship was sinking, and there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it.

"I call you forth to tell the just from the corrupted, to judge and exact judgement; to hunt the guilty down from the domes of the sky to the pits of the underworld." The summoning circle heated in his shirt pocket, and the smell of burnt brimstone mingled with the blood in his nostrils. "Lead me to Yaonaru Kita.

The great white hound looked at him, bared its teeth at him, and he was about to give the command again when he realised it wasn't going to contest him.

The damn thing was laughing; a hoarse, racking sound accompanied by gushes of sparks over the lolling tongue. Then it turned and took off down the slope.

Rage is often likened to fire. A rabid, reinless heat that explodes and destroys anything it touches. It devours mind, reason, pain; friend, enemy… Fire burns everything.

And if it can't explode, it will implode. Behind the iron bars of self-control, Shiro's rage imploded in a cold, searing flash. Cold rage burns reason, not mind. It burns the restraints off cruelty and blackens its edges with hatred, flames converging and concentrating with deadly precision wherever the mind wishes it.

Shiro's mind was set on finding Yaonaru Kita.

He found the hellhound in one of the boys' dorms. It paced restlessly outside the showers on the third floor, grunting and snorting at the door. There was a ward painted on the wood – probably one on the inside, too. The handle turned without gripping the latch when Shiro tried it.

Fucking rat.

"Not man enough to face the people you badmouth, Kita?" he spoke loudly to the door. Waited. Nothing. "I'm dismissing my familiar. Either you come out, or I come in."

Still nothing. The miasma had almost dissipated after the hellhound's leave, and no sound was heard from the shower room.

"Fine."

Shiro backed a step and braced himself before kicking sideways at the door, just below the lock.

"I'll get you."

He kicked again, and heard the wooden frame groan.

"I'll fucking get you."

Third kick; the door burst through the frame in a cascade of splinters. He was greeted by rows of metal lockers, kept company by latch-work baskets, a couple of left-behind bottles of shampoo. Shiro went in, threw the glass doors apart with a jarring crash and marched into the tiled bathing area beyond. A row of stools and showers lined the long wall, and in the opposite corner was a wooden dais with a traditional tub lowered into it.

Shiro fell into tunnel vision when he spotted Kita next to the dais. He would be "Satan's vessel" to the whole school, and it was that little prick's fault. He would lose Shizuku and he would lose Kasumi, and it was that blabbering asshole's fault…!

Distance melted away under his feet. Kita came closer, closer; unmoving. Just stood there, waiting for it. On some primal level, Shiro had hoped that he would run. Beg. Whimper. Suffer.

Wouldn't be too difficult to fix. All he had to do was grab his fucking face and slam his head into the wall. So easy. Just like cutting the head off that nukekubi. Everything is so easy when emotion can't impede the mind. And Kita would pay. He would fucking pay for ruining peoples' lives.

Can't do that.

Blessed be the shackles of focus and restraint, otherwise he might have been the Order's lab rat already.

"That meeting was closed and classified." Shiro heard his voice ricochet against the bathroom walls, barely recognisable in his own ears. "And still you put your grandparents in some deep fucking shit just so you could get to me, you little asshole."

"To you?" Kita drawled sarcastically. "I told you, I couldn't care less about you. You were given a fair warning – and still here you are, faithful as a dog at Pheles' feet." Warning? What, did he mean that chat they had when Shiro shoved him into a wall after Tamer exams? "As things stand, we can't bring down Pheles; but we can throw a spanner in the works and disable his tools." Kita mustered a stiff toss of his head to get the fringe out of his eyes. "Nothing personal, Fujimoto. We all make sacrifices from time to time: think of yourself as collateral damage."

"I'll show you fucking collateral damage", he snapped, grabbing hold of Kita's shirt and pressing his lower arm against his throat. "For leaking classified information from closed hearings, perhaps?" Shiro hissed, centimetres from his face. It would be so easy, so delightfully easy to beat him into minced meat, right here and now… "Maybe the Order would look the other way, even?"

This close, Kita's skin was waxen; his pupils were reduced to quivering pinheads, his larynx bobbed frantically beneath Shiro's arm. The guy was scared shitless.

"Don't be stupid", he snorted cockily: a complete contradiction to his body's signals. One that made Shiro's scowl deepen with confusion. "I wouldn't spread information I had no right to. I knew you were Satan's chosen since Pheles informed Headquarters four months ago. No need to worry about my grandparents, for that matter: the contents of that report weren't as strictly classified."

What? Just… what?

"You knew all this time, and now you…?"

"It wasn't until now I learnt of your obscure involvement in the barrier failure last spring." A twitchy smirk ghosted Kita's features. "My condolences, Fujimoto, but you're simply too useful to Pheles to be allowed to walk free."

No. No, no, no, this didn't add up. This did not add up. Kita acting this cocky, when he was close to practically pissing himself?

"How about you stop lying to my face and tell me what's really going on?" he said grimly, and increased the pressure against Kita's throat to make the threat more tangible. To buy time. "He's wincing like he expected me to sock him every time I move. Yet he keeps pushing? The fuck is this?"

"Really, are you that dense?" Big words, but the voice speaking them was faltering. "I'm damaging your reputation to ensure Pheles can't strengthen his hold on the Order through you. Just a precaution. Someone like you doesn't belong in the Order in the first place."

What was Kita doing? This wasn't some spur-of-the-moment thing: he'd known since April. He'd had time to paint wards and plan his retreat.

Why this spot? Far from the most advantageous – a dead end with no possibility of hiding or holding one's ground.

Why taunt when he was afraid of getting beaten up? It made no sense. If he was that afraid of getting torn a new one, all he'd have to do was hide behind Akihiro, his brother – especially if the whole Yaonaru family was informed of-

Steps. Heavy steps over tiled floor. Shiro had barely turned his head to identify the newcomer when he was yanked away from Kita and…

Yaonaru Akihiro, speak of the devil: and the tall Dragoon landed a punch square in Kita's temple. The teenager stumbled, leaning heavily onto the wooden dais for support and groaning pitifully with one hand clamping his head.

"Don't you dare touch my brother!"

Shiro had no idea what was going on, except that Akihiro had whirled back around and whacked him hard across the face with the back of his fist. Tiny white dots of light crackled in his vision, and in his mouth the taste of salt and metal bled onto his tongue.

"People should know the truth!"

"What the hell are you doing?!" Shiro snapped, blocking the next swing. He tried to hold Akihiro still, but the senior tore the shirtsleeve out of his grip – and turned around to ram his knee hard into Kita's side.

"Someone like you doesn't belong in the Order of the True Cross", Akihiro snarled, and lunged all out at him.

And then Shiro understood.

Spanners in the works. Collateral damage. They were going to disable Mephisto's 'tool', and Kita was the sacrifice that would get him sent to the Order's research laboratories: all they had to do was show how badly "Shiro" had beaten him up.

"You piece of shit…!"

They wanted him to beat them up? Fine. He was more than willing to comply.

It wouldn't make any difference anyway. They were two against one – two members of a respected lineage family against one orphan with a criminal past, and there was all the motive in the world to suggest he had attacked them. Guess whose story the Court would believe?

Shiro heard the sound of steps and someone shouting his name, faintly filtering through the grunts of fighting and the angry heartbeat thumping red shadows in his vision.

"I'm not fucking done with you yet!"

He felt arms darting in under his own from behind, locking them and pulling him away from Akihiro.

"I'm not fucking done with you, you shit-head!"

Shiro threw his arms back over his shoulders, grabbed hold of his captor's clothes, and hurled him forward with-

Him?

Midori sailed through the air with a shocked gasp, but regained her control in a graceful twist that landed her in crouching position on the wall, before gravity brought her soundlessly back down on the floor tiles. And the way she looked at him…

Not at him

A stranger.

A stranger who did things humans couldn't do.

Reality flooded back in with brutal awareness and too sharp details. He wasn't Shiro to her anymore. Would never be Shiro to her again. Her wide eyes said it all, those golden eyes that used to be filled with sunshine…

He turned away. He'd rather die, right here and now, than see that expression on Midori's face.

That was when he saw Shizuku. Sen. Ryuuji. They were all there, they all…

"They all saw…?"

Yes. They had all seen it. They had all come rushing after Midori, and they had all seen her trying to call him back to his senses. Eyes empty with disbelief, frozen where they stood in the shower room foyer.

He would never be Shiro to them again.

And Silence reigned supreme.

Run. The impulse had his body moving before it reached his brain. Run. The ice was shattering under his feet, and if he didn't run he would drown in the cold, black river. The ship was sinking, and all he could do…

Abandon it.

He elbowed past Sen, out the glass doors, fumbling in his pocket-

"Hope to hell the lock didn't break."

-fumbling for the key. The heavy, gilded key that only had one matching brother.

He slammed the door shut and shoved it into the lock, begging, praying that it would-

"Shiro!"

The grandiose foyer of Faust Mansion spread in the wrecked doorframe.

"Shi-!"

The door slammed shut behind him… and all was silent.