Weiss and Human

by Shurpuff

Keima - the Capturing God. Hakua - the rising star in the Runaway Spirit Recovery Squad. Put them together at the start, and you've practically got a new story! But as in all fanfiction, there is always a subtle twist... RETIRED

13. Idolizers and Silencers: Ending Rising

Two bolts of energy coruscated around each other, revolving like warring cobras before colliding with each other in an explosion of colors and power. Smoke emanated from the heated ground where the collision had been, and it was quickly waved away by an impatient hand.

The devil, now seeing through the dissipating haze the peril in the other's hellfire-charged fingers, brought her weapon up to defend. A loud pop like a toy gun firing indicated the spell deflection had worked, but that did not prevent her being blown away by the force of spell meeting weapon.

The other was quick to press the advantage, bringing her weapon to bear. She swung the spike-barbed club down and stopped an inch above the defenseless devil's face. It made the devil cross-eyed to see the enormous weapon up close, and she let out a breath of acceptance.

"I submit."

A loud ring brayed to signal the end of the mock battle, and Nora helped her fallen enemy up to her feet after putting away her weapon.

"Still can't beat you, eh, Nora?"

"Oh dear, it's just from all the decades of practice. . . " Nora laughed the praise off, even if her face showed that she was pleased. The two of them walked over to where the three other specialists had been standing watching – along with their diminutive Section Chief and superior, Dokuru Skull.

"A superb display of skill, specialist Leoria," Dokuru congratulated warmly. "And you too, specialist Rotia." he nodded at the other devil. The spell-containment dome dissipated around them, revealing the rest of the Great Sensor station, where curious helper and operator- demons had gathered all around.

"You flatter me so, sir," Nora smiled sweetly. "It was but studious practice, tradition and fiery talent that has helped me to be the devil I am." She looked around at the other specialists, who each had ambiguous expressions on their faces.

"Sir! Member Helmium has an incoming transmission!" An operator devil called out behind them all.

Nora continued in the same saccharine tone, ignoring the exasperated looks the other specialists were giving her, "The devil Helmium seems to be doing that an awful lot, sir. Is she unsure as to her duties? Is it not dangerous to allow a junior-class devil to handle two runaway spirits?..." she let her voice trail off.

Unfazed, Dokuru continued to the transmission screen. "I have every confidence Hakua will prevail in the end, specialist Leoria. Besides, it is the only way for her to learn, and this experience, whether ending in success or failure will certainly be educational, for all of us." He motioned for the operator devil to proceed. "Having two runaway spirits appear one after another in such a short time . . . there must be more to Majima than we pre-supposed. . . " Dokuru left his wondering voice trail off.

"Well, I have every confidence in your assessment, sir. Let us hope Helmium meets your expectations." Nora smiled, a bit crookedly.

"She cannot afford the alternative, though, but again I think it shall not come to that. Hakua knows this, and that is why she shall not fail."

"Truly, she must not." the black-toned specialist's crooked smile widened, her face twisting as if contemplating some dread scheme (even if she was not).

OoOoOoOo

The World God Only Knows

OoOoOoOo

A Good Ending is the Only Ending

OoOoOoOo

A hellish, unearthly wail rent the calm night breeze as twenty-some tons of force crashed into the side of a building. The sounds of crashing glass and shattered walls faded to nothing as the damage was mysteriously closed up, and the building was once again whole and undamaged.

Flying high above, having narrowly dodged that particular attack, was Hakua de Rotto Helmium, figure blazing with so much strange energies and covered head to foot with runes that danced and revolved around her body, her scythe trailing behind her held by her purple raiment, now adorned and draped around her as if preparing for battle. She afforded the slowly reforming building a little side-glance as her hands began making a series of stabbing motions, after which her counter-attack erupted – four balls of fire trailing hot, magical energy that impacted into the released Runaway Spirit opposite her with a muffled whump.

She lowered her altitude when the creature's next sound attack came, disturbing the air where she'd been as her speed accelerated, zipping between the reality-molded buildings of Majima Outskirts, rushing straight at her foe.

The creature turned its bulbous head towards her, roaring a cacophony of screeches as its insectoid wings took flight and carried it away from the approaching devil. Hakua cursed, her raiment swiftly grabbing onto a nearby street-pole and halting her rush, causing her to spin rapidly around it before gracefully alighting at the top.

The beeping of her skull ornament drilled the urgency of the situation continuously in her brain, reminding her of her two-fold mission. The second one had just been released, thanks to the impossible, Herculean efforts of that acidic commoner, who had far exceeded her expectations in the preceding days.

She almost, almost, missed another sound wave from the enemy while she mused, a persisting weakness, she cursed herself; and one of her runes, a black-blue one with the forbidden symbol of Terror lit up briefly before covering her in a black miasma, which the attack struck against with an impotent whump. Hakua felt the strength of the attack threaten to overwhelm her protective cantrip, and it would have knocked her back were it not for her mobile magic circle's chosen runic design glueing her feet stubbornly to the ground. The blackness receded to reveal the unhurt devil, who waved the remaining blackness impatiently as she started preparing the initial stages of her battle-plan.

"We're still waiting little devil," chided a voice from her transmitter. "We can't channel this magic forever, you know."

Hakua banished Nora's voice from her mind as she took flight, her whole body coursing with the blood and fire of a Hellian; powerful, relentless. She leaped up an ascending stream of buildings, her bound-up purple hair whipping in the air silently, as she used her scythe to deflect the incoming attacks.

The district chief reached behind her and grasped her scythe, and many runes started adhering to and glowing strongly at its surface. A burst of energy later, Hakua let loose. Her battle had been joined.

OoOoOoOo

"What a drag my life has become," Keima had groused, lamented and deplored his condition one dull, bright morning on his way to school. His backlog was piling up, his website neglected, a (to him) worldwide network of gaming enthusiasts were wondering why the Capturing God wasn't replying to their entreaties, ah truly it was the end of his lifestyle, of his world. It was an injustice of the highest form.

Hakua came to him later that day, bringing a stack of papers that she demanded he read, all facts and observations her "inquisitive" (who comes up with these down there?)imps had gathered on his current targets. Yes, it was a plural; they were targets.

A highly unusual, unprecedented situation for a Third Eye like him to land in! In his games it was forbidden to attempt to love two girls at once in a single route. While he fully supported loving each girl equally, disregarding their flaws and extolling their virtues; as a rule, it was one girl to each route! Sure, there were times when certain routes would explore the "third" option, but again, it returned to the fact that they were forbidden! Even games had standards to follow! (which was appropriate)

Adding to his agony was the fact that one of the girls he would be after was the representation of his hated character type, the fake idol! Although, he had gladly accepted when he heard of the spirit's unique powers, for he knew now was the chance to expose idols for what they truly were, and he knew he would have to swallow his pills of patience and doggedness to bear the brunt of the sickening route to come . . .

But then a surprise flag out of nowhere: the second girl! The other! A quiet librarian! And he had to capture them both, at the same time, roughly, as the devil had suggested, offering the full potential of her backfiring magical means to aid in his deceptions; yet again Keima returned and dwelled on the captures' forbidden nature.

"A gamer cannot capture two girls in one sitting. A protagonist cannot serve two hearts: give to one heart its due in its route, and give to the other yours in hers." Those were the guidelines, in games!

"And why is that? It's amazing how you impose limitations on yourself, when you easily defy a hundred more!"

"Purity, devil. Purity! Love, for me must be pure, originating from a pure source, untainted . . . The emotional difficulties associated with having to juggle two hearts at the same time cannot be borne by the average man!"

"I've read before that human men would jump at the chance of having two women desire him." Hakua remarked thoughtfully.

"That's that and this is this! And for your information, I belong to the camp of pure love, for though I am God, my heart is given over to Yokkyun only! The rest are merely captures!"

"Yokkyun?. . . . Commoner, stop going on tangents and focus!"

Keima brushed the surface of his desk with a prepared sponge, resolutely scrubbing out the messages some vandals had left in it. Being a self-proclaimed otaku had its weaknesses in the Real, and this was one of them. He glanced around at the milling lunchtime crowds and sensed excitement, an almost tangible feeling of tense expectation that floated in the air. It was similar to the atmosphere outside the gameshops when Yokkyun's fandisk had come out. (Keima had ensured that he was the first, sacrificing afternoon class and night's sleep to be at the front of the line)

Stowing the damp sponge into his bag, Keima stood and sauntered over to the other side of the room with measured steps. He carefully side-stepped Ayumi, who was talking to a circle of her classmates, and reached out with a hand to tap their class president on the shoulder.

"Hm? What is it Otamega?" His class's laid-back but responsible president looked up from her magazine and raised a "why-are-you-talking-to-me" eyebrow. He ignored Chihiro's gaze, instead jerking a thumb to the excited gatherings behind him. "You know what's going on in there?"

The president's gaze swept from him to the crowd briefly before settling back on him. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, "Goes to show how dumb you are when it comes to this huh? So here's a news tidbit for you, Otamega: Kanon's coming to town. To this classroom, actually. Just in time for the exam, where I'll soon be trumping you again."

Again, Keima ignored the provocative giggle (although Chihiro could be claimed to be the only one in this lazy class to afford high-grades, he still topped every test, which set the president off to no end) and tilted his head quizzically. "Kanon? You can't mean Nakagawa Kanon? Was she in our class?"

This time Chihiro laughed, a malicious streak hidden in it that did not just make Keima cringe, but adamantly bristle. "Aw man, Otamega, you sure crack me up. I mean, you're the only one smart enough to top me in this stupid school and all, but to miss this particular tidbit? Are you studying for tests under a rock or something?"

"Shut up," Keima snapped. "Answer the question."

"Okay there, glasgeek, you have my utmost assurance that one Nakagawa Kanon," here she rose and put her hand to her chest, bowing formally to Keima and pointing to the cover of her magazine, "is truly a member of our little class gathering, and should have been a regular student, were it not for her double life as an idol. I swear on all the uh," she glanced at her desk, "on all the good side-dishes I've eaten over lunch, and may the gods make me puke if it ain't true. There, happy? I am. Now, please get lost." She sat back down, flipping the magazine open, effectively screening him from her sight.

Keima turned on his heel and walked steadily back to his own desk, his mind racing with the implications. An astounding coincidence, almost making him suspect a cosmic collaboration, that Nakagawa Kanon would be a student in close proximity! He'd figured he would have to get close using an assumed identity at the studio or agency where she worked, but now this simplified things! An easy matter to arrange with the she-devil, Keima thought as he tapped his amulet absentmindedly.

Now for the other one, the librarian . . .

Behind him, Ayumi whispered a question to her friend the president. The latter shook her head, keeping her face hidden within the pages. The both of them glanced discreetly, for a while, at the furtively muttering Otamega.

OoOoOoOo

They were going at it again, she saw from her hidden spot between the foreign section and the technical manuals shelf.

She was angry, as she should be, for it was inappropriate, and above all, violated the sanctity of the library.

She remembered their faces so clearly, their secret sighs and stares of longing and desire, just like she remembered every detail of the heroines' struggles, every theory about time and space, and every bits of trivia concerning things.

There all she had gotten from the wonderful device of books, a portal to hidden worlds and dreams.

She knew she had an unusual gift, and were it not for her desire to remain as she was, an earnest librarian, she would have been hailed as a genius, a true prodigy of such astounding mnemonic accuracy.

Sighing despondently, she turned her eyes away from the hateful scene and walked sluggishly back to her desk, where some new arrivals were perched in haphazard columns and piles. It was her somewhat duty to ensure that these books would be relevant for the purposes of the students, caring not of the cynical knowledge that these wouldn't actually be put to good use; that in the end, she was probably the only one who could really enjoy what books could offer.

What more, indeed, could she want?

Giggling silently to herself, Shiori chose a book at random and flipped it to its side, looking at its spine. Light novel. There seemed to be a lot of these coming in to the library, and she wondered if she might propose a light novel section in the next meeting. Oh well. Time to read.

Shiori cracked open the book tenderly, as if opening a birthday present while taking care not to damage the wrapper. She breathed deeply, savoring the familiar, fresh smell of a yet unopened book, its wealth of information untouched; virgin. The girl flushed at the last thought, and banished it to the recesses of her mind as she turned the next page. The barest hint of a smile was on her face as she began to read – of heroines who led secret otaku lives, of impish little sisters, and of clueless monsters and hidden genies and a circle of friendless friends and of espers, time-travellers and aliens, and of heroines pining for their single knight in shining armor, a stranger in a strange land, and she read some more of magician warrior heroines with powers of flame, of a world where science and magic were not that separate from each other, she saw and heard how a certain student council spent their time talking and doing nothings, and marvelled at the tale of the tiger who loved the dragon. Her eyes, were one to see her as she read, flashed across each word and each page with the speed of light, impossible indeed but there are few ways to describe how she turned her page every other moment, her mind far away (now seeing herself as a knight-errant who was also a king, summoned through magical means to fight in a secret magical war)

Halfway through the pile, she heard a peculiar music reach her ears. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth resolved into a small pout. She placed one of her bookmarks into the page and sighed. She stood from her desk, evidently displeased at this interruption.

She glanced around. The music was faint but seemed not to have come from a distance, which puzzled her. There were only a few people in the library, some she recognized as regulars (including two very special regulars . . . ) Stranger still, was that no one seemed to be affected by the music for to her it seemed that the music was loud. Shiori unconsciously mashed her nervous hands against each other.

Almost imagining herself a hunter, Shiori stalked through the shelves, trying to close in on the source of the music. It had risen in pitch now, and had also changed its tune. Now it seemed heightened, as if it was moving with her.

What is this? . . . .

She crossed sections, slipped through undusted shelves, doubled-back again and again, using the huge clock on the central pillar as her landmark, and she still had not found it. Was it a prank of sorts, a sound device hidden inside the books? How could they do such a thing? Or, she frowned, was it coming from those two in the forbidden section?

The music followed her, again changing tone as she resolutely walked towards their "usual" place. Now would be a time to stop this, now was the reckoning! She now imagined herself a righteous warrior, clad in glorious battle-armor as she set out to defeat a demon.

She started humming in tune with the music, a lopsided grin on her face. She coudn't stop herself from blushing, though.

Yet when she turned the corner, her feet stopped.

Her heart followed, and so did the music.

There was a stillness of a painting, and the music returned.

A wave of scarlet passed over her as she confusedly beheld -

Wait, she didn't even know his name!

She pointed, her mouth opening and closing silently, disbelieving what she'd seen. The music had faded into the background for her, shoved there by the emotion of outrage she now felt.

Bam! Down went her hand on Katsuragi's cheek, to stop him from committing a crime against all written books.

OoOoOoOo

"Is it in your nature, commoner, to take beatings to the head often?" Hakua wondered to the Capturing God, who was nursing a bruised face from his encounter with the other, Shiori Shiomiya. It was a necessary step to start this delicate tightrope route, and the library was as good a starting point as any, if he were to follow his plan.

Next would be establishing the flag with the fake idol, which turned out to be a bit tricky.

He stood behind a crowd of rabid worshippers, fanboys they called themselves, all bending knee to a devil-possessed idol and presently proclaiming their love in an outdoor meeting right outside the recording studio where Kanon was. The duo were standing quite some feet away, but near enough to the milling passersby behind them who each cast dubious glances on the frothing crowd.

"Well, she did catch me in the act of rewriting a piece of trivia in the book," Keima muttered. "Even though it was justified: the writer mixed up his release dates pretty badly. I wonder how much research he'd done when writing it?" He shook his head.

"Yet is it not a part of her duty to protect her charges? Those little tablets of printed knowledge you mortals hoard, she seems like a jealous drake-guardian, protecting them like that." Hakua mused, recalling her own misadventures as a young devil in the many Archives of the Underworld, where stacked on human-like shelves were the secrets Hell knew that mortals would have paid hand and foot and mouth for; and yet even more secrets only a few Hellians were privy to, hidden inside chambers protected by the most powerful of wards, some as ancient as Hell itself, guarded zealously by many-coloured drakes and mutated ogres. Hakua loved to research, and it just so happened that one of her past inquires had pointed her to the forbidden chambers, and it was then that she was almost cast into oblivion, the very first wards testing her mind and heart, nearly breaking the two before her mentor Lord Kiseth had come to her rescue.

She flushed and cleared her throat. Still invisible, she asked then "But you are certain that it hasn't spoiled your chances with the librarian right?"

"I should think so, probably. Don't hit me, I can almost feel your scythe even if it's invisible. I'd explained to her what I was doing, and it seemed clear from her silence that she wasn't really displeased, though I'm not sure if she was pleased. But it was an event flag, she-devil."

"How can you tell something from mere silence?"

"You can tell a lot of things from the silence of humans . . . Just like you should be quiet, there's something important in my mind." His mouth set in a thin, resigned line, Keima took a deep breath and said, "Remember the plan, devil. Now, I think we should begin."

A moment later, there was a new addition to the self-proclaimed #1 fancrowd of the beautiful Nakagawa Kanon, an almost indescript man with an average and forgettable face, wearing the clothes that proclaimed his devotion to the idol and wearing a band around his head, as all fans should wear.

And as the group cheered and chortled, speaking of Kanon's next appearances, of her rumored return to Majima (many were glad to know that their favorite idol came from their city), an unknown soaked up their knowledge, disguised through the powers of his companion. They were unaware of this new addition and of his hidden motives, as he also joked with them, traded oaths of devotion and vows of celibacy, and they spent the time speculating on Kanon's future plans, and each proclaiming that they were Kanon's number one fan.

And just as abruptly, their new addition vanished, and they were just as unaware of it.

"It's certainly an amazing thing, your Hell magic," Keima said. They were both now on their usual meetup place, the school rooftop. As it was already dusk, they had it all to themselves. Keima had removed his revolting outfit and was now plugging commands into the RPG galge on his PFP. "One almost thinks your kind has the potential to dominate this world, the human realm, but you don't. That's another amazing thing too. I'm almost tempted to think of the things I could do with your power."

"Don't go there, Katsuragi." Hakua warned, her expression serious. "There's a reason – actually there are many reasons- why the demons don't interfere too much in the affairs of humans anymore. As it stands, you cannot request me, as I've said before on the previous target, to recreate reality for you. We are forbidden to do so, on the pain of oblivion."

"You demons are certainly an uptight kind. With all that power in your hands, you could be gods, like me."

"Demons were, to an extent." Hakua said thoughtfully, her gaze distant. The moon had just freshly appeared on the night-ridden sky. "I don't have any idea why it isn't so anymore."

"Maybe they evolved into the flat-chested girl-looking demons like the one I'm talking to right now, and because of that their powers diminished."

"Hey, for your information, this appearance is just another cantrip you know. My true form, as a demon would scorch your mind."

"I'm sure it wouldn't be as terrible as the being before me, it'd probably be more beautiful, even . . . Wait, I redact that."

They both started, and gazed into each other's eyes at that moment, and only for a moment, before they pulled away.

Some hours later, Kanon's ride home (home was a relative word to her, who had many destinations to go to) was detoured, owing to a devious plot by some men in hoods. Kidnappers, they'd presumed. The idol feared for that moment for her life, as she cowered in the backseat. Help came, unlooked-for, in the form of many oddly-dressed gentlemen leaping out of the bushes to fend off the would-be assailants with some words, twigs between each finger, and a bit of harsh language and a battle-cry that mentioned her name.

The self-proclaimed #1 Kanon fanclub and her dazed, but still grateful driver for the night were amazed to learn that Kanon had disappeared, leaving her bag and studio scripts in the backseat.

The idol in question was sprawled out on a secluded spot in a nearby park, her terror-stricken feet having brought her here. Presently she rose, her fine, lovely cheeks coloring in shame and a sort of breathless aftershock from the unexpected event.

Looking around, she discovered that the park wasn't that secluded after all. There, sitting on a bench illuminated by a single lamp-post was a boy, who seemed a man. Sitting sullenly and giving her not a single glance sat one who looked to the rest of the world like a man lost in his own thoughts.

Kanon was unnerved, for at this late hour, who would be caught sitting alone by themselves on a bench of all places? Couldn't he be a dangerous man, too? Someone who, for all intents and purposes, did or would not recognize Nakagawa Kanon, even when she caught him glancing at her? The young starlet frowned and walked the few steps closer to the man.

"Good evening," she greeted brightly, putting on her best idol face and using her best off-stage interview idol voice. "Excuse my rudeness, but my name is-"

"Miss, could you please not interrupt my lamp-light? I'm busy sulking, okay?"

He certainly had a dry, but melodious voice for someone who seemed rude, and who also didn't seem to recognize her: Nakagawa Kanon, recent Newcomer award winner and famous idol? What kind of rock did this guy sleep under?

"Excuse me, but would you happen to know who I am?" She absently grasped for her bag, which she just then realized with a fearful jolt, wasn't there.

"Right. You're that idol I've seen on some posters. Or at least, you look like her. Whatever, could you stay away now?" The glimmer of hope and pride she'd felt was soon erased, and suddenly Kanon didn't know what to do with this stranger. She felt a conflicting mixture of emotions then: anger, shame, wonder, perhaps a bit of each.

She'd apparently stayed silent for some time because the man rose and sighed tiredly, shooting her a rueful gaze which she did not return. The stranger walked over to another bench and sat on it, avoiding her gaze. They spent thus in silence, after which the man sighed and pulled out a pen, which he twirled around his finger expertly. The mesmerizing motion kept the both of their attentions, with the stranger's brow furrowing deeper with each second. The pen, slipped from his hand and clacked and clattered to the ground, and the stranger watched it roll over to her feet.

Kanon stooped to pick it up and hand it over, and the man murmured a brusque and cold thanks before repeating the motion.

The harrassed looking driver arrived minutes later, and as she was driven away with much apologies, she couldn't help but think of that mysterious stranger, who seemed aloof and lonely. She'd said her good-bye, and it seemed that he had ignored her, sitting patiently on that bench. Who was he and why didn't he look at her the way her admirers did? Was he that much of a gloomy guy? Perhaps he'd light up more if he heard her song.

"Yes, that's right . . . I just have to sing a song for him! Then he'll acknowledge me!"

OoOoOoOo

It wasn't the first time that Hakua had soared on mortal skies. She remembered the field assignments the students had been given: to observe the mortal world and write up a piece about it. When she'd emerged from the magic circle (that was when she'd also been first introduced to her porting sickness), she saw the vast blue ceiling overhead and was awestruck.

Hakua liked the soaring blue and white, for compared to the thunderous black canopy and swirling neon colors of Hell's, this was at least peaceful. She'd tried to fly high, higher than her magic could allow, and she loved the feel of strong winds buffeting her rune-reinforced body, the way her hair (it had ben short then), whipped around her face in tatters so that when she was finally ordered back onto the ground, her teacher would scold her as she stood, her hair in disorder and cheeks flushed from the exhilarating journey up.

That was centuries ago, if she'd reckoned her human years right. Since then she'd grown, learned much and began to work for the glowing future of Hell. And now she was facing that same blue sky again, as part of her plan to seal two spirits at once.

The beast howled below her, a black blob to her now as it pursued her higher and ever higher. The swirling runes faded color when touched by the bright orb of light, and she shielded her eyes with a magical ward as she steadily ascended to the clouds. She looked below: the beast was still with her, inexplicably drawn by the scrumptious magical morsel that tried to evade its grasp.

It was a simple enough cantrip, using the especial runes of avaricia and some other minor runes of luxurya added in to the mix to create a potent fused spell that had forced the spirit to desire her over anything else in the world. Any other time, Hakua would have found it a sickening thought, but today she was a demon, and she would brook no failure.

She halted her ascent, abruptly, allowing the wind lashing her body to still for a while. The devil felt the unholy presence behind her come nearer on its buzzing wings, pincered beak clacking together in anticipation and frothing desire. Hakua signalled the specialist demons who were impatiently waiting, alerting them to the next stage of the plan, before she dissolved the runes that kept her aloft, and so started to fall, at high speed, back to the ground.

The spirit-thing shrieked as she passed it swiftly by, barely avoiding being clawed into its dark embrace. She closed her eyes briefly, letting gravity drag her down, the wind once again stirring her whole body as she fell, like a rune-colored falling star, back onto Majima.

Before she became mincemeat on top of a building, she reactivated the floater runes, and she was flying again, darting invisible through the late afternoon streets of the city as she felt the containment dome dissolve around her, slowly letting her and the spirit mold back into reality. She saw faint images, like two-dimensional TV things appear all around the street, the humans whom she should never show magic to.

She sped back to the institution where she'd left her buddy– Katsuragi, the brilliant commoner now, she reminded herself – the spirit still irrestibly drawn to her, despite the strong magical presences nearby (though they had taken the precautions of cloaking themselves first) that were busy erecting another dome. She looked up just in time to see the other runaway spirit, still a mere potent mass of tepid blackness, and she focused her magic to a point, delivering a dagger-like spell across the air that pierced through the spirit that had once been inside Shiori Shiomiya.

The first one made a gurgling sound behind her, for she had stopped and alighted on the rooftop, place of many plans and arguments. The spirit slipped in just in time as the dome closed in around the three, shielding this battlefield from the Real. The second hissed in annoyance, uttering strange hoots as it flew up, glowing eyes blaring hatred at the devil who had stabbed it.

There they were, two arrayed against one, in a battle only Hakua would know. The specialists were just outside the dome, awaiting her signal of success, or failure should it come to that (though she wouldn't). One of her foes was a confirmed level four, and the other unconfirmed, but still an enemy to note.

It was said in ages past that devils controlled magic as a human controlled his hands, which is to say, quite freely - unhampered by the Word. She didn't know when that changed: when the devils started copying from the humans (who had stolen magic from them in the first place), and the use of much words became necessary to accomplish magic. So they now had runes, fetishes, short and long chants of power and much hand-waving, and magic circles (though devils at least made these mobile). The uttered or scribed Word was law, and it was only through that that magic was possible.

Hakua started humming, chanting words that would hurt human ears. They were like a mantra to Hakua's own ears, as even she could not fully understand what the memorized words of Ancient Hell meant, but it had its effect. The circles she'd erected all over Majima glowed, and all of their stored energies, harvested from the depths of the Underworld, all of them in that moment streamed towards her, suffusing her form with so many colors. An impressive display of dancing and glittering runes followed, but what mattered was the change of their host, the temporary power that she had gained. Demons thrived on power. What Hakua gained, Dokuru Skull had briefed her, was the power of a Lesser Demon.

The spirits somehow knew it too, as the second tensed, like a beast that has met its superior, but the first only shrieked in a sort of nervous giggle, anticipating its next meal.

"I've confirmed the security of the dome, little devil," a condescending voice spoke through her skull ornament, the object that somehow seemed more animated now, eyesockets glaring and growing fangs that bared into her hair. "Don't slip up now that you've come this far, we would be . . .disappointed . . ."

Hakua made no reply, because the hungry, snarling first spirit had already leapt at her. Her weapon of office, a scythe that was no longer a scythe, roared red and green and purple in reply.

OoOoOoOo

The heroines' conflict, Keima would think in his spare time, which was a rarety, can never be truly guessed from the onset. There are some games that present it at the start, like clues in a mystery story, but that is during the trunk, during the time when a protagonist is surrounded by many choices, many events.

No, he continues to surmise, as he walks his dreamscape confidently, his steps echoing across the unlit imagery with the surety of a god, A heroine's heart must know that it is loved, before the conflict can be seen. To do that, the protagonist must have opened his heart, forming a connection with the chosen, a connection of trust, intimacy, and ultimately, love. One knows it is the right time when the other worries about the self because he/she worries about the other, and so the conflict is born and the story clambers up the peak of climax.

What then, of these Real targets? If we were to assume that I would be able to know their conflicts from my "bonding" with them, then it would have appeared when I have genuinely fallen for them. But I haven't, I am far too Divine for the mundane Real rules of falling in love. Yet they have opened their hearts and conflicts in their turn, and so have not followed the rules (in games). Is this the difference in the Real? He ran a hand through his hair, picking off the few pieces of wool that had stuck there in his dream for some reason.

He couldn't know what each of his targets felt, for he could not read minds, and he had adamantly refused to have Hakua track them to their homes with her "inquisitive" imps. No, he could not know, he must not insinuate himself into their lives anymore than he can help it. He would have to rely on his interactions with them, on the routes that he was sure to be soon reaching the climax.

The question for Keima was: could love then, be a transient thing altogether? This young god was evidently confused.

He felt as if he was walking down a narrow causeway, and he could see through the corners of his eyes the afterimages of the route on either side of him, but when he would look, they would fade away.

The afternoon schedule always started with a visit to Shiori in the library. She thought him the consummate loner, who seemed to love spending his quiet time unobtrusively playing his games within a corner of the library. Since he was time-locked, Keima had to begin aggressively, and that was why he'd ordered Hakua to play illusions on her senses, making Shiori see colorful images and hear music whenever he would arrive and continuing on while they conversed. "Just like in games, it is customary for the Third-Eye to know something about the heroine by the atmosphere that is evoked: so sometimes music is used." It would be effective in turning her heart to him, at least until the conflict would be revealed. And so they conversed, he in half-heard whispers, she in gentle silence, and Keima expressed his distaste for the way the library was being used, as it was bad enough he couldn't play his games in the rooftop, and Shiori nodded agreement, seemingly happy to know someone at least understood. Then he would put his PFP away and brush his fingers slowly, sensually against the spines of the books on the shelves, his eyes on each title he grazed but his mind fixed on the effect this would have on the watching Shiori, and he was sure that she was being exposed to more grandiose music then.

It was underhanded for a god, but there was no time for real romances in a two-way route like this.

"But you know," he had said, "I feel like the age of books will soon be over. It's sad to admit, but the convenience of technology might render libraries . . . obsolete." He had then glanced at her, expecting a response.

And so she had one, dragging him bodily by his collar as she went to all the shelves, whispering in her own half-heard tunes the wondrous things hidden inside the cover, pointing to this and that book and of how she had memorized the content there, and that she knew there wouldn't be anything that could replace the utility of books, because she'd seen and recalled it all, and she knew it was there. It was then that Keima discovered her uncanny memorizing skills (wondering briefly if she would be able to help him reorganize his inventory of games, for he too had amazing recall, in games).

Then he'd apologized, and took her by the hand to exit the library. At first she had protested, claiming her librarian duties, then her desire never to leave the library as long as she could help it, then blushing furiously in her familiar silent way as he led her to the top floor, where he pointed to the open grounds that separated them from the middle-school building. He pointed to the way the students were using their own various technologies: cellphones and portable music players and little computers and PFPs, and he claimed that that was the future, and it was inevitable.

They argued -pleasantly- about its relevance to books, and of her countering that it wasn't just about the books, it was about the wonderful place they would be in, like the library she loved so much, and without books there'd be no library, and people like her would cease to exist, and he'd acceded, because that last point seemed to disturb him real bad. He'd then joked about how books should be like the cans in vending machines, and it would be a lovely compromise, and she hit him gently on the shoulder, after which he wryly offered to get her a drink, to which she tried to refuse, but then he'd steered her that way, silently protesting all the while. Then they enjoyed a quiet time sipping their respective drinks, no conversation of words, but a conversation of reflections.

It would be hard to record those silent moments they shared, so eternal in their brevitudes, a quick smiling glance here, a look of understanding there, the many words that Shiori wanted to say but could only express in her steadfast silence, for there was an important other thing that surfaced, that seemed to coincide well with this route (and for that the Capturing God was grateful), and that was when they both returned, satisfied, to the library, as the sun sank over the horizon and Keima began planning for his meeting with Kanon.

Shiori had read the notice for book disposal.

The fake idol, on the other hand, was a bit more vocal to the Capturing God, though maybe that was due to Keima's vindictive manipulation of the event flags that he set up for Nakagawa Kanon. At first, there had been the classroom appearance.

"Here's hoping to see you there, everyone~~" there were oohs and aahs all around, for the day had finally come when Kanon returned to class, at least for a little while. Naturally during break, Kanon had been mobbed by her admirers from the class and all the way from the other classes, and so she had spent some time entertaining them and answering questions.

He had noticed her eyes on him all the time.

"What's his name?" he heard her whisper to Chihiro, who had taken all the ruckus with her usual, easygoing stride.

"You mean the guy who's wasting his life playing his nonsense games? I should say he's a nobody, but since he's the only one in this school who could beat me, and because there's a little respect that comes from that, I say his name is Katsuragi Keima." She leaned in conspiratorially. "And you do not want to associate with his kind, heck, even half the otakus in this school can't compare to him. He's a unique, unpleasant flavor altogether."

Keima felt the coldest gazes pierce his mental bubble as most of the students' attentions were drawn to him because of Kanon's curiosity. I'll get you back, you idol!

Flag complete, Keima disappeared during dismissal, being sure to have Hakua confirm (invisibly) that Kanon had been watching. And so, his gamble had begun, and had been paid off, when that night, Kanon had come to him at the park again.

"So you're Katsuragi Keima, huh?" She peered down at him through her glasses. Keima gave her a sullen look, his own glasses reflecting the overhead lamplight, and replied glumly, "Oh yeah, I remember you from the morning. Welcome back to the school, I guess." And then he looked back down again.

"Thank you!" She beamed. But seeing him ignore her, Kanon restarted her track, and spoke once more. "Um, would you like some tickets to my next full show? It's going to be held at the stadium, and um, I'd really hope you could come! Y-you could bring your friends if you like."

Despite himself, Keima could feel a faint tug at his heart, and were it not for Hakua's description of the spirit, he would have doubted himself at that moment. Kanon oozed a natural bubbly charm that was made even more apparent as she chattered. As it was, he coldly quashed down the feeling, already mentally smirking at the clueless Spirit host as she spoke to him of performances and her own self-centered thoughts.

He waved away the proffered tickets. "Thanks for the offer," he said gruffly. "But I really can't. It's private."

"Aww, but you play your games all day!" He looked up, feigning surprise. "I saw you, you know. Everyone in the class thinks you're some kind of freak, and I think I see their point, but they don't know this part of you, as I do. It makes you kind of mysterious, in a way." She trailed off. Keima snorted silently.

"Say, would you like me to sing you a song?" she asked suddenly. "It's going to be my special offer, one-time, super-secret! Of course, it's too bad there aren't any sounds, but I always say my voice was the best! Come on, Katsuragi-kun, look at me! Look at me now!"

The Capturing God had then been shocked, quite literally, by two tazers which the fake, dangerous idol had used at him. He looked at her in a daze, his body still trying to recover from the sudden shock.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I need you to look at me now! I'm going to give you a performance, and you're going to pay attention!" She demanded, her cheeks puffed up in a cute way (which Keima didn't find at all endearing).

"You're a pain, you know that? Could you please just leave me? You've obviously got far more important things to do than cater to some random guy in the park." Keima growled in annoyance.

"No, I want to cheer you up with a song, and that's what I'm going to do!"

"Why the heck should I need to be cheered up? Do you think I'm feeling down or something?" He asked angrily.

Zap! "Okay, listen. This is a new song the manager gave me, it has some weird lyrics in it, but I gotta sing it at the next show. Hmm, I think you could also consider it my practice of sorts, and you'll be one of the first to hear me sing! How's that, huh? Hey!"

Zap! A twitching Keima watched, quite literally thunderstruck, as Kanon began humming and subsequently singing a tune that was supposed to be her next song. He wouldn't begrudge her voice, the Capturing God saw, but he wasn't some producer looking for the next best thing here, he was here to root out the spirit in her! And be her downfall!

"So?" Kanon asked breathlessly after she was done. "How was my song?"

Keima raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, were you singing? I thought it was just the crickets buzzing in my ear." His eyes widened upon seeing the tazers. "Stop! Sheesh, you almost remind me of – a game heroine, that doesn't matter." He pulled out the pen he played with. "But I truly apologize to you. You see, I can't afford to look at you right now. I'm busy working on my goal."

A nervous twitch. "Oh? And what's that goal then, Katsuragi-kun?"

"To find-" he began, then paused upon seeing Kanon, as if for the first time. "The perfect idol."

Silence. Then Kanon pointed to herself. "Am I not enough for you?" She blinked her eyes hesitantly and did a little twist and twirl which would have made any Kanon fan at the moment bleed his brains out. But since it was the Capturing God, Keima only snickered, pointing at her, "You? You're just a commercialized idol, there's no way you're my perfect idol. Besides, there are some qualities I'm looking for, and I'm sure you don't have some of them."

"Hmph. And what would you know about a perfect idol's qualities, Katsuragi-kun?"

"Oh I know a lot, you can be assured of that. Like," He began counted off his finger, "A naturally melodic voice."

There was a sign of a pout.

"A beauty that goes beyond the physical."

The pout became more pronounced.

"A charm that can enchant gods!"

She tilted her head.

"Among other things." Kanon opened her mouth to say something, but Keima went on, "And also, a heart that could fall in love with this guy." He concluded in a faint, trembling voice. He perked open one eye to see the uneasy expression on the idol's face. "W-w-well, it really seems to be hard, like you said."

"You see?" He sighed despondently, leaning back on the bench. "All this time I've been looking for an idol and the right one has yet to appear before me. But when she comes, it will like be the birth of a new star in my sky. Oh, I would kiss her feet, worship her shadow, adore the very land she walks on! I would be the bee of her flower, the knight for her princess!"

"I-I'm sure someone will appear for you," Kanon said fervently. "But regardless, I am the best idol you've seen yet, right? Right? Before your perfect one arrives, I am still the best, right?" There was a dangerous flash in her eyes.

"Prove it."

"Eh?"

"Prove to me that you are an idol worth looking at. I can ignore the falling in love part, because I know you won't, but if you can show me your, shall we say, real face as an idol, then I'll acknowledge you. Do whatever it is you can do to prove you are the best idol there is." Keima harrumphed in satisfaction.

"Fine! I'll take that challenge,Katsuragi-kun! Before my next show, I'll prove that I'm the best idol! I've come this far to fall short of anyone's expectations now. And that includes you!" She pointed at him, before beaming a goodbye and running from that place.

"Oh you just go on ahead there, Kanon," Keima smirked to himself after she was long gone. The glow of magic presaged the arrival of his tormentor. "Your next show will prove to be an interesting treat to watch, as I'd have removed everything related to your so-called charm long before. Just you watch!" With that, the newly arrived Hakua had then stood watching perplexedly for some time as the Capturing God cackled his head off.

The scene dissolved, and like liquid mercury colors of the images oozed down to be replaced by the yawning dark. Keima watched it all with a studious frown,

Shall we then assume that love is not a potent force? If it is allowed to be deceived by just anyone, then even its essence is challenged. There can be no pure love that results from one side deceiving the other. It is in our opinion, after all, that love must spring from pure bonds.

"Oh~~ You're certainly quick to dismiss that so easily," said the disembodied voice behind him.

Keima suppressed a shiver in his spine as he turned to regard the figure behind him, his constant dream companion now, ever-shrouded in a film of mist that hid its form. What he guessed of his nature was quickly forgotten in the morning, like the details of dreams after one wakes up.

This Keima knew, that the thing in the mist was dangerous, a throwback perhaps to previous dream incarnations of Keimas, who had-

"Oh for Sheol's sake," interrupted the voice. It boomed like dry thunder on the mountains, yet carried the undertone of flowing honey. "Could you please stop thinking out loud in this place? I can hear everything you know, and it's really not pleasant to be always hearing your mundane thoughts."

"I would inquire as to your identity, but I have a feeling you'll reply that it won't matter."

"And so you guess right. How have you been, little one? It must've seemed ages since I've talked with you here, in this place." Keima looked around: gone was the blackness, and it was now the familiar misted scene with the solitary tower in the distance. "You must tell me of the things you've seen in this 'Real', seeing as it's the only story worth hearing around here."

"No, I'd rather think on it alone," Keima declined. "As long as I don't know you."

"Oh but I know you so well!" The troubled mortal who holds a thousand innocent maidens' hearts in his hands, so masterful, to wield so much power over these poor unfortunates, and yet ask nothing in return! All you desire is the satisfaction of the conquest, the knowledge that you have beaten yet another game! And that is admirable, I think. So come, speak your troubles, because I think I am the only one who can possibly understand you. And after, you can simply repay me later on by helping me clean this filthy place."

"My reasons stand. And anyway, what would you be able to do for me? You're just a dream-thing, a figment of my derlirious imagination!"

"Oh, but I am capable of many things, young mortal. I could counsel you on your present troubles." The blackness returned, which was afterwards replaced by the images of his memories with Shiori and Kanon. "You worry, as is your right as the 'God of Conquests', about the intergrity of your actions, whether these little birds have actually fallen in love."

"I'm not going to answer that," he retorted savagely. Come on, wake up . . .

She continued despite him, "You worry that such love, which can be considered false in games, might not exist thereabouts, and now you wonder why they have opened their hearts to you, when you do not love them in return. Have I hit the nail on its stubborn head?"

"Oh for the love of- See, now you're the one who's thinking out loud way too much."

"Yet how can I counsel you if I do not? By your definitions, a 'two-way route' is already an impure 'route'. If it were real, and not just Real, then many would think you a two-timing flirt-about, Oh such scenes are sure to arise!"

Keima's eyes were irresistibly drawn to the new images, and he quirked an eyebrow to see a typical game scene play, but this time with 2D sprites of Shiori and Kanon. The words below scrolled by as if someone had pressed the skip button, and the sprites themselves changed outfits and expressions every millisecond, now happy then angry. The Capturing God fancied he could read "liar", "good-for-nothing", and "sex fiend" – though he did not know why they stuck out like that.

Beside those images materialized even more, and this time they were "real" scenes, and he watched another version of himself get all lovey-dovey with Kanon in school as Shiori watched around the corner of the hallway, and then it dissolved and this time it was a vengeful Kanon who clutched her ever-ready tazers as she hid behind a shelf while he and Shiori shared an intimate moment at her desk in the library.

"Haha, look at that Katsuragi! Playing with two hearts at once, who knew that Otamega had it in him?" He heard a voice that somehow reminded him of Chihiro.

"Damn that Katsuragi! Kill him! How dare he defile our Kanon-chan like that? Kill!"

"Man, I feel sorry for Shiomiya-san, I mean she didn't have enough opportunities to speak up before, so she'd have probably not gotten to know people, and yet she found a boyfriend, but now she finds out he's left her for Kanon? What do you suppose she did wrong?"

"Must've not p** ***t for the Otamega. . ."

"So clearly, your mind protests going down this path, as your principles dictate it to be. Do you know that there's a way to confirm if these treacherous second-thoughts you are having are merely a part of you second-guessing?" And Keima found himself asking.

"It's simple. You just fuck them."

"Ahbu-bu-bwhat?" Keima stuttered, flabbergasted by the suggestion. "That's. . . direct of you." He cleared his throat. "But that's not the issue here! What kind of a suggestion is that? That's way out there in the list of suggestions for this dilemma, if there was one in the first place! Do you think me some sort of sex-fiend or something?"

"You fuck them hard, fuck them senseless, make those helpless bodies yours, and their hearts are sure to follow. Do it one at a time at first, then when you're sure they are under your thrall, then introduce them to each other for interesting results. The backlash of your worry will have ceased to exist."

"Stop, stop! That's a ridiculous proposition! That's definitely out!"

"But you're familiar with the concept, right? You are certainly no virgin, in the traditional sense. You've seen it all before, a thousand times before."

"Those don't count! And I don't even watch them properly, I just skip them altogether!" Damn, he was definitely blushing now.

"I know," the voice muttered, and here Keima didn't hear the words. "And curse you for not doing so."

"What was that?" Keima demanded, his hackles raised now.

"Merely suggesting that it won't be that bad. I think even your devil friend won't find it horrifying, at the least."

"Are you out of your mind? That she-devil will be the worst of the bunch! Anyway, this conversation is over. It's taken a weird turn, and I don't want this dream to end on the unpleasant side."

"But I brought pictures!" Here, Keima turned a terror-stricken eye to the new images that came, different scenes showing in vivid detail his imagined indiscretions with either Kanon or Shiori. There were even some in the style of the H-scenes in games, and Keima was ashamed to realize those were the ones his eyes sought the most.

"Argh!" Uttering a last cry of protest, Keima shut his eyes, willing them to open into the waking world. He thought he could hear the sounds now, as sleazy music drowned his hearing in a din and he could almost imagine the voices, ones of heated desire and abject longing, and he was then and there afraid for his dignity. And so he left.

The mist-wreathed figure was left in the midst of all these, and upon realizing that Keima had left, sighed, "As expected of him, to run from his desires." It looked at the images once more and chortled. "And we didn't even get to the threesome parts yet. . .

"That nii-sama, always a spoilsport. Why can't he be more responsible?"

That morning Keima awoke, and he thought he had dreamed of something definitely unpleasant, because he had the strongest urge to do "it" then and there.

OoOoOoOo

Nobody understood them.

That was true, and they knew it. Shiori had understood all along, ever since she was a little girl and she wanted to join in the playground, but they said she was weird because she was a fast memorizer, and others would laugh at her for being the teacher's pet, and she had borne it all silently, the words drying out in the air as soon as she opened her mouth. and Shiori had long since dried her silent cheeks, the pain gone but not forgotten. Kanon had known, ever since she'd turn down guys who'd confessed to her in middle-school, and everyone had then labeled her a weirdo, and no one would talk to her, no one would pay attention to her, and she hated that, and now that everyone did, it seemed that they weren't looking at her, but at something that wasn't her.

Nobody would ever understand them.

Shiori volunteered for library work when she entered high school, because she knew that was the only place for her. The library was her sanctuary, where books of all shapes and contents were placed, where she could read to her heart's content, hiding behind the shelves arrayed like ancient ruin-walls unearthed from the dust. She didn't complain when duties were placed on her, when the responsibility would fall on her shoulders; as long as she had a book by her side, she would be happy. She had realized long ago that without these, she'd be nothing.

Kanon liked to sing sometimes. She also loved to dance, but she was sure she'd be having awkward moves if it weren't for her dance tutor. But what Kanon really wanted was for people to see her, like her. Not just in the simplest forms of like, but like like. Deep down, she desired to charm people, holding a certain kind of power over them. And so she accepted becoming an idol, even if it was hard work and her career would be power-jumped before she could even graduate. It was far better than being invisible, sitting at the back of the class while everyone else seemed to forget her. Better to be on a billboard than part of the wall attached.

"Not bad. But there's a certain kind of presence you seem to be lacking."

"What? You're complaining an awful lot, Keima-kun." Kanon pouted, as she placed the mini-microphone down on the bench beside him. The crisp afternoon breeze wafted over them and Kanon shivered, though it wasn't that cold. She rubbed her gloved hands together.

"I can't help it. My standards are certainly quite high, you know. You wouldn't know it from looking at me, of course. I guess you're not the idol you were. . ."

There. There it was again, the challenge. Kanon would vow to prove him wrong, and he'd laugh good-naturedly but tiredly, welcoming it, not ever complaining about her pestering him all day, and only complaining that she wasn't really up in his eyes.

He didn't look at her with the star-struck gaze of one who sees something famous, nor with eyes gleaming with hidden diamonds, calculating the value she would bring. Keima gazed at her with the frankness of a boy who has an annoying girl friend.

"Alright then, I'll start from the top!" She turned on the beatbox once more. He was definitely looking at her more now, more open and . . . happy? It made her heart race to know that she'd done a part of it. Goodness knows he certainly didn't seem that way when they were in class, a time when he wouldn't want to look at her. Everyone treated him like a snake that had come in their midst, and when they weren't going out of their way to avoid him, they spoke things about him in venomous whispers.

"You know, in a way, we are kindred spirits."

Keima explained to a puzzled Shiori how they both liked the pocket worlds that were in their hands, while, admittedly Keima loved his little stories and Shiori her grand ones. Shiori didn't think that it had anything to do with the "real" her companion spoke of, she just didn't want to have anything to do with people, preferring to keep her views to herself.

Kindred spirits, huh? She thought.

It's amazing how so much of what she wanted to say raced frantically in her mind, unspoken, as thought after thought fought to evaporate each other in her brain without being spoken out loud. As Keima talked, she would flush, thinking on the term kindred and finding the truth in it, because it was true, people who kept their selves to themselves were kindred in a way, and she knew her Keima wanted to watch stories unfold like sopa-operas in front of his screen as he read down at it, and she also so preferred reading of a mysterious mystery unravel in front of her, their denizens seeming so much more real than the figures that walked like ghosts around her, and she remembered feeling morose whenever Keima wasn't around, the only one who seemed to her a bright beacon in all this insanity, and yes she still heard that weird music whenever he was around, it struck out in the silence of the library, and one time she remembered mentioning it to him, and he had laughed and jokingly wondered if she would not be averse to reading his stories now, but Shiori knew better, Shiori knew, what exactly her companion read, and she had to wonder at that, why was he paying so much attention to her, she'd never asked, never brought up the question again like so many things, and it drove her up her inner walls to wonder what he might think of her, this little weirdo who can't seem to have anything to say, how he treated her silence and filled up the awkward gaps with his own jokes, musings and one-way conversations, how she wished she could talk once, just once, hold a sustained conversation, perhaps talk about the impending-

"Shiori-san?" Keima asked concernedly. She blinked, lucidly remembering that he'd said something about "kindred" stories and she wiped a hand disappointedly over her head when she found she couldn't find a coherent word.

"Would you rather I talk to you about that A-V section? I seem to be boring you with all my talks."

She shook her head, again as she'd always done when he apologized like that, grinning foolishly. No, she was the one at fault here, she was the flawed one, the half-heard the Unheard, the whisper-that-never-was, and here he was wasting his time on her when he had his own time and things to deal with.

"Um . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "

Keima-kun raised his eyebrows as she beckoned him closer. He leaned his head in and she touched ("she touched!") it and tilted its ear close to her and she also leaned in, her mouth forming the words she wanted to say.

". . . . I . . . . . . . . . . . .l. . . . . . . . li . . . . . . . . . . . . like . . . . . . . . "

That was as far as Keima could get before Shiori stood up suddenly, scraping the chair backwards in a noisy clatter, her entire face reddening like a red apple as she fled.

Yet now, someone understands me/us/me. Keima-kun me/us/me, Keima-kun is-

OoOoOoOo

" . . . .out of your hell-damned mind?" Hakua shouted, the briefing papers she'd held in her hands tossed up to the air from an involuntary motion.

"Hell-damned, huh?" The Capturing God wondered to himself before crossing his arms, his ready battle-stance set up to weather the incoming tempest.

"The same time. You want to capture the targets at the same time." Hakua repeated, her breaths coming out strong and huge.

"Is there something hard to comprehend? It's not that hard."

"Wait, so let me clarify. You're absolutely sure you're able to accomplish this. No 'maybe's, no 'when the situation calls for it' nonsense. You, as a buddy who has leashed a devil to himself ("Hey, I protest that-")- shut up and listen. You are telling me you can free their runaway spirits on the same hour of the same day." She enunciated, making her words very clear.

"Well, not within the same hour-"

"Commoner!" She exclaimed in a dangerous tone.

"I do have to be realistic, you know. There's travel time involved between the two targets. In Kanon's case, there might be some fallout if she's going to have her concert." He saw her start to pace around with a certain fervor, a certain nervousness.

"But you're absolutely sure you can do it in a day."

"Oh yes, stop making me repeat myself. Provided the two react in the way I predict them to react. It's a ninety-percent chance, but I'm sure it can be done. I've already seen their endings."

"It seems very risky." Keima glanced at Hakua. "Well, the main concerns do include the travel time between the targets, and the runaway spirits that will come. But those are your ends of the contract, so I assume . . . "

He assumed the devil had her own thoughts as she didn't seem to be paying attention to him now. She glanced distractedly at her scythe that hung from the room's wall, then down to the sheets, frowning. Then she put her hand to the skull ornament on her head and her face tightened, before looking at the disordered sheets around her (Keima didn't bother, it wasn't his turn to clean up the house yet) and shaking her head.

"We have to have a plan for this, of course." she said uncertainly.

"And it has to adhere to my schedule."

"Very well. Let me- give me a minute to contact my superiors." Hakua sighed in a fatalistic manner, before shooing him brusquely out of her room.

"Hakua?"

"Yes, something to add?" She looked at him expectantly, with eyes that told of stress. Her hair hadn't been combed after her bath and strands now stuck out in places. He couldn't believe that the high-strung proud devil would look so vulnerable, after all this time.

"Trust me, that's all."

They both looked impassively at the other, before Hakua muttered something and nodded, pushing him out of the room.

Outside in the darkened hallway, Keima put a hand to his PFP and headed past his bedroom door to the bathroom, after making sure his mother was still tucked in sleep.

Inside in the room, Hakua leaned tiredly against the door, stopping herself from almost sagging to the door and looking again at her scythe. "Truly, I thank you commoner."

OoOoOoOo

"She wants to what?" Nora spat out her tonnic. The other specialists eyes her with embarrassment. "I beg your pardon, Section Chief Dokuru, sir, but are you sure?-"

"My hearing – like I even have ears, hah!- didn't lie, specialist Leoria." Dokuru gazed up at her at their training room. As usual, Nora couldn't find anything to discern in the hollowed-out skull, merely the faintest light that glimmered inside his eye-sockets.

"Naturally, of course, I made sure she was set for this action. For any one member to tackle two runaway spirits alone is a most unusual and daunting task. I told her I would at first inform my fellow section chiefs, and then you." Nora thought hard on that. What was so important about this that needed the other section chiefs of Hell to be informed.

"Before you ask, the section chiefs mostly advised caution, but are, as usual, letting each Section handle its own affairs. And now I pass it onto you, and request your input on this." Dokuru looked into each face one at a time.

"With all due respect, sir," Nora protested, striking preemptively. "Member Hakua is in my opinion, still relatively inexperienced in fighting Runaway Spirits. Her track record only accounts for two live successful captures, and we all know experience trumps whatever simulated fights she's had."

The other specialists looked at each other. Surely she, as a member who'd only caught one, couldn't compare? Only one of them had outstripped Member Hakua by one count, but that was over a period of twenty human months, compared to her admittedly impressive two months.

"Your concern is noted," Dokuru said. He looked at the others. "Anything else? No? Good, now specialist Nora, everyone has to poke their hand into fire sometimes. It's hot, it burns the unexperienced, but it's the only way to teach. You all are the primary reason why I haven't sent a squad of specialists up to Majima already; you're to be her backup in case she fails. If she does not, then you will serve as witnesses for and learn from how she subdued the spirits. You will all, in all likelihood, enter battle with multiple spirits in the future, and thus you shall learn then. This is a chance for Hakua to shine, and it is completely in her hands how it will turn out."

Nora gritted her teeth. That upstart was getting support from even the Section Chief? It was absurd, what made that flat-chested devil more interesting than her? She was more perfect, in many ways other than breast-size. As she began to weave a plan with the other specialists, she imagined standing over a cowering Hakua, her figure resplendent and glorious. Next time, Hakua. She fumed. Next time, I will-

For his part, Dokuru departed after seeing that the specialists had begun their plan, signalling for his assistants after reaching his temporary office.

"Could you please arrange an S-security travel connection to Majima City, Japan, Far Eastern Section for me? Yes, log it in. Oh yes, I can wait. I can wait for millennia, I'm that patient. Thank you, that will be all."

OoOoOoOo

An attack ripped past her defenses, gouging a wound in her arm that healed almost instantly, though the clothing wasn't spared. Hakua grimaced, she was already slowing down.

No matter the demon, one could not handle such an extreme inflow of power unfit for one's basic frame without tiring. It was like trying to fill tonnic into a leaking container, sooner or later, it would all run out, leaving the host dry.

It was exactly what was happening here, Hakua had long realized. She'd taken so long in trying to weaken the beasts with impressive spellwork and flashy cantrips, that she hadn't taken into account actual damage done. There was no way of knowing by looking at them, they still looked shadowy and furious as they were when they began. And her sensor had been destroyed, the skull ornament fragmenting into so many pieces when she'd stupidly allowed herself to come into range to deal an attack up close with her scythe.

Hakua now had second thoughts, this was no glorious battle, this was a beatdown. Whoever was beating who was up to interpretation.

But Hakua didn't want to be the beaten. She raised her faithful weapon of office, now glowing dully, as if reflecting the condition of its wielder, and filled it with red runes of ira. The second spirit flew circles around her, waiting to strike like a bird of prey, while the first was still reeling on the ground from her earlier counter-attack. It would recover soon.

The second lunged, unseen talons ready to skewer her, and Hakua stood her ground, floating a few feet away from the side of the school building. She felt a gush of her lifeblood spill from her caught leg at the moment she dodged, as the beast plunged its claws into the building, shrieking and hooting all the while. I'm definitely slowing down, she thought, feeling the wound close.

Just then, she felt her danger senses rise, and a quick look back caused her to hesitate in striking the trapped spirit as the first flew up screeching, apparently willing to sandwich her in between. There was no time now, except to-

OoOoOoOo

"It's time, the rehearsal's supposed to begin now! Where on earth is Nakagawa?" Similar shouts were raised all around, as word spread around the crew that their featured idol had disappeared. There was genuine panic, though the reasons differed from the manager to the errand-boy.

Far in a park somewhere, Kanon was begging for her driver to give her a little bit more time, despite his protests and the constant ringing of his cellphone. Heck, he was sure he'd get in trouble for it somehow.

"Keima-kun! There you are." She ran up, stopping to catch her breath.

"Huh, Nakagawa-san? You're. . . early." Keima looked up from his drawing pad in surprise.

"So are you," she pointed out. "I'm told it's going to be a long rehearsal, so I won't be able to make it tonight. I wanted to tell you about it. I had a hunch you'd be here, and I was right! So anyway, what were you doing?"

"Eh," Keima shrugged, shoving the pad out of sight. "Just sketching something. So now what? You can go on ahead, I'll still be sitting here for some time. At least I know I won't have to wait-" he stopped, suddenly looking up at her. Coughing in embarrassment, he averted his eyes from Kanon.

For Kanon, the revelation sent her heart racing, her mind running across the possibilities. She so wanted to know, to guess what thoughts Keima-kun had for her, whethe they were simply of acquaintance, or friendship, or-

She shook her head. She looked towards where she'd left her driver, before plunging a hand into her bag and pulling out a piece of paper. "Hey Keima-kun," she began, calling his attention to herself. "I've got a song I made up by myself, and I wasn't sure what the tone should be. Would you be willing to hear it? You'd be first to hear, again."

"Go ahead." He smiled faintly. "I'm all ears."

OoOoOoOo

"This is crucial, pay attention, Katsuragi! This is infinitely more important than your game at the moment!" Hakua said, as they stood in the park where he said was where Kanon would turn up.

"I doubt anything would be more important than games to me," Keima said, "But please, continue."

"Well," she huffed. "Assuming all goes well here, and the idol does show up as intended, you may use this transport rune to take you to the school quick. All you have to do is press down with your skin, as I've keyed it to react to you specifically." She pointed to a strange symbol etched onto the trunk of a tree, and to anyone it looked like a highly unusual piece of vandalism.

"So you made it?" Keima said distractedly. "Knowing you so well, how will I know it won't blow up in my face?"

"It won't!" Hakua shouted. "You can trust me on that. You'll have to trust me on that, since a cantrip of this nature blowing up means your entrails scattered all around the world. I wouldn't be surprised if they somehow ended up in Hell."

Keima shivered. That was ominous, coming from the devil. Still, it was the only way he could return from here to the school in a flash, and the two of them knew, through a step-by-step discussion of their plans, that time was the essence here. The spirits had to be released as close as possible to each other for the plan to work, Hakua had emphasized, because that was the only way to safely confine them.

"Why not capture them one at a time?" he had asked. Hakua had shook her head. "You were the one who wanted to capture them on the same day. If, say you released one while you took your time getting the other out, the second one might be able to escape while I'd still be occupied with the first."

"And you can't handle that?"

Hakua had frowned, and Keima saw she was actually thinking seriously. "To be completely honest with you, Katsuragi, I cannot." They locked gazes.

"It's nice to see you be humbled for once."

"I'm sure you'd stand to be taken down some notches too," she'd retorted.

"If ever that happened," Keima had said in a hushed town. "The world would end as we know it."

OoOoOoOo

Shiori stood with head bowed, her hand on the windowsill as she watched the sunlight slowly fade and the shadows gradually lengthen.

Her eyes were troubled. It was dark inside the library, and no one else seemed to be around, even at this time.

There was an incessant banging on the main library door, and she studiously ignored that, choosing instead to gaze out the window.

She sighed.

There was a loud crackling sound, and the room was briefly illuminated by a strange glow.

Shiori squeaked a cry of surprise, looking wildly around the deserted library.

"Knew I'd find you in here."

Keima-kun?

"I was surprised to see the library was locked, so I initially thought the worst. But now that I think on it, I guess I was just worrying for nothing."

What are you doing here?

"What are you trying to do, Shiori-san? Is this the answer you've ended up with?"

I didn't need you to see this, You shouldn't be here!

"For you to have become so drastic . . ."

No, you wouldn't understand, I needed to do this!

Please understand!

"Well, I guess that's one thing about you that hasn't changed," Keima shrugged, beckoning her over to the desk. Outside, the rest of the library's staff were raising hell trying to get in, which he doubted as he'd had Hakua hide the keys so that even the teachers couldn't get in. And just for measure, he'd sabotaged the electrical systems with Hakua's own magic beforehand, rendering the library a veritable fortress. There would be no way out except-

He looked down at Shiori, who looked up at him with myriad expressions dancing in her face, yet never finding concrete way through her words.

Words were an important part of-

She seemed to remember reading that from somewhere.

"Come, I'll at least keep you company while you're besieged."

He reached out a hand, and she took it.

OoOoOoOo

She lashed out with a basic defensive cantrip, briefly illuminating the battlefield with an intensely bright light. The two recoiled in shock, dazzled or merely shocked, she didn't care, as she made her swift retreat to a further place.

Her entire body stung from the anathemic magic that swirled through her in the aftermath of that spell. What she had cast was something that should only be used during the most dire of circumstances, because it was a borrowed Word from Heaven. And she had used it then, one of the few spells she'd learned over her researches in the archives, using up much of her spare time decrypting and translating the unknown runes (she had gotten a little help from her mentor, Lord Kiseth)

Frankly, she had never done it before. She didn't know how foreign magic worked and wasn't that curious enough to try it out, only knowing its basic properties from the way the spell was worded, which was enough for her to choose it from among the other few she'd learned.

She'd made her distraction. What now? Her mind raced with the fundamentals of the plan, going over it again and again, recreating and rejecting scenarios, restating objectives, searching frantically for the solution.

Think: they were all in a containment bubble. Enemies show no signs of being weakened.

Hakua snapped her fingers, and she hurled raw hellfire that homed in on the beasts with unerring speed, and after they impacted in a blaze of flames, she saw the spirits rise, struggling to hold their form, yet basically unhurt.

Her hands hurt now, she felt, from casting that high-level spell. The power was rapidly decaying in her body, and she knew that if it took longer she would leak it all out, and if she was drained dry she wouldn't be able to even summon even a measly fireball to hold them off. She'd be a veritable demon feast for the spirit scum.

Summoning her resolve, she clutched the tattered remnants of her raiment, along with her worn weapon of office and stood to full height.

What had Katsuragi said? She didn't know why or what she was trying to recall that.

OoOoOoOo

"Not bad, not bad," Keima clapped. "Can I criticize you now?"

"You still find something to criticize? That song was for you, you know?"

"Exactly. It's flawed precisely because it's a song for me. Honeestly, Kanon-san, why on earth would you craft a song purely for a someone like me?" He stood up suddenly, looming over her, a powerful presence now, distinctly different from before.

"Wh-what are you-"

"And here I am struggling with these feelings." Keima wrung his hands. "Ah, I don't like it!" He rubbed his head vigourously.

"Kanon-san, who am I to you, really?"

"Eh? A fr-friend, someone I can talk to without-" Kanon stuttered.

"No, really Kanon-san. What does this Katsuragi Keima have for you?" he demanded, his eyes showing a frightened vulnerability.

"Mou! Why are you asking me these things now? I just want to know what you thought about that song!"

"That song was frightfully horrid, and only a true amateur would have had the gall to write it. The chosen tune was off, and the singer certainly isn't that far off from being a little bit toneless. But overall, since it was you who sang it Kanon-san, I can't find fault in it? Why is that? Why?"

"So you mean you didn't like it?. . . ."

"No, I did like it!" Keima shouted to the skies. "I like it very muuuuuch!

"But that's not the point, Kanon-san, please see this. I've been working on it since last night." He showed her the drawpad that he'd hidden from him. On the first page was hastily drawn a childish looking caricature of a girl, with mismatched wings sprouting from her back, and pointed stars arrayed all around her. Kanon thought she could see a resemblance to her.

"Kanon-san."

She looked down, and nearly jumped back upon seeing Katsuragi kneel down in front of her.

OoOoOoOo

Hakua started weaving the last strands of magic she had together, forming a pattern as a tailor might sew together a bolt of cloth. She felt arrays form and click together in her mind as she beheld, almost in slow motion, the two runaway spirits leap hungrily at her.

She met their charge.

OoOoOoOo

"Look, Shiori-san, look at all these girls parading in front of me, dancing to my tune and singing my praises as I pass them before my hands like worn chess pieces, plucking each one from their destined paths like the prudent gardener.

"It makes me look evil, does it not? I seem a master manipulator, since all that is placed before me are choices, and these worlds will conform to my choices.

"They also have their stories, Shiori-san. Even as a Third-Eye, I cannot just interfere in their pocket lives without myself being involved, and I find myself carried away into their little intrigues.

"And from those spring stories. Many, many stories as can be found in your books. Some even teach, a little, of things to know about like some of your books.

"You look like you want to ask where this is going. Very well, I'll cut straight to it.

"What every one here shares, is their capacity to speak with me, in a voice that is theirs.

"All their hidden troubles, their concerns, their joys, their frustrations, their inner and outer thoughts . . .

"It is not as if I am imagining conversations before me like in books. These little ones speak to me as if they are real, as if they're alive, as if they truly exist.

"If they did not talk, then their hearts would inevitably be locked away inside their shells. If no one at all spoke for them when their silence prevented them, then they are doomed. The word is their blessing, even if sometimes, it is a hindrance. Silence is still golden, after all (and in the library most of all).

"And that is, I think, the integral part, Shiori-san. I. . . like you just the way you are. But even so, I cannot-" Keima bit his lip, even as they huddled together in the darkness. Shiori felt a shudder pass through her as she felt Keima-kun's warmth suffuse her, his heartbeat so near it could have resonated with her own. He leaned his head closer and she found herself suddenly mesmerized by the action, focusing on his-

"This is my unspoken emotion. Allow me to, or do you not want this?" he murmured. . .

OoOoOoOo

The mist-wreathed figure glanced up. The crooked tower rose impotently above the whiteness that choked the senses.

Up above there was something, and the figure was sure that a storm was coming. Perhaps the winds would blow away some of the mist.

OoOoOoOo

Unescorted despite his important position, the Section Chief of the Far Eastern Sector emerged from a secure transport exit, immediately casting a disguise on himself upon seeing the bustling streets of Majima.

He looked around to where the containment dome should be. He had a gut feeling that the battle would be ending soon. Nonchalantly, he travelled there, immediately materializing on top of specialist Nora's position.

The devil was ablaze with energy, her form transcended temporarily into something terrible. The jaws clenched upon seeing Dokuru arrive, and it split into a sharky grin. "Sir. Member Hakua has yet to give the signal."

"It will come." He glanced at the dome. "It will be ending soon enough. And with it, possibly a new beginning."

OoOoOoOo

"Will you be. . . my idol?"

What kind of a question is that?

" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "

She looked up/down at him.

They saw eternity in his eyes.

They closed theirs.

OoOoOoOo

He looked up. Gone was the second, and the library was literally in ruins. He softly dragged Shiori's body to a safe place, away from the debris. It was a gentler handling than the way he'd done Kanon.

He still felt strange from that. Heck, he felt strange from the both of them, at the same time. Well, no time to think about that now. It's all the devil's turn anywho. Speaking of which, how would he be able to see her battle now? He was mildly curious, and the devil hadn't given him any idea how.

Keima felt a strange prickling sensation on his back. He started horribly and turned on the spot and looked down.

"Who the heck are you?"

OoOoOoOo

Hakua opened her eyes. Floating high above her were the tattered remnants of the spirits, struggling to reform after being nearly blown to bits by her- gambit, was it?

She realized that she was falling, hot magic coursing through her – an aftereffect of the backlash that racked her system. It was supposed to be an agonizing experience, but strangely she felt a chilling cold cold rush through her veins instead of the predicted searing pain.

She looked up and saw the containment dome start to close, the double-purposed intent finally finding its use. It would trap all beings weaker than it inside it and contain their power.

She realized with a dull jolt that it would include her.

She felt her vision dim. She couldn't feel her limbs anymore, and she didn't know where her weapon of office was anymore.

Hakua closed her eyes.

OoOoOoOo

Keima opened his eyes. The amulet's sudden burning had eroded his senses until the only thing he felt at those moments was intense, unrelievable pain, nearly biting his tongue because of it. He wondered why the creature hadn't done anything other than watch him curiously, since after he'd recovered his vision, tears blurring the edges, he'd seen the skull-figure still standing in the same position as beore.

"So it has ended," the creature said.

"What's ended?" Keima spluttered, clutching at the white-hot thing in his chest. It still hadn't cooled.

"Do you remember what we discussed before?"

"About," Keima winced in pain, "about the way the contract could be cancelled?" He whimpered as another, weaker wave of pain radiated from the accursed amulet.

"Yes, it is simple." The robed figure procured a dagger. It looked unremarkable save for a single teardrop-shaped red rune at the handle. "You shall have to eliminate the devil who has contracted with you. You see, Katsuragi Keima, when devils are weakened enough from whatever cause, yet not weakened enough to face oblivion yet, they undergo a retrogressive stage. They devolve into pure essence – sentient - but still bodiless. It usually happens when severe injuries have been incurred." the figure explained.

"Now in this case, the Soul Casket has been attuned to your partner, and wisely she has used it as her last backup plan, allowing her essence to be pulled back inside it if something happened to her. Now the simplest solution for you arises. If you so wish, you can take this weapon, stab it through the amulet, and free yourself from future obligation altogether. What do you say?"

Keima Katsuragi, Capturing God, frowned. Who was this creature to offer such advice now, of all times? He was still reeling from that sudden attack from the demented amulet, and his mind was still tired from the aftermath of the conquests, a long and arduous process with the devil that had finally culminated in this. So many late nights, so many games backlogged to lead to this joint conclusion.

But still . . .

Keima stared at the dagger for a bit before taking it. He tested its weight hesitantly, before taking expert swings and thrusts. He raised an eyebrow and took out the offending amulet. If it could steam, it would have; it was just that hot to the touch.

Keima grasped the dagger. A million thoughts swarmed in him, confused and jumbled. He closed his eyess.