At Kuoh Academy…
Bell sat on top of a table in the bustling school cafeteria, his bag open beside him as he rummaged through it, searching for a small snack to quell the growing hunger before the morning classes began. His hazel eyes glanced over his shoulder, and a mischievous grin spread across his face as he spotted a familiar figure with a goofy hairstyle approaching.
A boy wearing glasses, Motohama, positioned himself on another nearby table, facing a brown-haired boy whom Bell knew as Issei. Motohama's tone carried a hint of perverseness as he leaned in to probe Issei about a certain someone. "So, any dirt between you and Goldilocks?" he asked with a knowing smirk.
Issei chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he considered his response. "Oh, Asia? Well… She's cute and nice, plus she's got nice... you know," he gestured with a hand, blushing slightly.
Motohama interrupted with an excited gleam in his eyes, "But come on, dude! You can't just skip out on the opportunity of a lifetime! I've heard church girls are into some pretty kinky shit."
Issei raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a laugh. "Hey, I mean, Asia isn't like that. She's a lot more wholesome than your typical nun," he replied, defending Asia's honor.
Before the conversation could delve further into the realms of gossip, a familiar streak of vibrant red hair appeared behind the two boys, engrossed in their discussion. Rias, with her confident and alluring presence, made her entrance. "Hello, Issei and Motohama!" she greeted them cheerfully, causing both boys to jump in surprise. Motohama even lost his balance and fell off his chair, creating a small commotion.
Issei, although caught off guard, quickly composed himself, taking a step back with an involuntary exclamation of "Fuck!" that was more of a surprised reflex than any actual expletive.
Bell couldn't help but chuckle at Issei's reaction, knowing he had unintentionally caught him off guard. As Issei slightly scolded him with a stern glance, Bell's laughter subsided into a friendly smile. Issei soon wrapped his arm around Bell's neck, signaling the end of the brief comedic moment and the beginning of a casual conversation between friends. The camaraderie between the two was evident as they engaged in lighthearted banter.
Before long, Motohama slid into the conversation, holding up a book for both of them to see. His devious grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes made it clear that he was up to something. Bell recognized Motohama's antics and braced himself for what was to come.
"Hey there, Bell-kun!" Motohama exclaimed, his tone dripping with playfulness. He raised the 18 book with scantily dressed women on the front page, resembling a swimsuit catalog. "Matsuda wanted me to give this to you. You know, just as a little gift."
Bell noticed Matsuda's absence from school that day but was unsure why his friend had sent him such a gift. His mind raced, trying to come up with a suitable response that wouldn't offend anyone.
"No thanks. Girls don't interest me," Bell replied, hoping to handle the situation diplomatically. However, Motohama and Issei exchanged surprised glances, clearly not expecting this response from their friend. Bell quickly tried to clarify, his face turning slightly flustered. "W-Wait! Not like that! I mean… I like girls!" he stammered, hoping to rectify the situation.
Motohama couldn't help but doubt Bell's explanation, chuckling at the moment's awkwardness, much to Bell's embarrassment. Feeling the need to lift his friend's spirits, Issei walked over to Bell, offering a supportive comment. "Hey, I mean… if you're into that… I'm not gonna judge."
Bell turned to Issei, his expression showing both surprise and gratitude for his understanding. "Oh… so you aren't… ohhhhh…" Issei's words finally registered, and Bell realized that he had accidentally created a misunderstanding. He didn't mean to imply that he wasn't interested in girls; he didn't want the 18 book.
Sensing Bell's sincerity, Issei assured him, "No worries, man. I know you didn't mean it like that. It's all good."
Bell took a deep breath, recomposing himself after the awkward moment. Deciding it was best to put the situation behind him, he settled into his chair, planning to move on from the unusual gift exchange. Before doing so, he handed the book back to Motohama, offering it to him. "Take this, please," Bell requested, not wanting to keep the book he had no interest in.
Issei peered at the book, reading the title "Guy's and Gals Swimsuit Catalog." A realization dawned on him as he looked back at Motohama, who was still grinning mischievously. This whole situation may have been an elaborate prank orchestrated by Matsuda and Motohama from the start. Issei couldn't help but wonder if they had been planning this humorous twist all along, making Bell's accidental revelation even more amusing in hindsight.
Later…
After the school day had concluded, Bell and Issei stayed behind to tackle the unenviable task of cleaning up a room left in disarray by one of the clubs. Bell mused that it didn't quite make sense to have unrelated students cleaning up someone else's mess, but he shrugged it off, thinking, "It is what it is."
On the other hand, Issei was audibly expressing his displeasure with the situation. He grumbled about the sheer monotony of the work, his lack of familiarity with physical labor, and the repetitive nature of the task. Box after box, he picked them up and moved them around, driving him to the point of frustration.
"This is so boring," Issei complained, dropping a box unceremoniously. Meanwhile, Bell sat on a table nearby, engrossed in the attempt to fix a lamp. Issei looked at him incredulously. "What are you even doing with that thing?"
Bell's eyes lit up with his characteristic optimism. "Tryna fix this lamp. One of the club leaders asked for this."
Issei couldn't help but be amused and exasperated by Bell's attitude. "You know how to work that ridiculous thing?"
With a grin, Bell responded, "Nope, but now's a good enough time, if ever, to figure out how!"
Issei sighed, shaking his head at his friend's unwavering enthusiasm. "Ah! I think I got it!" Bell suddenly exclaimed, successfully turning on the lamp. However, his success came at a price, as an overwhelming amount of light flooded the room. Issei winced and shielded his eyes in discomfort, feeling the intensity of the morning.
Bell quickly switched the lamp off, a sheepish expression on his face. "Well, if it's ever too dark outside, it might be useful," he quipped, trying to make light of the situation.
Before they could dwell on the lamp mishap, the door to the room slid open, revealing Yuuto Kiba, known by some as "Mr. Pretty Boy" and by others as the "Prince." The blonde student regarded the two friends with a curious look.
"There you two are. The president needs you two in the club room right now… what are you doing?" Kiba asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern, as Issei dropped the final box with a thud.
Issei sighed, explaining the situation, "Some of the other clubs had us do their dirty work. And someone else didn't just let us take a hike."
Despite facing away from the duo due to the lingering light-induced discomfort, Bell said, "Hey, it was a good thing to do."
Kiba observed Bell for a moment before turning his attention back to Issei. "Best get a move on, don't want to upset her now, do ya?" Kiba's words carried a hint of knowing amusement.
"Alright, let's go!" Issei declared with renewed energy, and Bell, still recovering from the blinding light, promptly followed, albeit with a slight misstep that led him straight into a wall. Issei rushed to help his friend lying flat on his back.
"Guess we need to give your eyes some time to heal," Issei commented wryly. With Bell somewhat disoriented, Issei supported him, and together, they trailed behind Kiba as they headed toward the club room, ready to face whatever task awaited them there.
Meanwhile…
Mors bid the employees farewell with a casual nod, a smile flickering briefly across her lips before she donned her coat and exited the diner through the back door. The dim glow of the streetlights stretched her shadow along the deserted sidewalk, playing a silent game of hide-and-seek with the darkness. Her dinner was done, and now, her focus shifted to the path ahead.
The night embraced her with a cool, crisp air that hinted at the possibility of rain. The aroma of distant petrichor mingled with the urban scents, creating a unique fragrance that only the night could offer. As she walked, her steps were measured and silent, the movements deliberate and calculated.
A subtle shift in the shadows caught her attention, but her expression remained impassive, betraying nothing. She was not alone. Demons from the otherworldly realm lurked, their presence unmistakable to her experienced senses. They thought themselves clever, stalking their prey under the guise of the night's veiling darkness. Mors' lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. She had been dealing with creatures like these long enough to read their tactics as quickly as the words in a book.
The demons slinked closer, their movements cautious but not cautious enough. They were predators, drawn to the aura surrounding her, yet unaware of the predator they were dealing with. Mors quickened her pace, her footsteps echoing softly in the empty street. The tension was palpable, a tangible thread connecting her to the lurking shadows.
"Nice night for a stroll," a voice purred from the obscurity, an attempt at nonchalance that fell flat against her practiced ears.
Mors glanced to her left, where a shadow seemed to detach itself from the darkness, merging into a form that could almost pass for humans.
The shadow demon materializing from the darkness was an eerie blend of twisted forms and ethereal presence. It existed in a realm between the corporeal and the intangible, their appearances shifting and morphing like the flickering flames of a dying fire.
Its body was haphazard assemblages of darkness, inky tendrils coalescing into a semblance of humanoid shape. Jagged spikes protruded from its backs, resembling the distorted silhouette of wings. Limbs were elongated and sinuous, terminating in clawed fingers that seemed to merge seamlessly with the shadows they emerged from.
The demon's eyes were the most disconcerting feature — orbs of ghostly light glowed with an otherworldly intensity. The colors within those eyes shifted, swirling like a turbulent storm, revealing glimpses of emotions far removed from the human experience. They radiated hunger and malice, a sinister awareness of the world around them.
When it moved, it was with a fluidity that defied the constraints of the physical realm. Its forms rippled and distorted, allowing them to dart through the shadows and weave around obstacles in an unsettling dance. As they approached, a frigid chill permeated the air, causing a shiver to run down the spine of anyone unfortunate enough to be in their presence.
These shadow demons were creatures of chaos, born from the obscurity between dimensions. They were predators of the night, drawn to the energy and aura of unsuspecting beings like moths to a flame.
She regarded the demon with an arched eyebrow, her expression a perfect blend of casual indifference.
"Strolling's overrated," she replied, her voice carrying the same detachment as her expression. She continued walking, her gaze forward.
Another figure materialized from the shadows, this one to her right. "You've got something we want," it hissed, its voice a sibilant whisper that sent a chill down her spine if she were the type to be affected by such things.
Mors finally allowed a hint of genuine amusement to touch her lips. "You always think you can just take what you want, right?" Her tone was dry, as though she was conversing about the weather.
The demons, their patience waning, closed in, surrounding her. Their eyes gleamed with predatory hunger, unaware they were the prey in this encounter. Mors stopped, her posture relaxed but ready, her nonchalant demeanor a thin veil over the storm beneath.
"You don't understand who you're dealing with," she mused aloud, her words carrying a weight that seemed to echo in the tranquil night. "I'm not some unsuspecting human you can intimidate. And you certainly aren't the first to come after me."
In the midst of the shadowy confrontation, Mors acted with a calculated swiftness that bespoke her experience in dealing with such entities. Her caramel-toned hand extended outward, a seemingly ordinary movement that belied the supernatural transformation beneath her skin.
A bone abruptly jutted forth from her forearm, an eerie occurrence that would have been disconcerting to witness. But Mors remained resolute, her focus unwavering. In a display of unearthly control, the bone continued to elongate, defying the limits of anatomy until it surpassed her own height. With a fluid motion, she snapped it free, her grip firm and assured. What was once a bone now possessed a macabre allure, a scythe formed from an amalgamation of various bone types, each piece melded seamlessly into a weapon of deadly elegance.
To the shadow demons, this transformation occurred in the blink of an eye, their perception of time distorted by their ethereal nature. As they lunged, confident in their malevolent power, they were met with a sight that sent an involuntary shudder through their dark forms.
Mors stood ready, armed, and dangerous. Her expression, cool and detached, betrayed not an ounce of apprehension. In her grasp, the bone scythe gleamed with an ominous light, its wicked curvature promising only doom to those who dared approach. The weapon seemed like an extension of herself, a manifestation of the strength that lay within her.
The first shadow demon lunged at her with a guttural snarl, its contorted form propelled by unnatural speed. Mors, however, anticipated its attack with an almost serene composure.
Mors's internal monologue remained steady, her thoughts detached even in the heat of battle. These creatures, she mused, may seem intimidating, but they're fundamentally weak. Their existence is based on exploiting fear and vulnerability.
As the creature closed in, she shifted her weight effortlessly, a dancer's twirl that seamlessly merged with the deadly arc of her bone scythe. The blade sliced through the darkness, meeting the demon's ethereal form with a resounding clash. The sound was otherworldly, a mingling of steel and shadows, as the scythe's malevolent energy countered the creature's malefic essence.
The demon let out a harrowing cry, its form flickering as though struggling to maintain coherence. Its twisted features contorted in agony, a grim reminder that these creatures were mere aberrations held together by the threads of their own malignancy. With a final splintering, the demon dissolved into fragments of shadow, vanishing like mist before the morning sun.
Mors's gaze never wavered, her eyes sharp as she surveyed the battlefield. Her internal monologue remained steadfast, her thoughts echoing with a detached analysis . They hunt the vulnerable, exploiting their fears. But in the face of defiance, they falter. Her focus shifted, pinpointing the next shadow demon that lunged from the darkness.
This one was more cautious, its approach deliberate as it tested her defenses. It feigned left, then lunged right, aiming to catch her off guard. But Mors was already in motion, her footwork a reflection of her uncanny awareness. With an almost dance-like sidestep, she avoided the attack's trajectory, her scythe moving in tandem with her body.
Her counterattack was a fluid extension of her evasion. The bone scythe swept low, carving a lethal arc that sliced through the demon's form. It let out a piercing wail, its tortured scream mingling with the echoes of its dissolution. The shadows seemed to recoil from her as if repelled by the sheer force of her presence.
Mors' movements were economical, each motion purposeful and efficient. She navigated the battle with a familiarity born of countless encounters. They try to cloud the mind. But strength lies in clarity, in harnessing the power that stems from within.
The third demon, its form larger and more grotesque, surged forward with furious energy. Its shape shifted erratically, like a mirage distorted by heat. It was a formidable opponent, its unpredictability a testament to its embodied chaos. Mors met its charge head-on, her grip on the bone scythe unyielding.
As the last of the demons charged, its form shifting and contorting in a desperate attempt to overwhelm her, Mors's lips quirked with a touch of disdain. They're mere echoes of genuine malice, she thought, her grip on the bone scythe unwavering. They rely on surprise and intimidation. But I've dealt with far worse.
Their clash was a clash of wills, of opposing forces vying for dominance. The demon's claws raked through the air, trailing tendrils of shadow that seemed to drip like liquid darkness. Mors parried each strike with fluid precision, her scythe a barrier that deflected the malevolent energy that radiated from the creature.
In the midst of her battle with the third shadow demon, a flicker of unease passed through Mors' thoughts like a distant storm cloud. Amidst the dance of blades and the clash of energies, a thought intruded—Bell. The name resonated within her consciousness, a reminder of the one she cared for beyond the realms she traversed.
Is he safe?The question echoed like a resounding gong in her mind, a note of concern that she couldn't ignore. As the battle raged on, her focus momentarily wavered, a fraction of a second where her thoughts veered from the immediate threat to the one she considered a friend.
The shadow demon seized the opportunity, its malevolent form surging forward with renewed aggression. Its clawed fingers tore through the air, aiming for her throat. Instinct kicked in, pulling her back to the present. Mors shifted her stance with almost preternatural speed, narrowly evading the attack. Her scythe met the demon's form with a retaliatory strike, forcing it back into the shadows.
Focus, she chided herself inwardly, the concern for Bell not diminishing but instead serving as a catalyst for her determination. He's strong. He can handle himself.
With renewed resolve, Mors pressed forward, her movements fluid and precise. The shadow demon's resistance was fierce, its attacks more desperate as it recognized her unwavering determination. But with each clash, each strike that she parried and countered, Mors's confidence grew, her internal monologue shifting from concern to quiet reassurance.
As the battle reached its climax, with the third shadow demon's malevolent energy wavering beneath the onslaught of her strength, Mors felt a pull—a connection that transcended the battle at hand. It was as if an invisible thread connected her to Bell, a tether that conveyed a sense of urgency.
Bell, she thought, the name a silent prayer as she struck the final blow that shattered the demon's form. As the shadows dissipated, she wasted no time, her decision clear.
Without hesitation, she turned away from the dissipating darkness, her gaze directed not toward the battlefield she had just triumphed over but toward the path that led elsewhere. Bell's safety had become her priority, the concern now a driving force. The streets blurred past her as she moved with a newfound urgency, her steps swift and determined.
Hold on, Bell; herthoughts echoed like a whispered plea. In her heart, she believed he was capable. Still, she couldn't ignore the instinct that urged her onward, that propelled her toward whatever awaited.
The echoes of the battle faded behind her as she vanished into the night. The internal monologue that had guided her struggle transformed into a whispered mantra—one that spoke not of strength but of purpose to protect.