Fallen Angel Hideout – Eastern Europe Outskirts
The dimly lit chamber reeked of incense and wine. Elaborate drapes covered the cracked stone walls, and braziers burned low with eerie blue flas. At the center, reclining on a lavish, oversized bed, was a man with long dark hair and four black wings lazily draped behind him. His crimson eyes burned with a hunger not for food—but for war.
“Kokabiel-sama,” a voice called from the shadows. The one who stepped forward was a beautiful woman with long black hair and the sa black wings folded neatly behind her. She wore a revealing black combat suit, though her posture was anything but relaxed. She knelt on one knee before him, head bowed. “The stray priest, Freed Sellzen, has been confird dead.”
Crash!
A wine goblet exploded against her temple, sending shards flying. Blood trickled down her cheek, yet she didn’t flinch. Her wings quivered once under the mounting pressure, but she held her position without protest.
“Again,” Kokabiel growled. “Another plan ruined.”
The weight of his power bore down on the chamber, suffocating in its intensity. “I give them the Saint's Coffin. I hand them a piece of Excalibur. I even let them borrow that Sacred Gear brat with the Evil Dragon sealed inside—and yet all of it, all of it—recovered by the Church? Pathetic.”
The air hissed as he rose from the bed, one wing stretching as though testing the atmosphere. His hand flexed midair, fingers twitching as if he were imagining wringing soone's throat.
“Who was it?” he asked coldly. “Who dares trample on my ambition?”
The woman swallowed hard. “A human… sir. His na is Kousuke Igarashi.”
Kokabiel froze. “…A human?”
She nodded once.
He laughed. It was low at first—a breathy, disbelieving snicker. But it quickly swelled into a manic, echoing cackle that bounced off the chamber walls like the toll of a death bell.
“A human? You an to tell … a lowly, mortal insect… ruined my masterpiece?”
The kneeling Fallen groaned as the pressure intensified, the floor cracking beneath her knees.
“Do I look like a fool?” he hissed, baring his fangs. “Do I resemble soone who would be outplayed by a re child of man?”
“…No, Kokabiel-sama,” she gasped.
But the laughter returned.
“No… perhaps this makes it interesting.” His gaze narrowed into sothing cruel, sothing primal. “If a human could defeat a half-dragon abomination and a corrupted priest… then he must’ve tasted power sowhere. Suffered. Learned. Good. Then it won’t be boring when I crush him.”
He turned toward the balcony, arms spread like a conductor orchestrating a grand symphony.
“Yes, yes… the world is too peaceful. It’s stifling. The Seraphs want peace. The Devils want balance. Even Azazel is too busy playing around with woman to act. Pathetic.”
“I will burn it all,” he declared with zeal in his voice. “Let the Three Factions bleed again. Let the heavens scream and the earth crack. War… war is a beautiful thing, and I will be its herald!”
Suddenly, a gentle clap echoed from the far end of the chamber.
Kokabiel’s smile vanished.
Erging from the shadows was a tall figure cloaked in black, her face hidden behind a silver mask shaped like a raven. Her blonde hair peeked out from beneath a dark hood, and her presence, though unthreatening in aura, drew imdiate attention.
“…You,” Kokabiel muttered. “The masked witch again.”
“I’m honored you rember ,” the woman replied with playful sarcasm, her voice smooth and lilting, like a lody wrapped in secrets.
“Why are you here?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “The research you gave was flawed.”
“Oh? You bla the sword for the swordsman’s failure?” she said coyly, stepping forward. “It wasn’t my instructions that failed—it was your chosen pawn. A raving lunatic with no discipline. The Sacred Gear user was unstable. Even the dragon inside him was still half-asleep.”
Her mask tilted slightly as if she were smiling behind it. “But that boy… Kousuke… he’s far more interesting than you realize.”
Kokabiel scoffed. “Another one of your experints?”
“No. Not an experint.” She folded her hands behind her back. “A destiny. One I won’t interfere with directly… but I’ll certainly give it a little push.”
Kokabiel watched her closely, annoyed but intrigued. “You're not with Grigori. Nor the Devils. I would’ve sensed it. So who do you serve?”
The woman turned, already retreating into the shadows. “No one. Not anymore. I simply follow the threads of fate… and the human boy? He’s at the center of a tapestry none of you can see yet.”
Before she vanished completely, she paused.
“Oh, and Kokabiel? If you want war so badly… I’ll give you just enough rope to hang yourself with.”
She disappeared with a shimr of magic, her presence vanishing like mist on a windy night.
For a long mont, the chamber was silent again.
Kokabiel stood motionless, staring at the spot where the witch had vanished. His expression, once manic with laughter, now twisted into a slow-burning scowl.
“…Tch.”
He clicked his tongue, the sound echoing like a blade being unsheathed.
“That woman… how dare she speak to like that?” he muttered, his voice dangerously low. “Like I’m so pawn in her little ga. As if I would dance to her tune.”
He crushed the empty goblet in his hand, shards digging into his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Blood trickled down his palm, yet his grin widened with each drop.
“She thinks she can manipulate . Warn .”
He turned his gaze toward the night sky beyond the balcony, his black wings flaring out wide, casting monstrous shadows on the wall.
“No… I will not be steered. I will not be led.”
A heavy gust of wind blew through the hideout, rattling the windows and snuffing out several flas. The braziers dimd.
“When the war begins, I will not be part of her ga.”
He stepped forward, his voice now filled with venom.
“I will burn the board itself.”
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