The abandoned warehouse smelled like rust and old rain. I'd chosen this location deliberately, far from any civilians, so that if things went sideways again, we wouldn't level half of Tokyo.
Azazel was already there when I walked in, leaning against some busted support beam. He straightened up when he saw me coming.
"Leon-kun," he said. "Thanks for meeting me."
I stopped about ten feet away. Close enough to talk, far enough to move if I needed to. "You said you had news about Kokabiel."
"Right to business." He pulled out a tablet, fingers moving across the screen. "We found him. Northern Italy, near the Swiss border. He's been busy."
The months since our fight had been... complicated. We'd maintained a professional relationship—information sharing, basic coordination, but everything else? All of it was gone.
"He's been gathering followers."
I took the tablet, studying the images. Kokabiel looked exactly like I remembered from the anime—wild black hair, that arrogant smirk, wings that screamed 'I'm better than everyone else.' But the people around him...
"Rogue exorcists," I noted, recognizing some of the gear. "Quite a few of them."
"And worse." Azazel's voice darkened. "He's managed to recruit some of the Church's more... radical elements. Priests who believe the peace between factions is an abomination."
I swiped to the next image and froze. Among the crowd of followers was a face I recognized—one of the priests who'd been at my meeting with Cardinal Benedetti in Rome.
"Father Moretti," I said quietly.
Son of a bitch.…He lied to me. He was involved.
I knew there was something fishy about that damn priest. I made a mental note to make him pay.
"You know him?"
"We've met." I handed the tablet back.
"He's planning something big, Leon-kun. Something that would make our little Shinjuku incident look like a fireworks display."
I studied his face, looking for any sign of deception. There was none.
"I won't thank you for this."
"I don't expect too."
"...I'll kill him. I don't care if he is your brother."
Azazel was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "I know."
For a moment, we just stared at each other.
Azazel studied me for a long moment. "You've changed, Leon-kun."
I didn't answer.
After a moment of silence he pulled out another device, this one looking like a modified GPS. "Kokabiel's base is here—an abandoned monastery in the Alps. The approach is difficult, the defenses are substantial, and he'll see you coming from miles away."
"Good. I want him to see me coming."
"I know you are strong, but Kokabiel is cunning so be careful."
I nodded as I pocketed the GPS.
"Leon-kun." His voice stopped me as I turned to leave. "For what it's worth... I am sorry. About your parents. About lying to you. About all of it."
"Sorry doesn't bring them back," I said quietly.
"No. It doesn't."
I walked toward the warehouse exit, my footsteps echoing in the empty space. At the door, I paused.
"Azazel."
"Yes?"
I wanted to say something, but the words won't come out.
"Nevermind." Then I was gone.
=====
High in the Swiss Alps, the abandoned monastery of San Benedetto clung to the mountainside like a wound in the rock.
The old monastery was freezing, and Kokabiel was getting sick of pacing around like some caged animal.
"Damn it," he muttered, stopping in front of the tall windows. Snow was falling heavy outside, which pretty much matched his mood.
When he'd first heard about Leon Mishima, he hadn't even bothered. Some ordinary rich kid whose parents he'd killed? Why waste time on a nobody? The real prize was destroying the Mishima Corporation itself—all those fancy treaties and neutral ground bullshit.
The Mishima Corporation had always been more bark than bite, protected by old treaties and the mutual greed of various factions rather than any real power.
Destroying it should have been simple. The vampires would probably care—but they were weak. The devils were too busy with their own politics. The Norse were distant, and the other pantheons viewed it as beneath their notice. A few strategic strikes, some carefully placed blame, and the whole neutral ground nonsense would crumble.
But then Shinjuku happened.
Kokabiel ran a hand through his hair, wings twitching. The reports were insane. The kid had fought Azazel—his own brother—and walked away. Had that freaking weapon. Made the entire supernatural world nervous.
"Having second thoughts?"
Kokabiel spun around fast. A figure was standing by the altar, barely visible in the shadows.
"I'm not scared of some human brat," Kokabiel said, though his voice came out sharper than he wanted.
"Of course not." The figure stepped into the light. "What's one little dragon boy against the mighty Kokabiel?"
"Watch your tongue," Kokabiel snarled, finally spinning to face his unwelcome ally. "I agreed to this alliance for mutual benefit, not to suffer your mockery."
The figure emerged from the shadows near the altar.
"Of course. My apologies." The smile was all teeth and no warmth. "I merely find it... interesting... how quickly your enthusiasm dimmed once you learned what the boy truly possessed."
Kokabiel wanted to blast this asshole into next week, but he needed the help. For now, anyway.
This creature had approached him months ago with promises of chaos, of renewed war, of everything Kokabiel had yearned for since the Great War's end. But every conversation felt like being dissected by a particularly sadistic scholar.
"The plan remains sound," Kokabiel said through gritted teeth. "The boy will come. He's emotional, reckless in his grief. He'll charge in here seeking vengeance, and when he does—"
"You'll destroy him with what, precisely?" The figure began circling him slowly. "Your light spears? Your considerable power? Against the blade that will burn at Ragnarök?"
"I have more resources than mere brute force—"
"Yes, yes. Your followers. Your preparations. Your righteous fury." The dismissive gesture was infuriating. "Tell me, Kokabiel, what happens when Surtr's flame cuts through everything you've so carefully arranged?"
Before Kokabiel could formulate a response, heavy footsteps echoed from the corridor outside. Father Moretti burst through the doors, his face pale and glistening with sweat despite the mountain cold.
"My lord," he gasped, dropping to one knee on the stone floor. "Leon Mishima arrived in Milan twenty minutes ago."
Kokabiel felt ice settle in his stomach. All his planning, all his careful preparation, and he was still genuinely afraid of facing that sword.
His mysterious ally laughed—a sound like crystal shattering. "Excellent timing indeed. You may withdraw, priest."
Father Moretti glanced nervously between them before scrambling to his feet and fleeing the chamber.
Once they were alone again, the laughter faded into that cold, calculating smile.
"You're enjoying this," Kokabiel accused.
"Of course I am." The figure moved toward the windows, gazing out at the falling snow. "Chaos is always... entertaining. And this particular scenario has such delicious potential for widespread conflict."
"For what purpose? If the boy kills me—"
"Then you die gloriously." The casual tone made Kokabiel's wings bristle. "And the supernatural world mourns a proud fallen angel who perished fighting against the stagnation of false peace."
"And if I kill him?"
"Then you've eliminated a significant threat to the current order." The mysterious figure turned back toward him. "Either outcome serves to destabilize the careful balance that's kept things so... tediously peaceful."
Kokabiel stared at him. "You don't actually care which of us survives."
"I care about the aftermath, not the specific casualties." The smile turned predatory. "Though I must admit, witnessing Laevateinn in actual combat should prove quite... educational."
"You're using me as a catalyst."
"Just as you're using me for resources and knowledge." The figure's expression remained unchanged. "We both desire war's return, Kokabiel. We simply have different motivations for that desire."
The truth settled between them like a blade drawn in the darkness. They weren't allies—they were two predators temporarily sharing the same hunting ground, each waiting for the opportunity to devour the other.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Simply be yourself. The proud fallen angel seeking to restart a glorious war." The mysterious figure's smile turned sharp. "Let him come to you. Let his rage carry him into our prepared ground."
"And you?"
"I'll ensure the stage is properly set." The figure's expression turned almost playful. "After all, the best conflicts require the right... atmosphere."
Kokabiel watched his temporary partner disappear back into the darkness, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the growing certainty that he was merely another piece in someone else's grand design.
But that was acceptable. He'd been underestimated before.
When this was finished, when the boy lay dead and war had returned to the world, he would settle his accounts with this bastard manipulator.
Assuming, of course, he survived the next few hours.
====
Author's Note:
Any guesses who it is?
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If you'd like to read ahead and support me, feel free to check it out: [email protected]/VashFF