Chapter 22 - The simulator

3rd Person POV

Arto straightened his posture, the crisp black tuxedo settling perfectly on his broad shoulders as he drew a slow, steadying breath. The fabric—still carrying the faint memory of that first mall trip with Rias—felt like armor and nostalgia all at once. He opened the door of the ORC clubhouse with a calm, practiced motion, revealing the small but formidable delegation waiting on the threshold.

Zeoticus Gremory stood at the forefront—tall, regal, crimson hair swept back in the classic Gremory style, bright blue eyes sharp and assessing beneath a warm, paternal smile. Beside him, Sora Sitri—shorter, black hair neatly parted, dark pink eyes carrying the same quiet intensity as his daughters—nodded once in polite greeting. Venelana Gremory stood gracefully at Zeoticus's side, her auburn hair cascading in elegant waves, emerald eyes sparkling with maternal pride and curiosity. Sena Sitri—flowing raven hair and the same vivid pink eyes as Sona—offered a small, composed smile that didn't quite hide her anticipation.

But it was the two figures flanking them that made Arto's pulse spike despite his best efforts.

Sirzechs Lucifer—crimson hair a shade deeper than Rias's, eyes the same brilliant blue as his father's—radiated power so dense it felt like standing too close to a star. His usual gentle smile was in place, but there was a razor edge beneath it, the look of someone who had seen (and caused) the end of worlds. At his side stood Yelena Lucifuge—silver hair pinned impeccably, maid uniform immaculate, expression cool and unreadable as polished steel. Between them bounced Millicas Gremory-Lucifuge, a bright-eyed boy of perhaps seven or eight, red hair tousled, cheeks flushed with excitement as he clutched his mother's hand and stared wide-eyed at the clubhouse.

Behind the family group stood a small cluster of white-coated figures—R&D division personnel from both clans—notebooks, tablets, and portable scrying devices already in hand, eyes gleaming with professional hunger.

Robin's tiny mouth—hidden inside Arto's ear—whispered the identifications in real time, voice calm and precise. "The male is Sirzechs Lucifer, Rias's older brother and one of the Four Great Satans. The female is Serafall Leviathan, Sona's older sister, also one of the Four Great Satans. Sirzechs is accompanied by his wife Yelena Lucifuge—and their son Millicas. The lab coats are R&D from both clans. They're here to observe the peerages… and evaluate the facility."

Arto felt the shiver run down his spine—brief, involuntary—but he locked it away. These were not just powerful people. These were the people who shaped the Underworld. And today, they were guests in his house.

He offered a deep, formal bow—precise, respectful, exactly the depth required for heads of state and their peers. "Welcome, esteemed lords and ladies," he said, voice clear and steady despite the power pressing against his senses. "To the first test run of my latest invention: the Simulation Room."

Zeoticus stepped forward first—smile warm, but eyes sharp. "Arto Abyssgard," he said, voice rich and resonant. "We've heard a great deal. Rias speaks of you often—and with considerable pride." Sora inclined his head slightly. "Sona has been… unusually enthusiastic about your work. That alone tells us this is worth seeing."

Venelana's smile was softer, maternal. "We're here for our children, of course. But also to witness what you've built for them." Sena's pink eyes flicked toward the clubhouse interior—curious, appraising. "Let us not keep them waiting, then."

Sirzechs's smile widened—charming, disarming, and utterly terrifying to anyone who knew what lay behind it. "I've been looking forward to this," he said lightly. "Rias has been… secretive. That usually means something extraordinary." Yelena inclined her head—polite, cool. "We will observe from the control room, as agreed."

Millicas bounced on his toes—eyes huge. "Is it really like a game? With monsters and everything?" Arto allowed himself a small, genuine smile at the boy. "Something like that, young lord. But with higher stakes." He stepped aside—gesturing toward the interior.

"Please. This way. The viewing suite is prepared—refreshments, comfortable seating, full holographic feed from Sector 1. Your R&D teams may use the secondary observation lounge to interact with the interface directly. The peerages are already suited up and waiting inside."

The group moved past him—parents and siblings first, scientists trailing behind with quiet murmurs of anticipation. As Sirzechs passed, he paused—just long enough for only Arto to hear. "Impressive work," he said softly. "Keep my sister safe in there." Arto met his gaze—unflinching. "I will."

Sirzechs's smile returned—warm again. "Good." They filed inside. Arto closed the door behind the last guest—then exhaled once, slow and steady. Robin's voice whispered in his ear—soft, amused. "You didn't flinch. Well done." Arto allowed himself one small, wry smile. "Not my first time dealing with nobles, at least they don't call me Slave Knight."

"A what?" Robin raises an eyebrow, but Arto cuts her off the question "That's for later, you and Nami go service the lords and ladies, I'll be after bringing the scientists to their playground"

Nami, already halfway to the basement stairs, paused and spun on her heel. Her expression was suddenly deadly serious, the usual smirk replaced by something almost maternal.

"Hey," she said, pointing one manicured finger at him like a loaded gun. "Tell them don't mess up my factories in there, okay? They are running perfectly. No unauthorized tweaks, no 'experimental overrides,' no 'just one little adjustment to the throughput.' If I come back and find one conveyor belt out of alignment because some R&D genius wanted to 'optimize' my perfect 99.996% waste rate, I will personally bankrupt their department budgets for the next decade."

Arto raised both hands in mock surrender. "I'll pass the message. Word for word." Nami huffed—satisfied—then turned and descended the stairs with purposeful strides, disappearing through the white door that led into the Simulation Room proper.

Robin watched her go, then turned back to Arto—small smile returning. "I'll handle the refreshments and conversation upstairs. Try not to let Sirzechs talk you into giving him admin access on the spot." Arto snorted softly. "If he asks, I'll tell him the Stabilizer tattoo is non-transferable."

Robin's laugh was quiet, brief, and genuine. "Good luck." She glided toward the staircase leading up to the main viewing suite—already mentally cataloguing which wine to pour first for Venelana and which tea blend would best soothe Lady Sena's nerves.

Arto exhaled once more—straightening his tuxedo jacket—then turned toward the small cluster of white-coated R&D personnel still lingering near the entrance, tablets and scrying orbs in hand, eyes wide with barely-contained professional hunger.

He gestured toward the basement stairs. "This way, ladies and gentlemen. Sector 3 is ready for you. But remember—Nami's factories are off-limits for modifications. Touch anything without clearance, and you'll answer to her. And trust me… you don't want that."

The scientists exchanged quick, nervous glances—then followed him down.

[Simulation Room]

Arto stepped off the transport lift from Sector 3, the faint hum of the facility's power grid fading behind him as he walked the long white corridor toward Sector 1. He smoothed the lapels of his tuxedo one last time—more habit than necessity—then placed his palm against the rippling black door. It parted like liquid shadow, admitting him into the softly lit control room.

The viewing suite was already alive with quiet activity. The curved panoramic screen dominated one wall, currently showing a live feed of the obsidian platform in Sector 1 where both peerages stood ready in their battlesuits—sleek, form-fitting composites of black and silver threaded with clan-specific accents (crimson for Gremory, sapphire for Sitri). The control consoles glowed with status readouts; holographic overlays floated above each seat displaying vitals, mana flow, and real-time intent mapping.

The guests were comfortably settled.

Zeoticus Gremory and Sora Sitri sat side by side in the center row—two pillars of Underworld nobility flanked by their wives. Venelana sipped chilled white wine with elegant poise, occasionally murmuring something that made Zeoticus smile. Sena Sitri sat with perfect posture, pink eyes flicking between the screen and her daughter's image below.

Sora—short black hair neatly combed, dark pink eyes narrowed in concentration—held a slim tablet displaying a partial blueprint of the Simulation Room. He traced one finger along a leyline conduit schematic, muttering softly to himself about energy routing efficiency. Zeoticus leaned over occasionally to point at something, both men clearly fascinated by the engineering.

The only ones not seated were Millicas and Serafall.

Millicas—bright red hair tousled, eyes huge—stood right at the railing of the observation deck, nose practically pressed to the transparent barrier as he stared down at Rias in her battlesuit. "Aunt Rias looks so cool!" he whispered loudly, bouncing on his toes. "Is she gonna fight dragons?!"

Yelena—ever the picture of composed elegance—rose smoothly from her seat, placed a gentle but firm hand on her son's shoulder, and guided him back to the row. "Come, Millicas. The test is about to begin. You may watch from your seat."

"But Mama—"

"Your aunt would not want you standing so close to the glass," Yelena said, tone soft but final. "Sit." Millicas pouted but obeyed, climbing onto the seat between his parents and immediately leaning forward again. Serafall was proving more difficult.

The Leviathan stood directly in front of Sona's image on the main screen—pom-poms in hand (where she had acquired them, no one asked), wearing a bright pink tracksuit with "Sona-oneechan ♡ Fighting!" bedazzled across the back. She was in full cheerleader mode—bouncing on her toes, waving the pom-poms, calling encouragement that echoed faintly through the observation deck's speakers.

"Sona-tan! You've got this! Show them that Sitri genius! Magical girl power~!" Sona—on the platform below—pinched the bridge of her nose, cheeks faintly pink despite the battlesuit helmet. "Onee-sama… please…" Sena Sitri rose with the same graceful inevitability Yelena had shown moments earlier. She placed both hands on Serafall's shoulders and steered her firmly back toward the seats. "Serafall," she said—voice calm, maternal, brooking no argument—"sit. Your sister needs to focus."

"But she's so cute when she's embarrassed~!"

"Sit."

Serafall pouted dramatically but allowed herself to be guided back to her chair beside Sora. She kept the pom-poms, though—twirling them absently as she settled in. Arto stepped fully into the room just as the last guest took their seat. Every head turned toward him—nobles, siblings—all eyes carrying varying mixtures of curiosity, respect, and (in Sirzechs's case) quiet, dangerous amusement.

Arto bowed—deep, formal, exactly the correct depth for addressing Satans and clan heads. "Esteemed guests," he said, voice carrying clearly across the room. "Thank you for coming. The Simulation Room is ready. Sector 1—Adaptive Training Ground—is primed. The peerages are in position on the transfer platform. We begin in two minutes."

Zeoticus inclined his head. "We look forward to it, Arto Abyssgard." Sora's pink eyes flicked toward the blueprint tablet still in his hand, then back to Arto. "Impressive work. Let us see what it can do."

Sirzechs smiled—warm, disarming, and utterly terrifying. "Show us why my little sister speaks so highly of you." Serafall bounced once in her seat—pom-poms rustling. "Sona-tan! Magical girl transformation pose~!"

Sona—on the feed—visibly sighed. Yelena placed a calming hand on Serafall's arm. Arto moved to the main console—hands steady as he brought up the final checklist. "Celine—status."

"All systems green. Sector 1 stable. Peerage vitals nominal. Transfer window opening in 90 seconds. Awaiting final authorization." Arto looked up—meeting Rias's eyes through the live feed. She stood at the center of the platform, battlesuit gleaming, expression fierce and focused. She gave him a single, small nod.

He returned it. Then he spoke to the room. "Beginning transfer." The platform below began to glow—silver-blue light rising around the peerages like dawn breaking underground.

[Adaptive Training Ground]

The darkness was absolute. Not the kind that came from closed eyes or a blackout—no faint outlines, no afterimages, no comforting gradations of shadow. This was void. Pure, suffocating nothing that pressed against the skin and made every breath feel borrowed. The ten members of the joint peerage stood in a loose circle on what felt like solid ground, though nothing beneath their boots could be seen or trusted.

Battlesuits hummed faintly—soft glows from clan crests and mana conduits the only pinpricks of light in the emptiness. Crimson accents on Rias's team, sapphire on Sona's. The air tasted metallic, faintly charged, like the moment before lightning.

Then Arto's voice came through the comms—calm, steady, the same tone he used when explaining a particularly delicate formula. "Everything stable?" Rias answered immediately, voice clear despite the oppressive dark. "Yes. We landed safely."

A brief pause—long enough for everyone to feel the weight of what came next. "Good. I'll cut the comm now. Get yourselves prepared. The battle starts when the terrain begins shifting and light appears." The line went dead. Silence rushed in.

No static. No breathing feedback. Just the collective inhale of thirty-two lungs trying not to sound afraid. Rias spoke first—low, commanding, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Positions. Now."

The peerage moved without hesitation—weeks of positional drills snapping into place like clockwork.

Rias took center—micro-command. Power of Destruction already flickering around her knuckles in restrained crimson-black embers, ready to shape into whatever the moment demanded.

Sona stood at her shoulder—macro oversight. Water mana shimmering faintly around her hands, already mapping unseen currents in the dark.

Akeno and Tsubaki flanked them—Akeno slightly forward, lightning naginata humming violet in her grip; Tsubaki a step back, Mirror Alive runes glowing softly along her blade, defensive anchor.

Kiba and Tomoe drifted to the left and right wings—swords drawn, handsigns primed, ready to disappear into flanking strikes the instant light revealed targets.

Koneko and Tsubasa anchored the rear—two immovable walls, gravity spells humming at half-strength, muscles coiled for burst release.

Momo and Reya took elevated positions—levitating just above the group, golden and pale-blue mana already weaving preliminary support barriers and scanning spells.

No one spoke unnecessarily. They waited. The darkness pressed heavier—almost personal. Then it began. A low, subsonic thrum rolled through the void—felt more in the bones than the ears. The black began to fracture.

Thin cracks of light—pale silver, then warmer gold—splintered outward like breaking glass. The floor beneath them rippled—smooth obsidian giving way to rough stone, then packed earth, then shifting sand. Distant horizons flickered into existence: jagged black spires one second, dense forest the next, ruined cityscape after that. The Arena was reading them—pulling fragments from every subconscious in the circle, weaving them into something new, something theirs.

Rias's voice cut through the growing light—sharp, steady. "Eyes open. Formation tight. It's learning us already. No hesitation. We move as one." Sona's calm followed immediately. "Terrain shifting—forest to urban mix. High verticality. Kiba, Tomoe—take rooftops when they solidify. Akeno—lightning ceiling when cover appears. Koneko, Tsubasa—hold center. Bishops—support net now."

The peerage tightened—shoulders brushing, breaths syncing.

The light surged—full dawn breaking across an impossible battlefield: ruined skyscrapers tangled with ancient forest, streets cracked open to reveal glowing leyline rivers below, shadows moving at the edges like living things. And from those shadows...something watched.

The Dark Arena had woken. And it was hungry to see what these sixteen souls had learned in four weeks of blood and trust. Rias flexed her knuckles—Power of Destruction flaring brighter. "Let's give it a show."

The darkness shattered.

Not with light—not yet—but with sound. A deep, bone-rattling rumble rolled up from beneath their feet, the kind that vibrated through ribs and teeth. At the same instant came the screech of metal twisting from the ruined skyscrapers and the wet, splintering crack of trees being uprooted in the forest beyond.

Sona's voice cut through the growing cacophony—sharp, absolute. "Up!" No hesitation. Ten bodies launched skyward in perfect unison.

Rias's Power of Destruction flared beneath her boots in twin crimson-black jets—propelling her upward. Akeno rode a crackling violet lightning arc. Kiba and Tomoe used alchemical bursts to rocket off invisible platforms. Koneko and Tsubasa simply jumped—gravity release turning their legs into pistons that sent them soaring twenty meters in a heartbeat. Momo and Reya levitated on golden and pale-blue mana discs. Sona rose on a spiraling pillar of water, Tsubaki riding her own reflective shield like a surfboard.

Below them the ground erupted.

A colossal maw split the earth—jagged obsidian teeth the length of cars, throat a pulsing violet-black abyss lined with writhing tendrils. The worm-thing—easily fifty meters long—surged upward in a fountain of dirt and stone, jaws snapping shut on empty air where the peerage had stood a fraction of a second earlier.

The miss only enraged it. It thrashed—tail whipping buildings into rubble, head rearing back for another strike. And from every direction the tide arrived.

From the forest: hulking, bark-armored beasts with glowing violet eyes, branches for antlers, roots for claws. From the skyscrapers: swarms of smaller horrors—winged, clawed, dripping shadow that ate light. From the cracked streets below: serpentine things, eyeless, mouthless, bodies made of writhing black cables that lashed like whips.

A grotesque tidal wave—hundreds strong—surged inward, converging on the floating peerage like a living net. Rias's voice rang out—clear, commanding, cutting through the roar. "Formation Delta! Hold altitude! Bishops—net now!"

Momo and Reya moved in perfect sync. Golden and pale-blue mana threads shot outward—forming a vast, translucent dome that snapped shut around the entire peerage like a soap bubble made of diamond. The first wave of monsters slammed into it—claws scraping, teeth gnashing—but the barrier flexed, absorbed, redistributed the force. No cracks. No leaks.

Sona's voice followed—calm, precise. "Tsubaki—reflect the worm's next lunge. Akeno—ceiling burst on the swarm. Kiba, Tomoe—flank the worm's blind spot. Koneko, Tsubasa—ground pound when it recoils. Rias—center breach on my mark."

The worm lunged again—maw wide enough to swallow a bus. Tsubaki was already moving. Mirror Alive flared—her naginata blade becoming a perfect reflective plane. The worm's jaws struck the mirror and rebounded—its own momentum redirected back into its throat. The creature choked, recoiling in confusion, head whipping wildly.

Akeno laughed—bright, dangerous—and thrust her naginata skyward. "Ceiling burst!" Violet lightning erupted overhead—spreading into a crackling net that rained down in targeted forks. Dozens of smaller horrors shrieked as they were electrocuted mid-flight, bodies tumbling like burning leaves.

Kiba and Tomoe vanished—two blurs of motion. Kiba's holy-demonic sword flashed alchemical light; transmutation circles bloomed mid-swing, turning the air into razor-sharp crystal shards that shredded a cluster of cable-serpents. Tomoe's twin katana blurred—little finger twitching, flash spell detonating in the face of a bark-beast. It reared back blindly; her blades opened its throat in the same heartbeat.

Koneko and Tsubasa dropped—gravity release screaming as they plummeted. They hit the worm's recoiling head simultaneously—two meteors of nekomata and Rook fury. The impact boomed—shockwave rippling outward, cracking nearby buildings. The worm's skull caved inward; it thrashed once more, then collapsed—half-buried in its own crater.

Rias floated at the center—Power of Destruction roaring around her in a controlled cyclone. "Sona—mark!" Sona's water mana surged—forming a massive, razor-edged wave that swept across the plaza, cutting a path straight toward the densest cluster of monsters. "Center breach—now!"

Rias dove—knuckles blazing—straight into the heart of the swarm.

Power of Destruction exploded outward—not wild, not wasteful—shaped into a perfect sphere of annihilation that consumed everything inside it. Monsters disintegrated mid-scream, leaving only ash and silence in a twenty-meter radius.

[Viewing booth]

From the control room above, Arto watched the feed—hands steady on the console, expression calm but eyes burning with quiet, fierce pride. Beside him, Sirzechs leaned forward—smile gone, replaced by something sharper.

"Impressive," he murmured. "Very impressive." Yelena's voice was soft, almost reverent. "They move as one."

Venelana wiped a discreet tear from the corner of her eye. "My daughter…" she whispered.

Sena Sitri simply nodded—pink eyes shining. "They're ready."

Millicas bounced in his seat—whisper-shouting. "Go Aunt Rias! Go Sona-oneechan!"

Serafall waved her pom-poms—quietly now, tears in her eyes. "That's my Sona-tan…"

[Adaptive Training Ground]

Rias floated at the center of the formation—Power of Destruction still coiling around her fists like living smoke—when the last monster of the first wave dissolved into violet ash. The plaza went unnaturally still. No victory cheer rose from the peerage. No one relaxed.

She knew better. This was never going to end this easily. "Stay focused," she said sharply over comms, voice cutting through the sudden quiet. "The Arena doesn't give clean wins. Second wave incoming—any second now. Eyes up, formation tight."

As though the words themselves had summoned it, the ground beneath them shuddered. Not a tremor. A convulsion.

The ruined skyscrapers around them groaned—deep, metallic moans as foundations cracked and rebar snapped. Windows that had somehow survived the earlier chaos now exploded outward in glittering cascades. The entire block began to tilt—slowly at first, then faster—like the earth itself had decided to shrug them off. "Earthquake!" Sona barked—water mana surging to stabilize their footing. "It's using the terrain!"

The shaking escalated into full violence. Asphalt split like dry skin. Streetlights toppled. The ground under the peerage's platform buckled—crumbling away in chunks the size of cars. And then it came. A second giant worm—larger than the first, body armored in jagged obsidian scales veined with the same violet corruption—erupted from the collapsing earth directly beneath them. Its maw opened wide enough to swallow a house, teeth spiraling inward like a living drill. It lunged—aiming straight for the heart of the formation—Rias and Sona.

"Scatter!" Rias shouted. The peerage moved as one—weeks of positional drills paying off in split-second precision.

Koneko and Tsubasa dropped—gravity release screaming as they slammed both fists into the worm's armored snout. The impact rang like a gong—shockwave blasting outward, cracking scales and forcing the creature's head sideways for a precious half-second.

Akeno spun—naginata flashing—and unleashed a lightning storm straight down the worm's gullet. Violet arcs chained inside its throat, lighting up its translucent innards like a grotesque lantern. It shrieked—a sound that vibrated teeth and eardrums alike.

Kiba and Tomoe vanished—flanking left and right. Kiba's sword cut through a coil of writhing tendrils that lashed toward the Bishops; Tomoe's flash spell detonated inside the worm's eye socket, blinding one massive orb in a burst of violet sparks.

Momo and Reya—still airborne—wove a double-layered containment net beneath the formation. Golden and pale-blue mana threads snapped taut, catching the falling debris and buying the group a floating island of safety amid the collapsing cityscape.

Sona thrust both hands downward—water mana surging into a massive pillar that slammed into the worm's side, forcing it to veer off course and smash through a row of buildings instead of swallowing them whole.

Rias stayed center—Power of Destruction roaring to life in a perfect sphere around her. She didn't waste it on the worm's armored hide. She aimed for the mouth. "Open wide," she growled.

The crimson-black orb detonated inward—contained, surgical—drilling straight through the creature's gullet. Flesh and scale vaporized in a silent implosion. The worm convulsed—body thrashing wildly—then collapsed, half its length still buried underground, the other half a smoking ruin.

The shaking slowed. Buildings settled—some still standing, some reduced to rubble. The peerage hovered—breathing hard, formation unbroken—above a crater the size of a city block. Rias scanned the darkness beyond the destruction—Power of Destruction still flickering around her fists. "That wasn't the end," she said quietly. "It's testing our coordination. Our limits. It's going to throw worse."

The peerages burst out of the collapsing skyscraper in a coordinated explosion of wings and mana—sixteen sets of bat-like demonic wings unfurling in perfect sync, crimson and sapphire accents flashing against the night sky. They gained altitude fast, forming a tight defensive sphere with Rias and Sona at the center, Akeno and Tsubaki anchoring the forward and rear hemispheres.

Then they looked down. And horror swallowed every last trace of triumph. The city—their city—was gone. Not damaged. Not burning. Leveled.

Where streets and parks and high-rises had stood moments ago, there was now only a churning sea of rubble stretching kilometers in every direction. The giant worm-things—dozens, maybe hundreds—writhed through the wreckage like maggots in rotting flesh. Their obsidian-armored bodies glistened violet under the moonlight as they burrowed, surfaced, and burrowed again—devouring concrete, steel, glass, everything. The sound was apocalyptic: grinding stone, screeching metal, the wet crunch of masonry being pulverized between endless rows of spiraling teeth.

And they were hungry.

One by one the worms lifted their massive heads—eyeless sockets glowing with the same corrupted violet as the relic—and fixed on the airborne devils. Jaws unhinged wider than physics should allow. Throats convulsed. Then they spat. Not acid. Not fire.

Debris.

Chunk after chunk of compacted rubble—each boulder the size of a car—launched skyward in a grotesque anti-air barrage. The projectiles weren't aimed with precision; they were fired in overlapping cones, saturating the airspace above the ruined city in a kill zone no flyer could thread without being pulped.

At the same instant, smaller horrors began spawning from the worms' backs—bat-winged, clawed things dripping shadow and violet ichor. They launched upward in black swarms, forcing the peerages to split their attention: boulders from below, flyers from above.

Rias's voice cracked across comms—calm but razor-sharp.

"Split vertical! Koneko, Tsubasa—ground intercept the boulders. Crush or redirect—do not let them hit the formation! Akeno—ceiling lightning net on the flyers! Kiba, Tomoe—cut through the swarm, keep the path clear! Momo, Reya—barrier dome, angled to deflect debris! Sona—macro call!"

Sona's response was instantaneous.

"Confirmed. Bishops—dome now! Tsubaki—reflect the largest incoming boulders back at the worms. Akeno—prioritize flyers clustering near the center. Everyone else—hold altitude 80 meters. Do not drop below 60 or the worms will reach you. We punch through the kill zone toward the western edge—clear terrain for regroup."

The peerage executed.

Koneko and Tsubasa dove—gravity release screaming as they plummeted toward the nearest incoming boulders. Koneko met one mid-air with both fists—impact detonating like artillery, the massive chunk shattering into harmless gravel that rained down. Tsubasa caught another on crossed forearms—Rook durability absorbing the blow—and redirected it back toward the worm that fired it, the projectile slamming into the creature's armored skull with a sickening crunch.

Akeno spun her naginata overhead—violet lightning exploding outward in a crackling dome that turned the sky into a death trap for the flyers. Dozens of winged horrors shrieked as they were electrocuted mid-flight, bodies tumbling like burning moths.

Kiba and Tomoe darted through the swarm—blades blurring. Kiba's sword left trails of holy-demonic light that severed wings and heads; Tomoe's flash spells popped in rapid succession, blinding clusters long enough for follow-up kills.

Momo and Reya—hovering at the formation's core—wove a massive, angled barrier dome. Golden and pale-blue mana threads snapped taut, deflecting boulders with resonant clangs that echoed across the ruined city.

Rias floated at the heart—Power of Destruction roaring around her in a controlled cyclone. She didn't waste it on individual monsters. She shaped it into a single, massive crimson-black lance—twenty meters long—and hurled it downward at the largest worm still thrashing below. The lance struck true—drilling through armored scales and detonating inside the creature's core. The worm convulsed once—then collapsed, body splitting open in a fountain of violet ichor.

Sona—above it all—manipulated the terrain itself. Water mana surged through the broken streets, freezing into massive ice walls that redirected boulder trajectories and funneled the smaller monsters into kill zones.

The formation punched westward—altitude holding, barriers flexing but unbroken, blades and lightning carving a path through the tide.

But the Arena wasn't finished. The ground continued to collapse behind them—worms surfacing in waves, flyers respawning faster than they could kill, debris barrages intensifying.

Rias's voice rang out again—fierce, unshaken. "This is it—the real test. It's not letting us win easy. Stay tight. Stay alive. We break through or we break it!" Sona's calm followed. "Western edge—three kilometers. Push!"

[Viewing booth]

The viewing suite had gone deathly quiet.

No more guests. No more light commentary from the parents. Even Millicas's excited bouncing had slowed to wide-eyed stillness, his small hands gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white. Serafall's pom-poms hung limp at her sides—her usual manic cheer replaced by something fiercer, quieter, more desperate as she stared at the screen.

The feed showed unrelenting horror. The second wave wasn't a skirmish. It was annihilation.

Giant worms—dozens now—burst from every shattered street and collapsed foundation, armored hides glistening violet-black as they plowed through rubble like living excavators. Each one left a trench wide enough for a highway. Buildings that had somehow survived the first collapse now toppled in slow, thunderous dominoes, steel screaming as it twisted and concrete dust billowing in choking clouds. The worms didn't hunt with precision; they simply devoured—teeth grinding stone and metal alike, violet corruption spreading like ink through water wherever they passed.

And from the ruins came the swarms. Winged horrors—bat-like but wrong, bodies dripping shadow that ate light. Crawling things with too many legs and mouths that opened sideways. Shadow-serpents that moved like oil slicks across broken pavement. All of them radiated single-minded killing intent—no strategy, no fear, just an endless tide of violet-eyed hunger surging upward toward the airborne peerages.

Sirzechs leaned forward—smile gone, crimson eyes narrowed to slits. Yelena's hand rested lightly on Millicas's shoulder—steadying him as much as herself. Zeoticus Gremory's usual warmth had vanished; his blue eyes were cold steel. Venelana's fingers tightened around her wineglass until the stem creaked. Sora Sitri sat ramrod straight—pink eyes locked on his daughter's sapphire battlesuit. Sena Sitri's composure cracked—just a fraction—as she whispered Sona's name like a prayer.

Arto stood at the main console—hands braced on the edge, finger hovering over the emergency comm override. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle jumped. The Arena was doing exactly what he'd warned them it would do: reading them, adapting, weaponizing every weakness it had catalogued from his own subconscious over centuries.

And right now, it was weaponizing terrain. Rias and Akeno had never fought inside the Dark Arena when it had terrain to use. Every time they'd entered before, the Arena had stripped itself bare—no cover, no elevation, no environmental advantages—because it deemed him too dangerous with anything he could turn into a weapon. Open void. Pure skill against pure skill.

But Arto wasn't inside this time. The Arena had full access to every building, every street, every buried leyline. And it was using them all. Robin's hand settled gently but firmly over Arto's hovering finger—stopping him before he could press the button. "Don't," she said softly—only for him.

He looked at her—eyes stormy. "They're not ready for this level of environmental adaptation. The Arena's never given them terrain before. They've never had to think about falling rubble, collapsing structures, worms using the city itself as a weapon—"

Robin didn't flinch. "They've never had to before," she agreed. "But they have to now. If you guide them—if you pull them out of the fire—they'll never learn how to walk through it themselves. The Arena isn't trying to kill them. It's trying to force them to evolve. And right now… they're doing it."

She nodded toward the screen. "Look." Rias's voice cut through comms—calm, commanding, unshaken. "Terrain is hostile. Worms using buildings as weapons. We can't stay airborne forever—too much anti-air saturation. Descend in controlled bursts. Koneko, Tsubasa—ground anchors, clear landing zones. Akeno—lightning ceiling on the flyers. Kiba, Tomoe—cut paths through the swarm. Momo, Reya—mobile barriers, angle them to deflect debris. Sona—macro route, find us a stable vector west. Move!"

The peerage responded instantly.

Koneko and Tsubasa dropped—gravity release screaming as they slammed into a collapsing rooftop, shattering it into a flat platform of rubble. They held it steady—two living bulwarks—as the rest descended in tight spirals.

Akeno spun overhead—naginata flashing—violet lightning raining down in targeted forks that turned swarms into smoking husks.

Kiba and Tomoe darted through the chaos—blades blurring, flash spells popping, carving temporary corridors through the tide.

Momo and Reya wove mobile barriers—golden and pale-blue shields that angled incoming boulders harmlessly aside.

Sona—high above—reshaped the battlefield itself: water mana surging through broken streets, freezing into ice ramps and walls that redirected worm lunges and gave the peerage safer vectors.

Rias stayed center—Power of Destruction shaped into twin lances that she hurled downward, drilling through worm segments and detonating inside their cores.

The formation moved—westward, relentless—turning the Arena's own weapons against it. In the control room, Sirzechs let out a low breath. "They're adapting," he said quietly. "Already." Yelena's hand tightened on Millicas's shoulder—pride warring with worry.

Venelana whispered, "My girl…" Sora Sitri simply watched—pink eyes gleaming. "They're not just surviving," he said. "They're rewriting the battlefield." Serafall—pom-poms forgotten—leaned forward, whispering, "That's my Sona-tan…"

Arto watched the feed—finger no longer hovering over the button. Robin's hand stayed on his—gentle, steady. "They're doing it," she murmured. "They're evolving faster than the Arena can counter."

Arto exhaled—once, long, proud. "Yeah," he said softly. "They are."

[Adaptive Training Ground]

The peerages had barely caught their breath on the makeshift platform of shattered rooftop when Rias acted.

She thrust both arms skyward—Power of Destruction erupting from her palms in twin crimson-black geysers that split into dozens of razor-sharp spears. The lances rained down like judgment from above, each one piercing worm hide with surgical precision before detonating inward. The creatures shrieked—high, wet, dying sounds—as their armored bodies burst apart in violet-black sprays. One after another they collapsed, coiling in death throes, until the last massive head slammed into the rubble with earth-shaking finality.

Silence returned—broken only by the hiss of dissolving ichor and the peerage's ragged breathing.

Rias lowered her arms—chest heaving, mana channels flickering as she fought to replenish what she'd just burned through in a single, devastating volley. Sweat beaded on her brow; her battlesuit's crimson accents dimmed for a moment as her reserves dipped dangerously low.

"Hold formation," she rasped over comms. "Regroup. Mana check—"

She never finished.

The worm corpses began to change.

Flesh sloughed away—not dissolving into ash, but liquefying into thick, tar-like dark matter that pooled and merged with unnatural speed. The black sludge flowed together—rising, thickening, forming a single viscous lake that spread outward in seconds. It moved with purpose, not gravity—crawling up broken walls, flowing over rubble, surging toward the peerage like a living oil spill.

And it was hungry.

The darkness rose—higher, higher—until it loomed over them as a tidal wave of pure void, twenty meters tall and still growing, swallowing light and sound as it advanced.

Momo and Reya reacted instantly.

Golden and pale-blue mana surged outward—forming a massive, double-layered dome shield that snapped shut around the entire formation. The barrier shimmered, flexing under the weight of the approaching wave, but it held.

Sona stepped forward—water mana roaring to life around her in a spiraling vortex. Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

"Match it," she commanded—voice cutting through the roar of the dark tide.

She thrust both hands forward.

A colossal wave of her own erupted—crystal-clear water infused with Sitri control runes, surging upward in a perfect mirror of the enemy. The two tidal forces collided with a sound like thunder underwater—darkness slamming into clarity, violet-black sludge hissing and boiling where it met Sona's pure mana.

The impact shook the floating platform.

Sona's wave held—barely—pushing back against the corruption, but the dark tide pressed harder, tendrils of black reaching through cracks in the barrier like fingers seeking throats. Sona's voice rang out—calm, commanding, even as sweat beaded on her brow. "Akeno—now!"

Akeno was already moving. She spun her naginata overhead—violet lightning coiling along the blade in blinding chains—then thrust it downward into Sona's water wave. The lightning poured in—merging, amplifying, turning the entire tidal wall into a crackling storm of electrified water.

The effect was immediate.

The dark tide shrieked—a sound no living thing should make—as the lightning raced through it, burning away corruption wherever it touched. Violet-black sludge boiled and evaporated; tendrils withered and snapped; the towering wave recoiled as though scalded.

Sona pushed harder—water mana surging brighter—driving the electrified wave forward.

The dark tide collapsed—receding in a violent retreat, but Sona didn't allow it. She folded the entire dark wave into a sphere while Akeno kept channeling more lightning into it. The combined magic compressed the corruption into a violently quivering orb the size of a small house—violet-black core thrashing inside a cage of crackling water and electricity.

For one heartbeat, victory seemed certain.

Then the sphere began to shake—violently, unnaturally. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface. Sona's brow furrowed; she clenched both fists and poured more mana in, shifting the spell's structure. Water hardened into ice in an instant—temperature plummeting, frost racing across the orb's surface, reinforcing every fracture with crystalline layers. The shaking slowed… almost stopped…then the sphere exploded.

A deafening crack—like a mountain splitting—sent razor-sharp ice shards flying outward. Sona staggered, knees buckling as her mana reserves finally gave out. She dropped to one knee, palms slapping against the cracked rooftop, breathing ragged. The protective dome Momo and Reya had been maintaining flickered dangerously.

The dark tide didn't retreat. It reformed.

The violet-black sludge surged upward—coalescing, hardening, shaping itself with terrifying intelligence. Within seconds it had become an army.

Dark-armored soldiers—featureless, faceless, bodies forged from the same corrupted matter—formed perfect ranks. Shields locked in the front line, creating an impenetrable wall of black iron veined with violet light. Behind them stood spear-wielders, points leveled forward like a forest of lances. Sword-bearers waited in the second rank, blades drawn for close support. Archers formed the backline—bows of twisted shadow already drawn, arrows of pure dark matter nocked and glowing. Above them floated mages—cloaked in swirling void, hands raised, spells already coiling in violet-black glyphs aimed directly at the peerage.

Formal warfare. Organized. Disciplined. Ready. The Arena had watched them burn mana on the worms. It had watched them expend power on the tidal wave. Now it brought an army tailored to exploit their exhaustion.

The peerage reacted with the precision of a single organism.

Tsubasa and Koneko dropped to one knee simultaneously—palms slamming into the cracked rooftop. Koneko's gravity release reversed in an instant, turning her own weight into raw downward force that compressed the earth beneath them into a dense, reinforced foundation. Tsubasa channeled her Rook durability outward—mana surging through her arms and into the ground, hardening soil and rubble into an iron-like consistency.

Together they raised both hands.

The ground answered.

A massive earth wall erupted around the formation—thick, ten meters high, sloped outward like a medieval bastion. Stone, concrete fragments, and twisted rebar fused into a seamless barrier under their combined will. The first surge of the dark tide slammed into it—violet-black sludge hissing and boiling where it met the reinforced earth—but the wall held. Cracks appeared, then sealed themselves as Tsubasa and Koneko poured more mana in, keeping the structure alive and adaptive.

Sona's voice cut through comms—calm, absolute. "Tsubaki, Akeno—wall defense. Hold the line. No gaps." Tsubaki stepped forward—Mirror Alive flaring along her naginata blade. She swept it in wide, precise arcs—reflective surfaces appearing wherever the dark tide pressed hardest. Tendrils that struck the mirror rebounded, lashing back into the mass and tearing chunks free.

Akeno spun beside her—naginata crackling violet-white. She thrust the blade into the wall itself, channeling lightning straight through the earth. Electricity raced along the barrier's surface like living veins—zapping anything that touched it, boiling sludge into steam, forcing the tide to hesitate and recoil.

Tomoe and Kiba launched upward—wings snapping open.

The flying mages were already moving—violet glyphs forming in the air, spells coiling for area barrages. Kiba's holy-demonic sword flashed—alchemical transmutation turning his blade into a whip of hardened light that lashed through the nearest cluster. Mages shrieked as wings and arms were severed mid-cast.

Tomoe followed—little finger twitching. Flash spells detonated in rapid succession—blinding the mages in bright, disorienting bursts. Her twin katana blurred—cutting through blinded flyers before they could recover. The two knights danced among the swarm—speed and precision turning the sky into their killing ground.

Below, Momo and Reya knelt beside Rias and Sona.

Mana crystals—small, glowing gems they'd carried in reinforced pouches—shattered in their hands. Golden and pale-blue light flowed outward—healing spells Robin had drilled into them wrapping around the two Kings. Rias's flickering Power of Destruction stabilized; Sona's depleted water reserves began to refill. Bruises faded. Breathing steadied.

Rias flexed her knuckles—crimson-black light returning brighter.

Sona straightened—water mana swirling around her once more. The dark tide pressed harder—armored soldiers advancing behind shields, spears thrusting through cracks in the earth wall, archers loosing volleys of dark-matter arrows that pinged off the Bishops' dome.

But the peerage held. Tsubaki and Akeno anchored the wall—reflection and lightning turning every assault into self-inflicted wounds. Kiba and Tomoe carved through the flyers—reducing their numbers with surgical efficiency.

Koneko and Tsubasa kept the foundation solid—pushing back underground tendrils that tried to burrow beneath the barrier. Momo and Reya sustained the healing—mana flowing steadily into Rias and Sona.

Sona's knees were still trembling from mana exhaustion, but her mind had never been sharper. As Reya and Momo's healing spells flowed into her—golden and pale-blue threads knitting torn channels—she felt the first wrongness ripple through the ground beneath her feet.

Not a tremor. Not the familiar rumble of another worm surfacing. Something else. The underground water table—normally calm, predictable—moved in jagged, unnatural spasms. Currents twisted sideways instead of flowing, spiraling upward in tight, deliberate coils. Mana signatures pulsed from below—not scattered like the strays, but singular. Focused. Massive.

Realization hit her like ice water. They had been herded. Every wave, every collapse, every forced defensive posture—it had all driven the peerage into this single, compact cluster. Exactly the shape that made them easiest to swallow whole. Just like the very first strike of the battle.

Her eyes snapped wide. "EVERYONE—BREAK THE CIRCLE! NOW!" The shout tore from her throat—raw, commanding, carrying the full weight of Sitri authority. "Focus all power downward! The threat is beneath us—it's bigger than the worms! We're about to be swallowed!"

No questions. No hesitation. The peerage moved.

Rias—still recovering but fueled by adrenaline—slammed both fists into the rooftop. Power of Destruction erupted downward in a controlled cone—crimson-black annihilation drilling straight into the concrete, vaporizing layers as fast as it could form.

Akeno thrust her naginata point-first into the same spot—violet lightning pouring after Rias's attack, superheating the stone and turning it to slag.

Kiba and Tomoe dropped low—swords flashing. Kiba transmuted the ground beneath them into brittle crystal; Tomoe shattered it with precise cuts, opening fissures for the combined assault to penetrate deeper.

Koneko and Tsubasa—gravity release screaming—stomped in unison. Their feet drove into the weakened surface like pile drivers, cracking the platform open wider, exposing the void below.

Momo and Reya redirected every scrap of their remaining mana—golden and pale-blue threads weaving into a final, desperate wedge that amplified the downward strike.

Sona herself—still on one knee—raised both palms.

Water mana surged—condensing into a single, diamond-hard lance of pressurized liquid that shot straight down the widening hole. The combined assault tore through the rooftop. And revealed what waited beneath. A maw. Not a worm. Not even close.

An abyss of violet-black flesh—kilometers wide, stretching far beyond the city ruins—lined with spiraling rows of teeth that glowed with the same corrupted light as the relic. Tendrils thicker than skyscrapers coiled upward, ready to drag the entire peerage down in one swallow. The ground beneath them wasn't collapsing.

It was opening. The peerage hung suspended above the void—wings beating furiously, barriers flickering under the strain of holding position. Rias's voice rang out—fierce, unshaken. "ALL POWER DOWN! NOW!"

Ten devils poured everything they had left into the breach. Power of Destruction lances. Lightning storms. Demonic slashes. Gravity-enhanced stomps. Water spears. Golden barriers turned into piercing drills. A single, blinding spear of multicolored destruction formed at the center—raw, chaotic, unstoppable—and plunged straight into the heart of the abyss.

But there was another factor. From high above—far beyond the reach of any of them—a sword streaked downward like a falling star. Blue flame trailed behind it—pure, cold, cleansing fire that cut through the darkness without hesitation. The blade was unmistakable: long, straight, silver-blue steel etched with runes older than most civilizations, hilt wrapped in black leather worn smooth by centuries of use.

Arto's sword. The sword of Abyssgard. The moment Rias and Akeno saw it, recognition hit them simultaneously. Rias's breath caught. Akeno's eyes widened—then filled with fierce, relieved joy. The sword of Abyssgard—the blade that marked the end of every battle inside the Dark Arena. Its appearance didn't mean help was coming.

It meant they had survived long enough. It meant the Arena itself had acknowledged they were worthy of an ending. The sword flew with their combined attack—perfectly timed, perfectly aligned—straight into the maw of darkness.

And it did exactly what Arto's surname had always promised...Abyssgard...Guarding against the Abyss.

The multicolored spear struck first—tearing into the core, detonating in a cataclysm of light and power that cracked the void itself. Then the sword followed—burying itself to the hilt in the heart of the maw. Blue flame erupted. Not wild. Not destructive in the usual sense...Cleansing.

A surge of cold, azure fire washed outward—silent, relentless, unstoppable. It flowed through every inch of the darkness, burning away corruption without harming the peerage. Violet-black sludge evaporated. Tendrils withered into ash. The colossal maw convulsed once—then collapsed inward, imploding into nothing.

The blue flame didn't stop there. It surged across the entire battlefield—rushing through the ranks of dark-armored soldiers, the archers, the mages, the remaining worms. Armor melted. Spears dissolved. Arrows turned to smoke. Mages fell from the sky—bodies purified, corruption stripped away until only empty husks remained.

And wherever the flame touched the peerage...it healed. Bruises vanished. Mana channels refilled. Exhaustion lifted like mist under sunlight. Even the smallest cuts sealed without scars. The flame receded—gathering around the sword itself. The blade stood pinned in the center of the crater—hilt upright, blue fire burning low and steady along its length. The soil around it ignited—not in ordinary flame, but in a perfect circle of azure bonfire that cast no heat, only light.

A statement...'No darkness shall harm them as long as the sword of Abyssgard is here.'

The battlefield fell silent...No more rumbling...No more screeches...No more tidal waves. Only the soft crackle of blue flame and the sound of sixteen devils breathing—alive, whole, victorious.

Rias lowered her height slowly, wings folding halfway as she descended toward the crater's center. The azure bonfire burned steady and silent—no crackle, no smoke, just pure blue light that cast gentle shadows across the ruined landscape. The sword of Abyssgard stood tall at its heart, hilt upright, blade buried to the guard in the scorched earth. Around it the ground had already begun to heal—cracks sealing, rubble smoothing, violet corruption evaporating like mist under sunlight.

She landed lightly a few meters away, boots touching down on warm stone. The blue flame didn't burn her; it felt… protective. Like standing near a hearth that remembered her name.

Akeno touched down beside her—naginata dismissed, lightning finally quiet. She looked at the sword, then at Rias, violet eyes soft with something deeper than victory. "Let's sit down around the bonfire, everyone," Akeno called, voice carrying clear across the formation. "We've won. Now we just need to wait for Arto to finish being in awe and pull us out."

A ripple of exhausted laughter answered her.

One by one the peerage descended—wings folding, battlesuits dimming as mana reserves settled. Kiba and Tomoe sheathed their blades with matching sighs of relief. Koneko and Tsubasa dropped to sitting positions almost immediately—legs splayed, backs against each other like they'd run a marathon and won. Momo and Reya floated down last, barriers winking out as they touched ground, then simply collapsed cross-legged with twin groans.

Sona landed beside Rias—glasses slightly askew, hair disheveled for once—and simply sank to her knees, exhaling long and slow.

Rias sat first—cross-legged, close enough to the bonfire that the blue light painted her face in gentle azure. Akeno settled on her right, shoulder brushing hers. The rest formed a loose circle—sixteen devils, bruised and battered and alive, surrounding the sword that had ended the nightmare.

For a long minute no one spoke. The bonfire burned. The sword stood sentinel. The Arena was quiet. 

[Viewing booth]

The viewing booth exhaled as one.

The panoramic screen showed the obsidian platform in Sector 1 now empty—light fading, the blue bonfire still burning low and steady around Arto's sword like a lighthouse in the aftermath. Sixteen battlesuits had just transferred out; the feed cut to standby mode, leaving only the quiet crackle of the azure flames.

A collective breath released.

Zeoticus Gremory leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on Venelana's, the other absently stroking his chin. His bright blue eyes—usually so sharp—were soft with something dangerously close to tears. Venelana didn't bother hiding hers; she dabbed discreetly at the corners with a silk handkerchief, smiling through the shine. "She's not a little girl anymore," she whispered. Zeoticus squeezed her hand. "She never really was. But today… today she proved she's ready to lead."

Sora Sitri sat ramrod straight, pink eyes fixed on the now-blank screen. His fingers were steepled so tightly the knuckles showed white. Beside him, Sena reached over and laid her hand over his—gentle, grounding. "They moved like one mind," Sora said quietly, almost to himself. "Sona didn't just command. She trusted. And they trusted her back." Sena's voice was thick. "Our daughter has always been brilliant. Today she was unbreakable."

Sirzechs remained perfectly still—crimson hair catching the console light—until Yelena's fingers brushed his wrist. Only then did he allow himself a long, slow exhale. "She didn't hesitate," he said softly. "Not once. Even when the Arena tried to swallow them whole." Yelena's silver gaze was wet, but steady. "She learned that from you," she murmured. "And from him."

Millicas was already bouncing—red hair wild, eyes shining like twin stars. "They won! They really won! Aunt Rias and Aunt Sona beat the big scary worm and the dark army and everything!" Serafall—pom-poms forgotten on her seat—suddenly exploded into motion.

She leaped up, tracksuit sparkling under the lights, and started her full magical-girl cheer routine—spinning, jumping, pom-poms flashing pink and silver. "Sona-tan! Rias-chan! You're the strongest! Magical victory~! Sparkle power-up! Ultra super awesome win dance!!"

Millicas scrambled out of his seat and joined her—hopping in place, waving his arms, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Go Aunt Rias! Go Aunt Sona! You're the best! Boom! Zap! Victory!" Yelena sighed—long-suffering but fond—and gently steered her son back toward his seat. "Millicas, sit. They can't hear you yet."

Serafall ignored the attempt at decorum entirely. She bounded straight toward Arto—pom-poms still waving—intent on commandeering the comms panel. "Arto-kun! Move! I need to tell my Sona-tan how proud I am! Magical girl auntie cheer mode activate!!"

Arto—still standing at the console—didn't even flinch. He simply stepped aside with practiced ease, letting Serafall slide into the chair like it had been reserved for her. Robin—standing quietly beside him—covered her mouth to hide a smile. Nami—leaning against the wall—snorted. "Should we tell her the comms are already open?"

Arto shook his head once—small, amused. "Let her have this."

On the screen below, the peerage had gathered around the bonfire. Rias sat closest to the sword, Akeno leaning against her shoulder, Koneko curled up beside them like a contented cat. The rest formed a loose circle—exhausted, bruised, but smiling.

Serafall's voice burst through the speakers—bright, loud, unfiltered joy. "Sona-tan!! Rias-chan!! You were amazing!! Magical girls of justice!! Super ultra victory pose!! I'm so proud I could explode into sparkles!!" Sona—on the feed—pinched the bridge of her nose, cheeks flaming despite the battlesuit helmet. "Onee-sama… please…"

Rias laughed—soft, tired, but genuine—and looked straight into the camera. "We heard you, Serafall. Thank you." Millicas—now perched on Yelena's lap—leaned toward the mic Yelena had helpfully activated. "Aunt Rias! Aunt Sona! You beat the big scary worm!! You're the strongest!!"

Rias smiled—gentle, warm. "Thank you, Millicas. We had a lot of help. Anyway, when are we getting out of here?" Arto's voice came through the comms—low, steady, carrying that quiet certainty everyone had learned to trust implicitly. "Any second now." On the main console, a single status light flipped from red to green. Extraction protocol ready. Arto pressed the button.

Down in Sector 1, the sword of Abyssgard—still standing tall at the center of the azure bonfire—flared suddenly. Blue flame surged upward in a perfect, silent pillar, bright enough to paint the entire ruined landscape in cold, cleansing light. The bonfire didn't burn out; it simply rose, stretching into a radiant column that pierced the dark sky of the Arena like a beacon.

Arto's voice followed—gentle this time, almost tender. "Walk into the light and you'll be back here." Rias looked at the pillar—then at her peerage. Sixteen faces turned toward her, exhausted but shining with the same fierce, shared pride. She nodded once. "Together." They moved.

One by one—then in pairs, then as a single unit—they stepped forward. Wings folded. Battlesuits dimmed. Hands clasped shoulders, arms linked, a living chain of trust and triumph.

Rias walked first—head high, Power of Destruction flickering one last time around her knuckles like a final salute to the Arena that had tried (and failed) to break her. Akeno followed at her side—lightning naginata dismissed, but a spark still dancing in her violet eyes. Kiba and Tomoe moved in tandem—swords sheathed, steps matched. Koneko and Tsubasa walked shoulder to shoulder—gravity spells finally quiet, small smiles on their faces. Momo and Reya floated just behind—mana threads still faintly glowing, ready to shield until the last second. Sona brought up the rear—glasses glinting in the blue light, posture perfect even now. They stepped into the pillar together.

The light swallowed them—soft, warm, not blinding. Reality folded. And they were gone. The transfer platform flared with silver-blue light—bright enough to make everyone in the viewing booth shield their eyes for a heartbeat. Then the light faded.

And ten figures materialized in the center of the control room—still in battlesuits, still carrying the faint scent of scorched earth and ozone, still breathing hard from the fight that had just ended. They looked up.

Millicas was already airborne. The small red-haired boy launched himself off Yelena's lap like a rocket—tiny wings fluttering uselessly but enthusiastically—and crashed straight into Rias's chest with a delighted squeal. "Aunt Rias!! You won!! You beat the big scary worm and the dark army and everything!! You're the strongest!!"

Rias—exhausted, battlesuit still faintly glowing—caught him automatically, arms wrapping around her nephew as he buried his face in her shoulder. She laughed—soft, tired, but so full of warmth it filled the entire room. "I had a lot of help, Milicas," she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "But thank you. That means everything."

Serafall wasn't far behind. She vaulted over the railing—pom-poms flashing pink and silver—landed in a perfect magical-girl pose, then threw herself at Sona with a cry that echoed off the domed ceiling. "Sona-tan!! My perfect, brilliant, unbeatable little sister!! Magical girl victory hug!! Sparkle explosion!! Ultra super proud auntie mode ACTIVATE!!"

Sona—still catching her breath, glasses slightly askew—stiffened for half a second before her composure cracked. She let out a long-suffering sigh… then wrapped her arms around Serafall anyway, burying her face in her sister's shoulder. "…Onee-sama," she mumbled, voice muffled. "Not in front of everyone."

"Too late~!" Serafall sang, spinning them both in a circle. "You were amazing!! So cool!! So strong!! My heart is going doki-doki!!"

The rest of the peerage began to disperse—small, tired smiles breaking through exhaustion as they slowly peeled off toward the clubhouse doors, some leaning on each other, others simply walking with the quiet pride of people who had just stared down the impossible and walked away whole.

Arto, Nami, and Robin stepped forward together—meeting them halfway, forming a loose half-circle that gathered everyone back in one last moment before they scattered for rest.

Arto's voice carried across the yard—low, steady, but carrying the rare warmth he reserved for moments like this.

"You all did well," he said, looking from face to face—Rias's fierce pride, Akeno's bright grin, Kiba's quiet satisfaction, Koneko's tiny, stubborn smile, Sona's composed nod, Tsubaki's steady gaze, Momo and Reya's relieved exhales, Tomoe's shy but determined expression, Tsubasa's still-shaking but upright shoulders.

"Everyone. Enjoy yourselves, okay? The battle analysis will be handed to you later—Robin and I will break it down move by move, strength by strength. But just know this: you did better than I expected. I thought I had to use the force-abort at one moment—when that second worm wave hit, when the maw opened under you. I had my finger on the button. But I didn't press it. Because you didn't need me to."

He paused—letting the words sink in.

"That's incredible coming from all of you. You've exceeded my expectations time after time in this session. Not just surviving. Conquering. The Arena threw everything it had—terrain traps, adaptive swarms, emotional corruption, a finishing blow designed to swallow you whole—and you turned it back on itself. You didn't just win. You rewrote the battlefield."

A soft ripple of exhausted laughter and murmurs passed through the group. Rias stepped forward—still breathing a little hard, battlesuit scuffed but eyes shining. "We had a good teacher," she said simply.

Akeno looped an arm around her shoulders, grinning. "And a pretty good Arena to practice in~" Koneko gives Arto a thump-up. Sona adjusted her glasses—small smile breaking through. "We moved as one. That was the difference."

Kiba bowed slightly. "Thank you, Arto-senpai. For believing we could." Tomoe and Tsubasa exchanged a quick look—then bowed together. Momo and Reya simply smiled—soft, grateful.

Zeoticus stepped forward from the group of parents and siblings, his crimson hair catching the soft glow of the control room lights. His usual warm, paternal smile was there, but it carried an edge of lingering worry—eyes flicking over every member of both peerages as though counting them twice to make sure they were truly all still standing.

"You all had us worried so much back there," he said, voice rich but quieter than normal. He placed a heavy, comforting hand on Rias's shoulder first, then reached across to rest the other on Sona's. "That second wave… the worms, the dark tide, that final maw… we saw every second. For a moment we thought the Arena had finally found something you couldn't counter."

Venelana moved up beside him, emerald eyes still shining with unshed tears. She reached out and gently cupped Rias's cheek, thumb brushing away a streak of dried sweat and soot that the healing spells hadn't quite erased.

"But you didn't just counter it," she said softly. "You turned it back on itself. You protected each other. You held the line when everything was trying to swallow you whole. I've never been prouder, Rias. Of you… and of everyone standing with you."

Sora Sitri—still clutching the blueprint tablet—finally set it aside. He looked at Sona with the same quiet intensity he always did when he was measuring her growth. "You led with clarity," he said simply. "Even when your mana was nearly gone, you didn't waver. You trusted your allies to carry what you couldn't. That is the mark of a true leader, Sona. Not power. Trust."

Sena stepped up beside him, laying a gentle hand on Sona's arm. "And you all answered that trust," she added, pink eyes sweeping the group. "Every single one of you. That's not something you can train. That's something you build. Together."

Sirzechs remained seated for a moment longer—watching the scene with that trademark gentle smile that hid so much power. Then he stood, Yelena rising gracefully beside him.

He crossed the short distance to Rias and pulled her into a one-armed hug—careful not to crush her after the battle she'd just fought. "You scared me for a second there, little sister," he admitted, voice low enough that only she and those closest could hear. "But you didn't just survive. You dominated. I've never been more proud."

Yelena placed a cool hand on Rias's other shoulder—silver hair gleaming. "You've become the leader I always knew you could be," she said quietly. "And you did it with your friends at your side."

Millicas—finally released from Yelena's gentle grip—ran straight to Rias again, hugging her legs. "You're the best, Aunt Rias! And Sona-oneechan too! You beat everything!"

Serafall—pom-poms now dangling forgotten from her wrists—practically teleported to Sona's side, wrapping her in another crushing hug. "My perfect little sister! You were so cool! So strong! Magical girl legend in the making!!"

Sona sighed—long, fond, resigned—but hugged her sister back anyway, letting Serafall spin her once before finally releasing her with a dramatic flourish of pom-poms.

Arto watched the scene unfold from a few steps back—arms loosely crossed, expression soft in a way he rarely allowed anyone outside this small circle to see. The room was still humming with relief and pride, Millicas tugging at Rias's sleeve while Venelana dabbed at her eyes again and Zeoticus quietly spoke with Sora about the Arena's adaptive algorithms.

Arto stepped sideways—close enough that only Sirzechs would hear—and gave the crimson-haired Satan a small, almost imperceptible nudge with his elbow. Sirzechs turned, one elegant brow lifting in silent question. "Yes?"

Arto kept his voice to a whisper—barely louder than breath. "My lord, from what you saw… is it enough to defeat Riser?" Sirzechs went very still for half a heartbeat—eyes widening just enough to betray genuine surprise—then the mask of calm composure slid back into place like liquid mercury. "So you've known?" he asked, equally quiet.

Arto nodded once—small, certain. Sirzechs exhaled through his nose, gaze drifting back to Rias, who was now laughing softly at something Millicas had said. "I'll be honest with you," he murmured, voice low enough that even Yelena—standing only two paces away—wouldn't catch it unless she tried. "With this much power, Rias can defeat Riser now. But a little more training won't do harm. Because I don't want her to just win. I want her to dominate. To humiliate Riser publicly, so that…"

He trailed off—then looked sideways at Arto, crimson eyes sharp and knowing. "You have the same idea, don't you?" Arto's smile was small, almost gentle. "You're perceptive, my lord." Sirzechs let out a long, quiet sigh—shoulders dropping the tiniest fraction, as though a weight he had carried alone for years had just been acknowledged by someone else. "Then thank you, Arto Abyssgard," he said softly, "for doing something I could not."

Arto inclined his head—respectful, but not deferential. "She'll decide her own future," he replied. "No paper. No contract. No cage. Just her power, her will… and the entire Underworld watching her burn Phenex pride to ash in front of them." Sirzechs's smile returned—slow, dangerous, and deeply satisfied. "Good."

He turned back toward Rias—expression once again warm and avuncular—but the look he shared with Arto lingered for one last second. 

Then Celine's voice gets Arto's attention "Master, the scientists of 2 clans' R&D divisions have done their testing in Sector 3, they are looking forward to reporting the result to the lords and ladies, they are now standing at the entrance of Sector 1, from their faces, I can read many positive emotions"

"Alright, tell them to wait for a few minutes, I'll settle everyone down for the last piece of result today's Simulation Room test run Arto nodded once, his expression calm but attentive as Celine's voice—still carrying that eerily polished version of Robin's cadence—filled the quiet corner of the control room. "Affirmative, Master. I have informed the R&D teams to wait at the Sector 1 entrance. Estimated wait time: four minutes and thirty seconds. They appear… enthusiastic."

He exhaled softly through his nose, already mentally shifting gears from the emotional aftermath of the peerage's victory to the more pragmatic reality of dealing with curious scientists. "Oh," he added, almost as an afterthought, "did any of them try to pry into where they shouldn't?"

Celine's reply was instantaneous, tone perfectly neutral yet somehow managing to convey the faintest hint of satisfaction.

"Two attempts were detected, Master.

Researcher Tanaka (Gremory R&D) attempted to query restricted metadata on the Stabilizer matrix routing. Query was sandboxed and logged as 'curiosity-level probe.' No access granted. Dr. Kimura (Sitri R&D) ran a passive mana-spectral scan toward Sector 0's spatial fold. Scan was reflected back as null data with a polite system message: 'Access denied. Please consult Administrator Arto Abyssgard for authorized inquiries.' Both individuals ceased probing immediately after the deflection. No escalation. No malicious intent detected—only professional interest."

Arto's lips curved into the smallest, wryest of smiles. "Good girl," he murmured—too low for anyone else to hear. Then, louder, to Robin and Nami who had drifted closer: "They tested the locks. Politely. No damage done. Celine handled it."

Nami snorted, arms crossed, already tapping something into her phone. "Of course they did. Give brilliant people a black box and the first thing they want to do is crack it open. At least they stopped when the box politely said 'no.'"

Robin's smile was small and knowing. "They'll report glowing results regardless. The numbers don't lie. Ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-six percent material efficiency? Zero defects at ten-times real-time speed? They're going to be writing internal memos for months."

Arto glanced toward the Sector 1 entrance corridor—where the small knot of white-coated researchers waited, tablets clutched like holy relics, faces lit with barely-contained excitement. "Four minutes," he said. "Let's settle everyone first. The peerages deserve their moment before the scientists start asking questions we're not ready to answer yet."

He straightened his tuxedo jacket one last time—then raised his voice just enough to carry across the viewing suite. "Lords, ladies—please take your seats once more. The peerages are on their way up. We'll have a brief debrief from the participants themselves, followed by the R&D teams' preliminary findings from Sector 3."

Zeoticus nodded graciously, already guiding Venelana back to their chairs. Sirzechs rose smoothly, offering Yelena his arm. "By all means," he said, smile warm but eyes sharp. "We're eager to hear from them."

Serafall—pom-poms finally stowed—practically bounced back to her seat, dragging a still-blushing Sona along by the hand. "Sona-tan! Sit sit! Tell big sis everything~!" Sona sighed—long-suffering but fond—and allowed herself to be pulled down. Millicas scrambled back onto Yelena's lap—eyes wide and sparkling.

After a few minutes of quiet chatter and the soft clink of teacups, the atmosphere in the viewing suite had settled into something almost ceremonial.

Rias and Sona's peerages—now changed out of their battlesuits into comfortable casual clothes—sat scattered around the lower observation deck. They nibbled on fruit platters, sipped chilled tea, and exchanged tired but satisfied glances. Bruises were fading fast under Robin's earlier healing touch, and the lingering adrenaline had finally given way to the warm, bone-deep exhaustion of true victory. Akeno lounged against Koneko's shoulder, stealing bites of mochi from her plate; Kiba and Tomoe quietly compared notes on their flanking maneuvers; Tsubasa stretched her arms overhead while Momo and Reya shared a small bowl of strawberries.

Up on the raised viewing platform, the lords and ladies of House Gremory and House Sitri had taken their seats once more. Zeoticus and Venelana sat side by side, posture regal but relaxed; Sora and Sena mirrored them a few chairs away. Sirzechs and Yelena occupied the center row—Millicas now perched happily between them, legs swinging, still clutching a half-eaten victory cookie Serafall had slipped him. Serafall herself sat on the edge of her seat—pom-poms stowed but eyes sparkling, barely containing the urge to start another cheer.

They had seen the Adaptive Training Ground in action. They had watched two peerages face an apocalyptic nightmare and walk out victorious. Now they waited for the part that would truly affect their coffers: the hard numbers.

From the corridor entrance leading out of Sector 1, the group of white-coated scientists emerged—tablets in hand, faces flushed with excitement and caffeine. They moved with the hurried but disciplined gait of people who had just witnessed something paradigm-shifting and were desperate to share it.

Robin stepped forward smoothly, already wheeling a sleek holographic projector into position at the front of the platform. With a small gesture the device activated—casting a crisp, floating display above the central table. The projection showed the Sector 3: Sandbox interface—clean graphs, cascading efficiency metrics, real-time simulation logs, and a looping miniature of the fully automated industrial zone Nami had built overnight.

The lead scientist from Gremory R&D—a tall woman with sharp features and a tablet already glowing—cleared her throat and stepped forward. Beside her stood her Sitri counterpart, a bespectacled man clutching a data pad like it was a holy text. "Lord Zeoticus, Lady Venelana, Lord Sora, Lady Sena, Lord Sirzechs, Lady Yelena, Lady Serafall," the Gremory scientist began, bowing deeply. "We have completed six subjective hours of continuous testing in Sector 3: Sandbox—equivalent to roughly 36 minutes of real time at accelerated simulation speed."

She tapped her tablet. The hologram expanded into a series of cascading charts.

"Key findings:

Material efficiency in simulated mana-steel forging reached 99.996%—a 4.5× improvement over current Gremory foundry averages and 6.2× better than Sitri benchmarks. Waste reduced to near-zero. Production throughput scaled linearly to 10× real-time speed with zero defects. At 15× we observed only 0.02% variance. Mana consumption per unit dropped to 8.4% of current real-world requirements. Energy recycling loops recovered 92% of expended mana. Full automation—no human oversight needed after initial setup. Predictive maintenance AI flagged potential failures 47 minutes before they would occur in real conditions. Sector boundary integrity held at 150% overload for 90 subjective minutes. No spatial shear, no leakage. Git rollback of intentional error cascade completed in 0.7 seconds with zero data loss."

The Sitri scientist stepped up next, voice trembling slightly with excitement.

"We also tested cross-faction compatibility. Gremory-style mana-steel alloys were successfully produced using Sitri mana signatures and vice versa. The facility adapts input parameters without degradation. If scaled… this could replace entire foundry districts."

A low murmur rippled through the noble guests. Zeoticus leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Cost projection per unit if we license limited access?" Nami—standing quietly near the back—stepped forward at that moment, smile sharp and confident. "Rough estimate: 12–18% of current production cost per ton. That's before bulk licensing discounts or volume scaling. And that's conservative—we haven't even started optimizing the AI yet."

Sora's pink eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "And the proprietary core? The part that makes this possible?" Arto answered before Nami could—voice calm, final. "Remains black-boxed. Only I hold root access. Gremory and Sitri receive finished output and usage metrics. No schematics. No reverse-engineering. Kill switches embedded at every layer. If anyone tries to pry… the sector bricks. Permanently."

Nami stepped forward from the side of the console, her usual smirk replaced with the sharp, confident edge of someone who had spent the night running numbers that would make most treasurers weep. She tapped her phone once—projecting a clean, layered holographic breakdown above the central table: bar charts of cost reduction, pie charts of resource allocation, cascading waterfalls showing royalty splits, and a simple timeline labeled "Current vs. Simulated Output" that looked like a rocket launch compared to a flat line.

"That's the efficiency of the Simulation Room as manufacturing infrastructure," she began, voice carrying effortlessly across the room. "All you need now is the input materials—raw mana ores, demonic steel alloys, enchanted catalysts, whatever your current foundries pull from mines or trade routes."

She flicked her wrist; the hologram zoomed in on a side-by-side comparison.

"According to the data I pulled from both your Manufacturing Departments—yes, I asked nicely and got full access—the current real-world lines of both clans run at roughly 18–26% material efficiency on average, with 12–31% waste depending on batch size and mana purity. Pollution cleanup, worker safety enchantments, equipment maintenance, downtime for repairs… it adds up fast. The Simulation Room changes the equation completely."

Another swipe—graphs shifted to show near-vertical improvements.

"Clean production process. Little waste. Virtually no pollution. Zero physical wear on machinery because nothing physical is moving except in simulation. Your existing factories? They don't disappear. They become storage for raw materials stockpiles, decoys to keep this place classified between Gremory and Sitri, or backup sites in case anything ever threatens the core facility. But the real output—the profitable, high-purity product—comes from here."

She paused, letting the numbers sink in, then tapped again. A new overlay appeared: Sector Utilization Forecast.

"At current working rate, the Simulation Room can operate about 80 sectors in parallel without strain on the leylines or reactors. If Gremory and Sitri agree to share sectors for similar manufacturing fields—mana-steel, enchanted armaments, alchemical reagents, whatever overlaps—you'd only need 20 sectors total to cover both clans' current output at 10× speed and near-zero waste. 40 if you prefer fully separated sectors for proprietary lines or security reasons."

Nami leaned back against the console, crossing her arms. "That's not even factoring in premium add-ons yet—custom environments for rare catalysts, accelerated aging tests for enchantments, failure-mode simulations that would cost millions in real materials. You could run those in parallel without touching your main production queue."

She glanced at Arto—giving him a subtle nod to take over if he wanted—then looked back at the nobles. "In short: your R&D costs plummet. Your production costs plummet. Your environmental footprint vanishes. Your strategic security skyrockets because the real manufacturing happens in a black-box facility only two clans control. And the cherry on top? We take a modest utilization fee—tiered, negotiable, but fair—and everyone walks away richer, stronger, and greener."

Zeoticus leaned forward first—blue eyes gleaming with interest.

"Modest fee?" he asked, one brow arched.

Nami's smirk returned—sharp and unapologetic.

"Modest enough that you'll still save 80–90% compared to current operations. High enough that we can keep the lights on and the leylines happy. Details can wait for the lawyers, but think single-digit percentage of net savings per ton. Win-win." Sora Sitri tapped his fingers once on the armrest—thoughtful. "And security? Reverse-engineering risk?"

Arto answered before Nami could. "Every sector runs in isolated spatial folds. No physical access to core infrastructure. All output is mana-encoded—proprietary compression only we can decode for final forging. Kill switches at every layer. If anyone tries to pry… the sector self-deletes before they can read the first variable. We retain full root access. You get results. We keep the engine."

Sirzechs's smile was slow and approving. "You've thought this through." Yelena's voice was cool, precise. "Acceptable. We will need binding non-disclosure and non-circumvention clauses."

Venelana laughed softly—warm, but with steel underneath. "Of course. But first… may we see a live demonstration of the manufacturing sector? Just a small-scale run—something simple. We'd like to witness the numbers in real time."

She pushed off the console—already moving toward the lift. "Sector 3 is still online. I left a small mana-steel run queued at 5× speed. One ingot cycle—should take about two real minutes. Plenty to show input-to-output efficiency. But we are not there yet...."

The room—already thick with anticipation—grew heavier still. Sirzechs's gentle smile faded into something sharper, more focused; Serafall's playful energy stilled, her pom-poms forgotten on the seat beside her. Both Satans leaned forward almost imperceptibly, crimson and violet eyes locking onto Arto with the full weight of their authority.

Yelena's hand rested lightly on Millicas's shoulder—keeping the boy quiet. Venelana and Sena exchanged a brief, knowing glance. Zeoticus and Sora simply waited—blue and pink eyes steady, patient, but unmistakably intense.

Arto met the silence calmly, hands still braced on the edge of the main console. "I've given you the solution to make magic and technology walk together," he repeated, voice low but carrying to every corner of the room. "The Stabilizer. Ambient mana flow—clean, stable, endless. Machines that run without pause. No more chaotic surges. No more burnout. No more dependence on rare crystals or leyline mining that weakens the barriers we all rely on."

He turned fully toward the scientists—first the Gremory team, then the Sitri contingent. "You've had almost a month. You've run your tests in Sector 3. You've seen the numbers. Now let me hear your ideas. Products. Applications. Real-world uses that can leverage this new field."

He gestured first toward the Gremory R&D lead—the tall woman who had spoken earlier. "Gremory with heavy industry, agriculture, and military. What do you see?"

The scientist straightened—tablet trembling slightly in her grip—then spoke with the quick, excited rush of someone who had been holding back for weeks. "Heavy industry first: automated forging lines running 24/7 at 10–20× current speed. Mana-steel alloys with perfect crystal lattice structure—no impurities, no weak points. Military applications: self-regenerating armor plating that draws ambient mana to repair itself mid-battle, enchanted artillery that never overheats, mana-efficient siege engines that can operate indefinitely without supply lines. Agriculture: hydroponic towers with mana-enriched growth cycles—crops maturing in days instead of months, blight-resistant strains that thrive in marginal soil. We could feed entire territories with a single facility."

She paused—then added, almost reverently: "And all of it powered by the Stabilizer. No mining. No leyline drain. No environmental cost." Arto nodded once—acknowledging—then turned to the Sitri lead. "Light industry, medical, logistics. Your thoughts?"

The bespectacled man cleared his throat—voice steady but tinged with awe. "Medical first: prosthetic limbs that integrate seamlessly—nerve regrowth, mana-channel repair, organ regrowth on demand. Not just replacement—enhancement. Soldiers back in the field in hours. Civilians regaining lost function without rejection. Light industry: precision manufacturing of enchanted components—mana-efficient appliances, household wards, personal defensive artifacts. Logistics: teleportation relays that draw ambient mana instead of dedicated crystals—reliable, low-cost, scalable supply chains. Delivery drones that never need recharging. Portals that stay open indefinitely."

He looked at Arto—eyes bright. "The Stabilizer doesn't just make things possible. It makes them affordable. Accessible. Ubiquitous." Arto nods before turning to Serafall and Sirzechs, and a sentence makes them understand what he was implying "Lord Sirzechs, Lady Serafall, I believe you're here as Sirzechs Gremory and Serafall Sitri?"

The room didn't go silent so much as it went still. Sirzechs's gentle smile froze for a fraction of a heartbeat—then thawed into something warmer, more private, almost relieved. Serafall's eyes widened behind her glasses before she blinked rapidly, the playful sparkle dimming into something sharper, more calculating, more… familial.

The message landed cleanly, without needing elaboration.

This secret belongs to Gremory and Sitri...Not to Lucifer. Not to Leviathan...To the families you still carry those names for.

Protect it the way you protect your own blood. Sirzechs leaned back slowly, one hand resting lightly on Yelena's knee.

"I believe we are," he replied—voice soft, but the crimson in his eyes deepening with understanding. "And as such… we will act accordingly." Serafall's pom-poms—still clutched loosely in her lap—finally went still. She tilted her head, the magical-girl cheerleader mask slipping just enough to reveal the calculating older sister underneath. "Sona-tan's family gets first dibs," she said—almost cheerfully, but the tone carried steel. "And Rias-chan's too. No sharing with outsiders until we say so. Right, Sirzechs-oniichan?"

Sirzechs's smile returned—slow, approving. "Precisely." Zeoticus let out a low, satisfied hum. "Then we are aligned. Gremory and Sitri will jointly oversee licensing, distribution, and defense of this technology. The Stabilizer remains Arto's—root access, kill switches, core architecture. We take the public face and the public profits. You take the quiet majority and the final word."

Sora Sitri nodded once—pink eyes steady. "Agreed. The R&D divisions will report only to us. No leaks. No side deals. No 'consulting' with other Pillars. This stays between our two houses." Venelana's voice was softer, but no less firm. "And our children will train here—free of charge, priority access. They earned that much."

Arto inclined his head—respectful, but unyielding. "Agreed on all counts." He glanced at Nami—whose smirk had grown positively predatory—and Robin, whose small smile held quiet satisfaction. "Then we proceed," Arto said. "Sector 3 demonstration is ready. After that..."

"...a party." Zeoticus's voice cut in, warm and firm, carrying the unmistakable weight of a father who had watched his daughter step into something far greater than he could have imagined. "Contracts can be done later. Today is a joyous day where I witness my daughter grow into a better person. I don't want to hear any word relating to contracts when it comes to my daughter."

The room stilled for a heartbeat. Even Sirzechs's perpetual gentle smile softened further, a flicker of recognition passing between the two fathers. Serafall's pom-poms finally went still; she looked at Sora with wide, suddenly serious eyes before nodding vigorously.

Sena Sitri reached over and laid a gentle hand on Sona's arm—pink eyes shining with the same helpless protectiveness Zeoticus had just voiced. Venelana dabbed at her eyes again, laughing softly through the tears. "He's right," she said quietly. "Today we celebrate them. Everything else… tomorrow."

Arto looked at Zeoticus—then at the rest of the gathered parents and siblings—and inclined his head once more. "Understood. No contracts today." He turned toward the lift corridor. "Then follow Robin, my lords and ladies."

Robin stepped forward smoothly—already moving ahead with her usual quiet grace. "This way," she said, voice calm and inviting. "The viewing lounge in Sector 3 is prepared. Refreshments are waiting. The peerages will join us shortly."

The group rose—parents first, then siblings, then the scientists trailing behind with their tablets still clutched like treasures. Serafall scooped Millicas onto her hip despite his protests that he was "big now," and the procession moved toward the lift.

Arto remained behind for a moment—watching them go—then turned to Nami. She was already tapping furiously on her phone, draft contract templates floating in holographic layers around her. "I'll let you handle the contracts," he said quietly. "Okay? Bring home as much money as possible. You have a share in this too."

Nami looked up—smirk softening into something almost fond."You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl, boss." She pocketed the phone and pushed off the console. "Don't worry. I'll squeeze them until they squeak… politely. Very politely. With very large numbers."

She paused—then added, softer: "But today… yeah. Today's for them. I'll keep the sharks in their tanks until tomorrow." Arto gave her a small nod—grateful. "Tomorrow, then."