May 4th, 2012, Land of Oz, Evening.
The Coliseum's sand-strewn arena stretched between them like a canvas waiting to be painted with violence. The violet sky of Oz cast everything in hues of amethyst and rose, the dying light catching on weapons and eyes alike.
At one end stood Bikou, his golden staff gleaming with inner light, its surface etched with patterns that seemed to shift when viewed directly.
At his side, Arthur held Caliburn, the Holy Sword's blade radiating a soft, divine glow that pulsed like a heartbeat—ancient power waking to the promise of battle.
Opposite them, Makoto Yuki stood calm and unyielding, Deus Xiphos resting lightly in his hand.
The blade caught the light and held it, a sliver of condensed radiance against the gathering dusk. His posture betrayed nothing—no anticipation, no fear, no excitement.
Just the perfect stillness of a waiting storm.
'Universe, why did you not bring the Omnipotent Orb?' Apollo's question carried genuine curiosity. 'That item's interference with reality would provide significant defensive advantage.'
'And would also trigger unwanted suspicions,' Lucifer explained, his tone carrying the weight of strategic calculation. 'Our target's senses are attuned to anomalies.'
Le Fay's hands came together with a sharp clap that echoed across the empty seats, reverberating off ancient stone.
The arena's sand erupted.
Arthur surged forward with the speed of a striking serpent, Caliburn's blade a silver blur aimed at Makoto's center mass. The tip of the Strongest Holy Sword pierced the air like a comet's tail, leaving trails of displaced light in its wake. The distance between them vanished in a heartbeat.
Makoto pivoted, Deus Xiphos flashing upward to meet the strike. Steel clashed in a shower of sparks, orange and white against the violet sky.
The force reverberated through Makoto's arms, traveling up through shoulders and spine as he anchored himself to the ground, feet digging into sand to maintain balance.
Above, Bikou's laughter echoed as his Kinto Cloud streaked across the arena—a golden tail against the azure heavens. He swung his staff downward, the magical wood igniting with molten light, aiming to crush Makoto where he stood, sandwiched between two predators.
Makoto clicked his tongue. He parried Arthur's thrust, then dropped into a crouch, sand spraying around him in a wide arc. Bikou's staff descended toward his skull, but Makoto twisted in place, Deus Xiphos arcing upward in a crescent of radiant energy.
The collision rang out like a gong struck by divine hands. The shockwave scattered dust in all directions, a expanding ring of displaced air. Bikou reeled back, his staff trembling from the impact, vibrations traveling up the wooden shaft to rattle his arms.
Makoto rose to his feet, blade poised, breath steady.
Arthur pressed again, Caliburn dancing in a flurry of thrusts. Each strike was precise as a hawk's dive, each one targeting a different vital point—throat, heart, kidneys, eyes. Makoto deflected them with calculated sweeps, his movements economical, each parry flowing into the next.
Bikou recovered, diving low on his cloud, his staff whirling like a storm given form. The spinning wood caught both light and shadow, creating a blur of motion that was almost hypnotic.
"Oh Arthur! I thought this was a free-for-all!" Bikou shouted as his spinning staff connected with both Makoto's and Arthur's swords simultaneously, the triple collision sending shockwaves through all three combatants.
"I said I wanted to exchange blows with Yuki here, Bikou." Arthur stepped back after deflecting Bikou's hit, his tone carrying the patient exasperation of someone who had explained this multiple times. "Moreover, free-for-alls are not my style. I prefer the clarity of single combat."
'Let us raise the stakes, shall we, Universe?' Loki's voice purred with delighted anticipation. 'A little chaos, a little unpredictability—it would be so entertaining.'
'Refrain from acting on your own, Loki,' Lucifer admonished, his tone carrying the weight of command.
'Oh, try me, Morning Star. I am very good at not being tried.'
'Do not tell me you are actually considering fighting alongside them,' Apollo interjected, exasperation coloring his psychic voice.
Makoto shook his head sharply, clearing the mental chatter, and refocused on the battle before him. The Personas would debate among themselves; his attention belonged to the present.
Just in time.
Bikou, now cloaked in crackling yellow Touki that surrounded him like a second skin of pure energy, lunged sideways, intercepting Arthur's lightning-fast thrust of Caliburn directed right at the monkey yokai.
The staff and sword collided with a deafening CLANG that echoed off the Coliseum walls, sparks erupting like shrapnel from an explosion. Arthur pivoted his head, blade whirling into a silver tempest, but Bikou danced backward on his Kinto Cloud to dodge the slash, his staff hitting the ground and acting like a propeller, using the earth to launch himself away from each descending strike.
'They are committed to this spar,' Yoshitsune observed, approval coloring his tone. 'They are not taking it lightly. They respect you, Universe. Do not disappoint them.'
Makoto nodded almost imperceptibly, accepting the samurai's counsel. He dashed forward, Deus Xiphos carving a luminous arc toward Arthur's flank. Bikou dove to the ground with explosive force, slamming his staff down to intercept the blow.
The impact quaked through the arena, sand geysering upward in a fountain of grit and stone.
Arthur exploited the chaos, feinting left before driving Caliburn in a razor-edged uppercut aimed at Makoto's exposed chin. Makoto parried, steel screeching against steel, but Bikou's staff swept low, aimed at his feet, forcing him to jump skyward.
'Let us give them a taste of true magic,' Odin declared, his voice resonating with ancient authority.
'Finally, Dindin!' Loki crowed. 'We were dying of boredom here!'
Mid-air, suspended against the violet sky, Makoto sheathed Deus Xiphos in a fluid motion. His left palm thrust upward, fingers splayed, as his right hand clenched like he was gripping an invisible current.
The air crackled violently, responding to the All-Father's call. A jagged arc of violet lightning erupted between his hands, sizzling with primordial energy that smelled of ozone and distant storms.
"Baptism by Thunder!" Odin's voice reverberated: the Theurgy of the All-Father unleashed on the world.
The lightning lashed forward like a whip of raw voltage, splitting the arena's dusty haze. Like a wild serpent, the arc of electricity shook uncontrollably around Makoto, seeking targets, hungry for connection.
Sensing the danger, Bikou reacted instantly. He slammed his staff into the ground and focused all his yellow Touki outward as the bolt collided, creating a barrier of pure life energy against the onslaught.
The shockwave sent sand exploding upward in a massive plume. Arthur pivoted, Caliburn's blade shining as he carved a glowing sigil into the air—the ancient crest of the noble house Pendragon, a family ward passed down through generations.
The Holy Sword attempted to drink the lightning's fury, dispersing it in a shower of sparks that rained down like dying stars.
But Caliburn shook in Arthur's hand, overcharged by the sheer power of Makoto's attack. The blade's glow intensified, then flickered dangerously.
'I must do something about this,' Arthur thought, his mind racing through options.
With a gesture, a portal opened at his side—a shimmering tear in reality that revealed a space between spaces. From it, he grabbed Excalibur Ruler, his secondary blade, and used its unique properties to drain away the excess electrical charge.
The energy flowed from Caliburn through his body into Ruler, the transfer visible as crawling arcs of violet light that dissipated harmlessly into the weapon's surface.
Bikou's Touki began to diminish in luminosity. Makoto's attack hadn't harmed him physically, but it had damaged his ability to fuel his own Touki—a strange, disorienting sensation, like having a limb fall asleep while still needing to run.
"I am feeling a bit dizzy," Bikou admitted, shaking his head as if to clear it.
From the arena's edge, Le Fay watched with eyes shining like stars. Her hands clutched her hat to her chest, knuckles white with excitement.
"Wow," she breathed, the word escaping like a prayer.
"T-that was electrifying, hahaha," Bikou joked weakly, his hair standing on end from residual static. The effect was comical—a monkey yokai with Einstein hair, still gripping his staff with trembling hands.
Arthur's right hand shook, fine tremors running through his fingers. He steadied it with his left, gripping wrist to still the involuntary motion. "Yes, it was a rather interesting fight," he commented, his voice carrying the measured tone of one delivering a battlefield assessment. "Even though I am completely fine now, if not for Excalibur Ruler, I would be unable to wield Caliburn until the charge dispersed naturally. Hours, perhaps."
"The same goes for me!" Bikou added, gesturing at his static-frizzed hair. "He completely disabled my Touki! I've never felt anything like it."
'A commendable approach, Makoto,' Messiah praised, warmth in his voice. 'To neutralize without destroying—that is the mark of a true warrior.'
Arthur bowed slightly, a gesture of genuine respect. "Thank you for indulging my request, Yuki. It was educating."
"Yeah, yeah, we all had fun!" Bikou interjected, his usual carefree tone returning as the dizziness faded. "Next time, no holding back, okay? I want to see what else you've got!"
The members of the Vali Team and Makoto began the walk back toward their apartment complex, the Coliseum fading behind them. Le Fay pressed close to Makoto, her questions coming rapid-fire, each one tumbling over the last.
"Mr. Yuki, what was that magic you used? I did not see any magic circle, so it must be a different type entirely, but Mr. Vali did not mention you possessing a Sacred Gear, so it cannot be that, unless it is a very unusual Sacred Gear, but the coloration was wrong—"
'Universe, it is unkind to leave a question unanswered, hee hoo!' Jack Frost chided gently.
'I do not know what to tell her,' Makoto admitted internally. 'What is the magic I use? How would I even explain it? What even is its source? The Sea of my Soul? The Universe Arcana?'
Silence answered him.
'You do not know either?' Still, no reply from his Personas. They were, for once, collectively silent.
"I heard that Satan Beelzebub, with his Kankara Formula, can bypass the use of magic circles entirely," Le Fay continued, her eyes wide with speculation. "D-do you use a similar technique, Mr. Yuki? Is that it?"
"Le Fay!" Bikou's shout cut through her rambling. "Stop pestering Makoto! The man just fought both of us and you're interrogating him like a prisoner!"
"M-Mr. Bikou!" Le Fay squeaked, her cheeks flushing crimson. "I was merely asking—"
"You were grilling him. There's a difference."
May 4th, 2012, Kuroka, Evening.
Kuroka padded through the silent halls of the apartment, her bare feet making no sound against the cool stone. Her tail flicked irritably behind her, a metronome of frustration.
She had returned from a private errand—one she preferred not to think about—to find the building empty and echoing.
'At the Coliseum again,' she guessed, rolling her golden eyes. 'Those battle maniacs and their obsession with fighting.'
She turned to leave, to retreat to her room and bury herself in blankets until the noise returned, but froze mid-step. A familiar scent hit her nostrils—something unexpected, something that should not be here. Her breath hitched. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
'Him? Here?'
Her pulse rocketed. Claws unsheathed involuntarily, scoring thin lines in the stone floor as she peered around a corner. Through a window, she spotted him—Makoto Yuki, standing with Bikou and Le Fay.
The monkey's voice drifted through the glass: "Le Fay! Stop pestering Makoto!"
'No. No, no, no.' Her mind spiraled, thoughts tangling like yarn attacked by kittens. 'He is friends with Rias Gremory. He is friends with devils. He must have asked about me. If he tells them—if he tells her—'
Her chest tightened. Phantom chains squeezed her ribs, guilt she had carried for years constricting like pythons. 'I did nothing wrong. I was only protecting Shirone. Only protecting my sister.'
The door creaked open. Vali stepped in, Makoto behind him. Kuroka's fur bristled along her spine, but years of survival had taught her to hide fear behind masks.
She slipped on a smirk, sauntering forward with exaggerated casualness.
"The little friend you gushed about, nyah?" She poked Vali's side with a claw-tipped finger, her tone syrup-sweet. But her golden eyes darted away from Makoto's gaze, unable to meet that steady, unsettling stare.
'She is distressed, hee hoo!' Jack Frost observed.
'Would you not be, after your last encounter? 'Izanagi countered. 'The Universe was... intense with her.'
'I told you, Universe—you may have overplayed your hand there,' Apollo added.
'It is too late for regrets now,'Makoto replied internally. 'I can only move forward.'
The evening passed in strained normalcy. Introductions were made, though Kuroka contributed little. Dinner was eaten, though she picked at her food without appetite. Conversations flowed around her, and she smiled when smiles were expected, laughed when laughter was required. But beneath the performance, her mind churned.
When finally the others retired, when the apartment settled into the hush of night, Kuroka gathered her courage like a shield and went to find him.
He stood in the hallway, looking out a window at the alien sky of Oz—violet and star-scattered, beautiful and wrong. She approached on silent feet, her heart a trapped bird in her chest.
"W-what are you doing here, nyah?" The question came out smaller than she intended, stripped of its usual playful lilt.
Makoto turned to face her. In the dim light, his expression was unreadable. "It's a long story."
'Universe, hee hoo!' Jack Frost's voice carried gentle reproach. 'This is not the correct way to answer, hee hoo! She is scared, can you not see?'
'Dindin,' Loki's voice cut in, bored and curious simultaneously, 'can you adjourn me on who this woman is?'
'The Hanged's sister,' Lucifer replied, since Odin remained pointedly silent.
Kuroka's golden eyes narrowed, feline pupils sharpening to slits as they locked onto Makoto. Her tail flicked once, twice. Beneath her carefully constructed mask, she was terrified.
"Long story short," Makoto began, hesitating. He searched for words that would not wound, but they stumbled from his lips like untrained soldiers. "I'm here because I have to... take care of someone."
The phrase hung in the air between them, heavy and ill-fitting. A blade unsheathed too soon, easy to misunderstand. Easy to fear.
'You made it sound awful, Universe,' Apollo groaned, psychic facepalming.
'The girl did not receive it well, it seems,' Izanagi observed dryly.
True to the creator god's words, Kuroka's body stiffened. Her fur bristled as if charged with static electricity. Her ears flattened against her skull, and her claws extended ever so slightly—not yet a threat, but a preparation for one.
'T-taking care?' Her mind raced, a hamster on an accelerating wheel. 'No. It cannot be me. Why would he befriend Vali just to get to me? Why go through all this trouble for one nekoshou?'
She tried to steady herself, to reason through the panic clawing at her chest, but her heartbeat thundered in her ears—a relentless drum drowning out logic.
Makoto raised his hands, palms out. "I know that sounds bad," he said, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. "But do not worry. I am not here to do anything against you. Even if..." He paused, his gaze steady, unwavering. "I would like to know what happened between you and Koneko."
"Shirone," Kuroka corrected sharply, the name cracking like a whip.
'She is her sister, after all,' Kohryu pointed out. 'There is nothing surprising in her reaction.'
"Right. Shirone," Makoto conceded, his tone careful, measured. "Could you explain it to me? What happened between you?"
Kuroka's voice cut through the air, sharp and brittle, like glass on the verge of shattering. "Why are you so interested in what happened between me and her, nyah?"
Her golden eyes glinted with defiance—and beneath that, something darker. Something that ached.
"For all you know, I could be someone who abandoned her sister when she needed me most, nyah."
The words hung heavy between them, laden with a guilt too raw to be mere speculation. It was a confession wrapped in a challenge—as if she dared him to condemn her.
Makoto met her gaze without flinching. "I think I have already told you," he said, his voice carrying conviction. "I care because Kone—Shirone is my friend."
Kuroka's tail flicked sharply. Her claws flexed at her sides. "Then you should just ignore me, nyah." Her tone was biting, but desperation bled through the edges. "Do not even consider me her sister. Do whatever you have to do. We will pretend we do not know each other, nyah."
The words were firm, almost commanding. But beneath the bravado, her eyes held a flicker of vulnerability—a silent plea. She hoped he would yield. Hoped he would walk away and leave her to the shadows where she belonged.
Makoto did not move.
His expression softened, but his resolve did not waver. Unfortunately for the nekoshou, not even gods could stop a Wild Card when the sake of their friends was at stake.
"Why are you so adamant, nyah?" she asked, her voice a mix of irritation and genuine curiosity.
Makoto held her gaze. "I want to know the truth," he said simply. His words carried a weight that made Kuroka's chest tighten. "You are in pain. Both of you. You and Shirone."
Kuroka's breath caught. Her claws dug into her palms as she fought to maintain composure. She wanted to trust him. But all her life had taught her that trust was a weapon turned against the wielder. The only people she could speak to with any openness were Vali and his team—and even with them, something was missing.
The air between her and Makoto felt charged, heavy with unspoken truths and buried wounds she did not want to reopen. She opened her mouth to retort, to deflect, to push him away—
"What are you talking about?"
Both turned. Vali leaned casually against the doorway, his silver hair catching the eerie violet light of Oz's nocturnal sky. His eyes, pale and piercing, flicked between them, sharp and calculating. His expression remained neutral, but nothing escaped that gaze.
Kuroka's ears flattened. Her tail stiffened. "N-nothing, Captain, nyaah." She forced a yawn, stretching with exaggerated laziness—but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. "I am heading back to bed."
But her retreat was anything but casual. She moved quickly—too quickly—her footsteps light but hurried as she slipped past Vali and disappeared down the hallway. Her door clicked shut, the sound echoing faintly in the silence she left behind.
'It seems the Star caught us,' Apollo observed.
Vali's piercing blue eyes locked onto Makoto. The dim hallway light cast sharp shadows across his face, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw. His arms were crossed, but his fingers dug faintly into his sleeves—a tell, however small.
"So?" His voice was low but edged with something raw. "Did I hear correctly? You know Kuroka's sister."
Makoto hesitated. The air thickened with the weight of unspoken truths.
"How much did you hear?"
"Everything." Vali's reply was flat. His gaze narrowed. "Even the part where you told her you are here to kill someone."
'We should tell him the truth,' Messiah urged.
'Agreed,' Izanagi added, his tone like forged steel. 'He deserves that much.'
Makoto scratched the back of his neck, the faint rasp of nails against skin loud in the stillness. "Yes. It is true."
Vali nodded once—a sharp, almost mechanical motion. "Thank you for admitting it." He stepped closer, boots scuffing against the stone floor, until they stood mere inches apart. "Makoto. I want to be blatantly honest with you. I am only here to kill someone too."
'Oh, what a peculiar twist,' Loki purred, his laughter sharp as a blade.
'I do not like where this is going, hee hoo,'Jack Frost whimpered, his voice trembling like snow in a gale.
Makoto's eyes widened, but Vali pressed on, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "The reason I wanted you on my team... it was not just because I consider you one of the few friends I have."
For a heartbeat, his mask slipped. A flicker of guilt tightened his jaw. His gaze darted to the floor—a moment of vulnerability, quickly suppressed. When he looked up again, his eyes burned with frigid intensity. Hate, sorrow, and disgust warred in his voice.
"I formed this team to kill my grandfather. Rizevim Livan Lucifer."
'Another case of childhood trauma, hee hoo...' Jack Frost sniffed, mournful.
Makoto nodded silently, absorbing the revelation. "Vali..." He paused, then continued. "I need—I must—find where Shalba Beelzebub is. I must eliminate him before it is too late."
'Huh?' Albion's voice resonated in Vali's mind. 'Why should Yuki concern himself with that brat?'
The Heavenly Dragon could not comprehend it. Shalba Beelzebub was a coward, a schemer, nothing more. Why would someone of Makoto's caliber even acknowledge his existence?
Vali studied Makoto for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Fine. I will help you. That is why you joined, is it not?" He spoke as if the matter were child's play—a simple favor between allies. "Did Azazel ask you to do it? The okd crown hiring you as a hitman for his precious peace now, is he?" A small smirk tugged at his lips, bitter but genuine.
Makoto shook his head. "No. It is different. Listen to me, Vali." He met the White Dragon Emperor's gaze. "I am not from this world."