"Wait... what the hell just happened?"
Loki's confusion manifested as tactical paranoia rather than mere bewilderment. He'd disengaged from Rias's assault squad—defensive arrays deflecting their coordinated barrage—retreating several hundred meters to gain strategic perspective.
His gaze swept toward where Fenrir had pursued the Phoenix girl moments earlier.
Nothing.
Not even residual divine energy. No lingering presence, no battle echoes, no atmospheric disturbance that would indicate his god-slaying wolf still existed within this dimensional plane.
Impossible.
Fenrir represented his crowning achievement in millennia of divine engineering. Unlike the disobedient Jörmungandr—whose loyalty remained perpetually questionable—Fenrir possessed absolute obedience paired with transcendent-class combat capabilities. A handful of high-class devils eliminating such a creature defied every strategic calculation.
Unless they triggered some trap I couldn't foresee—
His tactical analysis shattered as Rias's team closed distance once more, magical signatures blazing with renewed confidence.
"Norse evil god Loki!" The Gremory heiress's voice carried absolute authority, backed by Asia's holy radiance amplifying her Power of Destruction to devastating concentrations. "Your options have expired. Surrender!"
She descended like judgment personified, crimson hair streaming, one palm raised with condensed annihilation magic crackling between her fingers.
"Fenrir has been neutralized by Sona's team. Jörmungandr remains occupied by the White Dragon Emperor. Alone, you cannot breach our numerical superiority."
'Bluffing.' Loki recognized the tactic immediately.
Classic misdirection. The red-haired girl didn't understand what had actually transpired—that much leaked through her carefully-maintained composure. But Fenrir's absence remained undeniable fact, and she was leveraging uncertainty like a master tactician.
It reminded him of boss encounters where environmental glitches killed the raid target prematurely. Nobody questioned the victory—you just accepted the win and moved forward.
"...Your optimism is adorable." Loki's smile carried venom rather than humor. "But fundamentally misplaced."
'Think, you fool. Their decapitation strategy was transparent from the beginning.'
Main force targets the "king." Secondary team restrains the primary asset—Fenrir. Standard tactical doctrine for asymmetric warfare.
And this girl expected him to believe her secondary team had somehow eliminated his primary asset while her main force still struggled containing him?
It's a laughably bad lie.
Yet Fenrir's connection had severed. That brutal truth undermined every logical analysis.
Even the Trickster God—architect of Norse mythology's greatest deceptions—felt his certainty fracture under reality's weight.
'I need visual confirmation. Now.'
Decision crystallized. Loki abandoned engagement entirely, magical energy surging as he feinted aggressive posturing while constructing teleportation arrays beneath his feet—
A girl's playful voice materialized directly behind him.
"Koneko-chan and the others are taking forever~ So Onee-sama came to help, nya~"
What—??
Proximity that close without any sensory warning triggered survival instincts older than conscious thought. Loki spun, defensive arrays materializing—
Too slow. Laughably, pathetically too slow.
"Nekoburst Puuuunch!!"
Kuroka's cheerful battle-cry accompanied her fist's descent—no elaborate technique, no divine authority, just overwhelming physical violence wrapped in youkai power that treated magical defenses like tissue paper.
The impact punched Loki earthward like a meteor strike. His half-formed barriers shattered on contact, contributing precisely nothing to damage mitigation. Wind pressure alone carved trenches across the wasteland as he cratered into bedrock, generating dust clouds that reached mountainous proportions.
Aerial space immediately quieted.
"Onee-sama...?"
Koneko Toujou—who'd been dutifully maintaining defensive positioning as Rias's [Rook]—froze mid-motion, processing her sister's sudden battlefield intervention.
"But... didn't you say you wouldn't participate in the subjugation?"
"Mmm~ that was the plan, nya."
Having just pulverized a Norse god into geological formations, Kuroka showed zero inclination toward pursuit. Instead, she hovered leisurely mid-air, hands planted on hips, conversing with her sister as if discussing weekend plans rather than combat operations.
"Bokue wanted you all testing yourselves—verifying recent growth and whatnot. So Onee-sama stayed benched. Otherwise?" She flashed a predatory grin. "Battle would've concluded in thirty seconds flat."
"However~" Her tone shifted, carrying sisterly protectiveness that brooked no argument. "My adorable Koneko-chan's first legitimate combat deployment? Obviously I'm maintaining overwatch. What kind of irresponsible Onee-sama ignores basic security protocols?"
"...Then Onee-sama sensed Bokue engaging."
Huh?
That statement generated collective confusion among Rias's assembled forces.
Bokue engaged someone? Where? We didn't see anything—
"Oh, not here. Other battlefield—the doggy situation."
Kuroka waved dismissively toward distant combat zones.
"More specifically, that Phoenix girl encountered mortality-adjacent circumstances. Bokue executed rescue protocols." Her eyes gleamed with feline mischief. "Which meant Onee-sama was cleared for active participation too, nya~"
"Anyway! Finishing touches first—eliminating this 'Trickster God' person—then returning to the hotel for morning session makeup. We got interrupted earlier~"
Statement concluded, Kuroka's form erupted with golden youkai power—Super Saiyan-esque energy manifestation—before she rocketed earthward as a blazing comet.
❁❁❁❁
Ground zero remained obscured by settling debris.
Stone fragments clattered against broken earth. Through the haze, Loki's battered form emerged from the crater—clothing shredded, blood trailing from his mouth, legs trembling with structural instability.
That single strike had nearly killed him outright. Without his partially-constructed defensive array providing minimal cushioning? He'd currently exist as scattered meat chunks cooling across the wasteland.
No technique complexity. No divine authority clash.
Pure, overwhelming numerical superiority—power that rendered strategy irrelevant.
"Who... the hell..."
Each word cost him. Blood bubbled from his lips with every syllable, crimson threads decorating his chin. Heavy injuries had reduced cognitive function to animal survival instinct—a primal voice screaming flee, escape, anywhere but here.
His legs moved automatically. Shambling steps carrying him toward... somewhere. Anywhere.
Then he stopped.
A figure blocked his path.
Cat ears. Twin tails.
Naturally—Kuroka.
"Cat... youkai...?"
The Trickster God's voice carried disbelief bordering on existential confusion. Why would a nekomata manifest in demon realm wastelands during Norse-Devil conflicts?
She didn't dignify his question with response. Simply observed him with vague interest—the way housecats examine insects before determining whether they're worth the effort.
Then her hand rose, condensing a spirit bomb radiating apocalyptic magical density.
She tossed it underhand—casual motion suggesting fetch games with pets—before turning away even before impact.
The next moment, silence consumed everything.
A pillar of annihilation light erupted from demon realm bedrock, piercing atmospheric layers, visible from Lilith's capital walls.
Near the devastation column's periphery, the cat-eared girl walked leisurely, hands clasped behind her back, twin tails swaying with satisfied contentment.
"Kuroka never wastes words on people she's already dismissed, nya~"
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