Deus.Ex.Machina Chapter 18

Tonight, we're going hunting.

Stray devils, to be specific. The kind that slipped through the cracks of devil society and went full feral. Dangerous, monstrous, and usually not worth the paperwork for the big factions. Which made them perfect for .

No contracts. No witnesses. No questions.

Just pure, unfiltered field testing.

I slipped on another layer—not the divine armor. That was for ergencies. No sense in bringing a tactical nuke to a knife fight.

This was sothing simpler. A sleek black coat, long and dramatic, the kind ani protagonists always seem to have fluttering behind them in slow motion. It wasn't enchanted, but it looked cool, and honestly, that was half the battle.

I pulled on a mask next—a white Japanese wolf mask, sharp-eyed and stoic. Traditional, eerie, and just theatrical enough to keep things mysterious and my identity hidden.

Stealthy. Stylish. Supernaturally dramatic.

Just the way I like it.

"Hayama," I called, strolling into the hallway.

"Yes, young master?" he replied, calm and composed as always—but I noticed the faint tension in his shoulders. Subtle, but there. He knew what was coming. He saw what I was wearing.

"I'll be out tonight. Training."

He exhaled through his nose. "Understood. Try not to make any commotion."

Ever since that conversation, there was a shift. A quiet understanding between us. We never talked about it again in detail. Didn't need to.

I think he worries. Not because he doubts . But because he knows what's out there.

I trust him. More than most. Maybe more than I should. But he hasn't asked questions he knows I won't answer. Hasn't judged the strange, powerful things I bring back or the hours I vanish underground. He just… gets it.

That kind of loyalty?

It's rare. Precious.

So yeah. When I walked out into the Kuoh night, scanning the skyline for strays to test myself against, I knew one thing:

If I didn't make it back, Hayama would be the only one who'd notice the absence behind the dinner plate.

I stepped out into the city, the cool night air brushing against my skin.

The town never truly slept.

I moved fast, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, mana pulsing gently beneath my skin.

I stopped on a rooftop, crouching low, scanning the streets below.

Am I a vigilante now?

Then I heard it. A low growl. Not human. Not even trying to sound human.

Finally.

A flicker of movent. Sothing fast. Low to the ground. Glowing eyes in the dark.

I grinned.

Ti for the fun part.

I stood, slowly, stretching my fingers like a pianist before a concerto of violence.

I leapt down from the rooftop, landing with a thud that cracked the pavent.

Then I saw it.

A stray devil—mutated and grotesque, all gnashing teeth and distorted limbs. Its wings were torn, useless. Its body twitched like it didn't quite rember how to be alive. Once human, probably. Or maybe once sothing worse.

It hissed at , voice garbled like a corrupted MP3. "You… sll… wrong…"

"Yeah," I said, rolling my shoulders. "I get that a lot."

It lunged.

Too fast for a normal person. But I wasn't normal anymore.

I sidestepped, mana surging through my veins as I enhanced my legs with a burst. My fist t its side mid-air, a clean hit that sent it flying into a parked car with a crash.

"Oops,"

With a thought I summoned a simple sword, Just a plain longsword, forged in the Workshop weeks ago.

I channeled mana into my arm—sa principle as Mana Burst. A steady flow, not a flood. I let it slide into the blade, slow and deliberate.

I'd practiced this. Hundreds of tis. Weeks of trial and error. Thousands of broken swords were sacrificed.

This sword wasn't made for magic infusion, so I treated it gently.

The stray devil lunged.

I smirked.

I didn't rush. I didn't need to. My feet barely touched the ground as I took a step back, letting the stray think it had on the ropes.

It charged. Too eager. Too quick.

I slid to the side, the devil whizzing past , just inches from raking its claws across my chest. I didn't give it a chance to recover. I was already on the move.

The sword in my hand sang as I swung it in a perfect arc, aiming for the stray's legs. But at the last second, it twisted, its body unnaturally bending to avoid the strike.

Impressive.

But not enough.

I pivoted, my feet scraping against the rooftop as I adjusted, brought the sword back, and this ti, it was a quick slash across the devil's chest. The blade connected with a sickening crack, cutting through the air and deep into the creature's flesh.

The stray stumbled back, spitting out a growl of frustration.

It wasn't done, though. It swiped at , claws outstretched like daggers. I ducked low, dodging the first strike by inches, then jumped back, letting the second swipe miss by an even narrower margin.

The devil roared, charging again, but this ti it was slower. I could see the desperation in its movents, the exhaustion beginning to creep in. I grinned.

With a twist of my wrist, I brought the sword up again, just as the stray lunged. I t it head-on, cutting through its clawed hand, then slashing downward, sending it sprawling. It screeched, but it was too late.

One final strike.

I didn't hold back. The sword flashed, cutting through the air in a perfect horizontal arc. The stray's head was gone before it even knew what hit it, its body thumping lifelessly on the ground

I tossed a glance at the damage. The rooftop was fine. The stray, not so much.

With a thought, I dismissed the sword back into my inventory. A quick, satisfied breath escaped my lips.

"Stray number one: deleted," I muttered. "Next."

—

A man stood in the shadows, his crimson eyes glinting with amusent as he watched Leon hunting devils.

"Well, this is interesting," Azazel muttered under his breath, a wry smile creeping up on his lips.

Azazel had been on his way ho, when sothing unusual caught his attention.

A surge of mana—strong, raw, and unlike anything he'd felt before—exploded through the night air, prickling his senses.

It wasn't the usual mana he sensed from humans or devils.

Intrigued, Azazel had followed the pulse.

The source was clear now—a young man.

As the boy moved across the rooftops, dispatching the stray devils with a quiet, lethal efficiency, Azazel stayed hidden in the shadows, his crimson eyes tracking every motion.

He hadn't planned on spying, but this... this was interesting.

The boy wasn't just using mana; he was manipulating it with ease. The way he infused it into his sword, the precision with which he fought—it was more than just talent.

As far as Azazel knew, humans couldn't use magic the way devils did. Human magicians relied on complex calculations and equations—rituals, ancient texts, and ntal gymnastics. What Leon was doing felt entirely different. More intuitive. More... natural.

The researcher in Azazel stirred, eager to understand. How was he doing this? Was it sothing the boy had developed on his own, or was it an inherent part of him? And more importantly, what made him different?

At the sa ti Leon's presence felt different. A power that felt familiar in a way he couldn't place. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. This wasn't just a normal human. No, this boy... had the essence of sothing much older, sothing powerful. Sothing draconic.

The boy dispatched the final stray with barely a flicker of emotion, his movents clean and calculated. He didn't seem out of breath, not a hint of exertion on his face.

Azazel watched him for a few more seconds, silently impressed. Then, almost on a whim, he decided to follow. The boy seed unaware of his presence, moving with a quiet confidence as he took a series of winding turns.

For a mont, Azazel wondered if he was being led on purpose, but the boy's movents were too random to be intentional. Perhaps he was just that good at hiding his trail. Or maybe it was Azazel who had underestimated him.

Either way, Azazel followed, effortlessly keeping his distance, watching the boy until he arrived at what appeared to be his ho. The mansion lood in front of him as Azazel observed from the shadows, his lips quirking into a smile as realization hit him.

"Well, this is unexpected," Azazel muttered under his breath. No wonder the boy felt so familiar. Leon Mishima. Heir to the Mishima Corporation, one of the largest and most influential companies in the world.

The pieces clicked together in an instant.

Azazel smirked, his curiosity piqued.

There was more to the Mishima heir than anyone could have predicted.

"Looks like we'll be having so interesting conversations soon enough," Azazel mused, his eyes gleaming with interest.

With a fluid motion, he spread his wings and shot up into the night sky, his figure disappearing into the darkness.

The boy was just another puzzle to be solved—another interesting anomaly in a world that had grown far too predictable. Azazel relished the thought.

He didn't chase opportunities. No, Azazel created them.

Leon had no idea, of course, that unknowingly caught the strongest fallen angel's attention.