Once more, Soren leaned against the dark van, waiting for the other agency vehicles to arrive at the hangar. Argos, the dog devil, stood nearby with arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the Fourth Division agents guarding the private transport. Tiamat lingered close, masking its unease behind the careless demeanor of its unwilling master.

  It didn’t take long for the rest to arrive. Third Division hunter Matsuda and First Division’s Renzo Vitale pulled up in the same car. The weary Asian man lit a cigarette and looked away, clearly uninterested in engaging. In contrast, the handsome, cheerful hunter greeted the boy with boundless energy.

  Though Soren only answered to the two heads of the organization, he still respected the First Division rank and considered the Italian something of a senior.

  The elusive Second Division hunter, Theo Pereira, arrived alone—much to Subdirectress Nasaki’s quiet satisfaction. She wasted no time, despite the early hour, handing each hunter a file detailing the mission.

  “By the way,” Soren began, glancing over the paperwork, “about my equipment—”

  “They’ll arrive separately,” Nasaki cut in. “It will take a day at most for them to be inspected and authorized by the Japanese government.”

  Japan, she explained, had a strict no-firearms policy that applied to nearly every organization in the country, save for the Self-Defense Forces and certain Anti-Terrorist units. However, since it was the government itself that had requested their assistance, a temporary exception had been granted for the small EAC delegation.

  Were it up to Soren, he might have found a way to smuggle his gear, but he was now part of an international government body bound by legalities and bureaucracy. Even without his weapons, he still had the transformation contract—a comfort strong enough to proceed without complaint.

  Each member of the group chose a seat on the plane, Soren settling in beside his contracts. Theo raised an eyebrow at the oddly human treatment the demons were receiving, though no one else seemed to mind.

  As the private jet climbed into the sky, Argos began to breathe heavily, doing a terrible job of hiding his nervousness.

  “What’s wrong? Afraid of heights?” Soren mocked.

  The devil glanced at the smiling hunter across from them, then quickly turned to the window.

  “I’m aware my presence can be bothersome to your kind,” Renzo said, leaning comfortably into his leather seat.

  “Are demons really that scared of First Division hunters?” Soren tilted his head toward the other demon for confirmation.

  Tiamat, also visibly uneasy, shook its head. “Us demons are sensitive to existential power. You could say we’re being suffocated by the pressure right now.” He gestured toward the golden sword at Renzo’s side.

  Renzo chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Your contracts aren’t wrong. There’s nothing special about me—but this sword…”

  Soren already knew from the sub-head of the EAC that it was a powerful demonic object, though he hadn’t grasped the extent of that description.

  “This artifact was given to me by Director Hunt, who received it from the strongest hunter after defeating the Demon of War,” Renzo explained casually.

  Soren, never having seen it before, assumed his uncle had passed it down in the days before he was born.

  Nasaki, overhearing while working on her laptop, glanced up briefly.

  “The Demon of War, the fourth strongest of all evils, turned some of his most powerful servants into tools he wielded in each hand,” Renzo continued, letting the sword’s gold catch the light. “This one, the sword of Conquest, was in his right hand. In his left—the blade of Massacre.”

  Soren swallowed, wondering why his uncle had ever given up both treasures.

  “Despite appearances, the sword isn’t that powerful on its own. Its main trait is that it’s unbreakable, so it’s always battle-ready—but that’s about it for practical use.”

  Unexpectedly, Renzo extended it toward him. Hesitant at first, Soren gripped the hilt and pulled it free. The metal felt cold, carrying a strange depth, but nothing he could call extraordinary.

  Don’t be fooled,” Argos warned. “There’s still a powerful existence sealed inside—and it reeks.”

  “Technically,” Renzo admitted with a shrug, “the Demon of Conquest is still in there.”

  At that revelation, Soren released the sword, letting it drop back into place. Renzo laughed at his reaction.

  “…What about the other one? Massacre?” Soren asked.

  “You’ve seen it already,” Nasaki interjected. “It is worn by Director Hunt himself.”

  The boy immediately recalled the blood-tinted blade the slavic kept hidden under his trench coat—the very one that had cut him before the Demon of Inconsequence healed him.

  Only then did he realize how many things he’d brushed aside had layers of meaning he’d never considered.

  “Is it really okay for me to know all this?” he asked.

  Theo, listening from a distance, silently wondered the same.

  Renzo simply turned to Nasaki, who responded with another small shrug.

  The rest of the flight east passed quietly. Renzo slept most of the way, Nasaki typed without pause, and Matsuda alternated between reading the newspaper and filling in crossword puzzles.

  Bored, Soren drifted toward the only other person who wasn’t busy.

  Theo hesitated, unsure how to handle someone who moved with such unearned confidence.

  “So, you’re from the Second Division,” Soren began awkwardly. “How is it?”

  “What exactly do you mean?” Theo replied, eyebrow raised.

  “What kind of jobs do you take? What are the other agents like?” Soren pressed, eager to learn more about the inner workings of Adam Hunt’s organization.

  “For starters, we mostly handle demons of the second and first categories. However, we also often work alongside First Division hunters. Generally, it takes four or five Second Division agents to take down a first-category demon—but that rule doesn’t apply to the higher ranks of the Hundred Evils. Those powerhouses defy all logic.”

  Soren nodded. Even with a rule of thumb, demon encounters were shaped by countless variables.

  “As for your second question, there are fewer Second Division hunters than you’d expect. Like the First Division, we’re spread thin across territories. Personally, I only know a handful.”

  Given the job’s nature and short life expectancy, few hunters lived long enough to climb the ranks. Even those who did often preferred to stay in lower divisions, where survival odds were better. Those in higher divisions were either prodigies or top performers—hence the younger average age. With fewer high-tier demons than lowly hellspawn, it wasn’t as big a problem as it could have been.

  Still, one could only wonder what the jewel of the old century at the top of the organization was truly capable of. The same went for his uncle, who had somehow lived long enough to return to a “normal life,” at least before he dissappeared.

  After dozing off for a while, Soren woke just in time for their landing at Narita International Airport, Japan.

  As expected, a diplomatic delegation from Foreign Affairs and representatives from the Public Security Intelligence Agency were waiting just outside the plane. Soren caught the way some diplomats’ expressions twisted the moment they saw the two devilish creatures descending with the group.

  Naturally, Subdirectress Nasaki handled the moment with practiced ease, as if everything was already under her control. Soren noticed her effortless adaptation to the foreign, and to him rather curious, Japanese customs—rituals and courtesies he had never witnessed until now. She spoke fluidly in the local language, her tone polished and precise. For some reason, it unsettled him slightly.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Hey, do you have any idea what they’re saying?” Soren asked Theo.

  “Why are you asking me? Do I look like I know?” the Brazilian shot back, clearly annoyed.

  So there’s no way for us to know what’s happening…

  Both hunters instinctively glanced toward the one person who might’ve been familiar with the exchange, but Matsuda stood apart, preoccupied with his own thoughts and clearly desiring to be unbothered.

  As handshakes and greetings went around, Soren stayed close to the easygoing Renzo, who was quick to notice the boy’s tension.

  “You seem a little stressed,” Renzo observed.

  “Well… besides my recent stay to Europe, I’ve never traveled this far.”

  “To be honest, I kinda feel out of place too—but you get used to it after a while.”

  Soren’s attention drifted to Argos, who was walking alongside a few government officials while glaring and muttering curses under his breath.

  “What did you just do?” Soren asked.

  “Huh? These pesky humans kept staring at me like I’m some tourist attraction,” the demon grumbled.

  “No, I mean… were you just speaking Japanese?”

  “Do I know how to speak? Of course. What did you think—that I only speak English?”

  Soren stared at him in silence for a moment, then sighed. Right…

  “But… how?” he pressed.

  “To make all sorts of contracts, we demons have to speak all sorts of languages. Learning becomes easy when you’ve lived for a couple thousand years, don’t you think?”

  “Actually,” the dragon devil cut in, “I don’t know how to speak Japanese.”

  Argos turned to him in disbelief. In an instant, Soren latched onto the dog devil.

  “Well then, I’m counting on you for the rest of our stay.”

  It dawned on Argos right then that he had just been roped into serving as translator for the entire trip.

  “You reptilian, lying piece of sh—”

  The banter was abruptly cut short as Subdirectress Nasaki approached, her voice pulling them back to business.

  “Soon, we’ll be transported to our accommodations. Since we’ve arrived in the afternoon, you have the rest of the day off. However, I expect you all to be ready at first hour.”

  The private transport wound its way along highways cutting through mountains and narrow valleys, eventually giving way to the vast sprawl of Tokyo’s metropolitan area.

  The sight was staggering. Even having visited cities like New York, Soren found the sheer density of buildings and the endless tide of people overwhelming. The closer they drew to the city’s heart, the more it seemed to stretch beyond the horizon. The contrast from his arrival in Europe was nothing compared to this.

  The cars finally pulled into the driveway of a five-star hotel, only a short distance from the iconic Tokyo Tower. Soren wasn’t surprised—Nasaki always seemed to ensure comfort wherever she went.

  “As I said, the rest of the evening is yours,” she repeated as she handed out room keys.

  “Are you also taking the evening off?” Soren asked.

  “Of course not. I have several meetings to attend. You, however, are free to explore or rest.”

  Matsuda accepted his key, only to immediately turn toward the exit. “I have a few acquaintances to meet,” he said in passing, vanishing into the city.

  The rest of the team headed to their rooms, worn out from nearly a full day of travel.

  Inside their suite, the demons wasted no time settling in—Argos collapsing onto a bed, Tiamat slipping straight into the hot tub.

  Unfamiliar with such luxury, Soren simply took a moment to wash his face, only to encounter his first real cultural curiosity in the bathroom.

  Where’s the handle… and why does the toilet have a computer? He chuckled to himself.

  He had just started to enjoy the quiet when a knock came at the door.

  Opening it, he found Renzo leaning casually against the frame.

  “What happened?” Soren asked.

  “I told you I’d take you for a few drinks. People say sake is healthy, but an actual good sake… that’s the most drinkable alcohol you’ll find. Want to try it?”

  Soren wasn’t much of a drinker, but curiosity—and a bit of pressure—made him consider it. This was, after all, a part of the world he’d never seen.

  “Is it really okay for us to drink before work tho?”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I even got a recommendation on Tr*p Advisor.”

  Tr*p Advisor… right, millennials.

  Soon, they were walking through Tokyo’s streets at night. Warm air clung to the skin, carrying a faint mix of street food, exhaust, and the ocean’s distant salt. Neon signs flickered to life one after another, their reflections stretching across damp patches of pavement.

  Being foreigners drew the occasional curious glance, but most people hurried past without breaking stride.

  “We’ll take the train. Only fifteen minutes,” Renzo said, tilting his head toward a nearby station entrance.

  They bought tickets from a vending machine, the metallic clink of coins echoing in the tiled space, and boarded a half-full train. Outside the window, the city passed in a fast blur—rows of glowing kanji, dark alleys, and the faint silhouettes of rooftop billboards.

  Shibuya Crossing was as chaotic as it could be imagined, tides of people flowing in every direction. Soren had to quicken his pace to avoid losing Renzo.

  On the other hand the italian hunter often stopped to peer into shop windows, grinning when he spotted familiar characters from old tv shows and games. He frequently veered off to peer into shop windows, pointing out elements from his childhood, most of which Soren had never even heard of.

  “Seriously, you’ve never watched this?” Renzo asked, mimicking the poses of the various figures in the display.

  “No. My uncle didn’t let me watch much TV growing up… and then I was just too busy.”

  Renzo’s smile dimmed for a moment before returning. “Then I’ve got a lot to show you.”

  He pushed the boy along the crowded sidewalks, pointing out stores and landmarks before they caught a train to Shinjuku, where they sampled food from hidden alleyway restaurants.

  Eventually, they reached the Shinjuku viewpoint. The city stretched to the horizon—streets lined with streams of white headlights and red tail lights, skyscrapers pulsing with neon glow.

  “So, what do you think?” Renzo asked.

  Soren thought back on everything he’d seen so far. For someone who’d been to so many places, he rarely slowed down enough to simply look.

  He thought back on everything he had seen—and on all the things left unseen for lack of time. Until that moment, he had never rearely truly indulged in sightseeing, much less in the company of someone else. Walking the streets of Tokyo felt like the first completely human experience he’d had in years.

  “Well… I guess it wasn’t that bad,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth curving upwards.

  “We still haven’t had that sake, you know.”

  The two hunters exchanged a knowing look, then nodded in agreement.

  *

  Despite the peaceful times, the nation of the rising sun was destined to face a catastrophe — the result of a conspiracy that had begun long before the announcement of the dog devil at the European Parliament session.

  The sound of footsteps echoed through the crumbling halls as Minister Tanaka entered an abandoned building in the Fukushima Exclusion Zone. Dust hung in the air like a faded memory, and the silence pressed against him. His mind, heavy with unease, drifted toward the knowledge shared by the mysterious, beautiful angel who had once spoken to him in an impossibly seductive voice.

  “These are the secrets needed in order to carry on the great sacrifice,” the angel had said, revealing a conjunction of glowing symbols that floated in the air like fragments of living light.

  “Many people are going to die…” Tanaka thought, clenching his fists until his knuckles whitened.

  The angel regarded him without a hint of regret in its crimson-colored eyes.

  “There is no denying that. However, salvation will not happen unless we acquire the necessary vessel.”

  “Isn’t there another way?!” Tanaka’s voice broke with desperation.

  “Even if there is,” the angel replied evenly, “it is not our intention to pretend that any blame will vanish in exchange for a greater cause. The sin of ending innocent lives is something you — and 'he' — will carry until the very end.”

  “What happened to trying to do good for others? To improve this world?”

  “Indeed, people should try to do as much good as they can. A child can only help an elderly person cross the street, and a salaryman can only donate part of his earnings to charity. But the more one is able to do, the greater the responsibility to act. Minister Tanaka, right now, you are in the exact position to change the world. The moment calls, so it's time for you to act accordingly.”

  Back then, Tanaka had hesitated. But after hearing from the mysterious being about the course of the world until its expected end, he decided something had to be done.

  The salvation of humankind was not some fever dream — it was real and attainable. The helmed figure’s plan, already in motion and backed by the angel, offered a path forward.

  Tanaka, who had devoted his life to the betterment of Japan, now found himself forced to widen his scope to the entire world and all its people.

  And so, gathering other cult members from the masked organization, he spilled the blood of living volunteers. Their lifeblood was used to draw the summoning circles exactly as the angel had taught him.

  “Disasters… I have a proposal that might be appealing to you.”

  The cult followers watched in tense silence as the air in the warehouse grew unnaturally cold. Frost began to creep along the concrete.

  From each blood-drawn circle, a tall figure emerged — amalgamations of humanity’s deepest fears, powerful entities whose names were etched along the black obelisk.

  “To think a human would dare to make a deal with all of us at the same time,” said one demon, its body made from jagged fragments of stone.

  “Despite that, he chose a very appropriate place,” another observed — a sinuous, snake-like form coiling in the dim light.

  “I am more interested in knowing how he acquired the knowledge to summon us,” the feathered figure said, its voice low and resonant.

  The last of the summoned remained silent, moving it's collosal shape until it stood face-to-face with Tanaka. Despite the closeness, the man appeared composed, which seemed to satisfy the otherwordly existance.

  “Well then,” it said, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “First of all, let me make it clear that I don’t enjoy dealing with your kind. But you are going to play the role of a ‘necessary evil.’”

  His words unsettled the stone-like demon, who only calmed when the serpent coiled closer.

  “I plan to acquire the means to manifest all four of you at the same time. In exchange, I need you to wreak as much havoc as possible upon this land.”

  The summoned demons’ amusement thickened the air with malice.

  “Your offer is compelling indeed,” the feathered figure spoke at last, “but what exactly do you stand to gain from all of this?”

  “I’m afraid that is something you need not worry about. As long as you benefit, shouldn’t that be enough?”

  “Even so,” the feathered one pressed, “you currently lack the means to manifest all four of us simultaneously.”

  The manifestation of a demon was equivalent to a direct summoning at more than half of its original power; one limited by the interdimensional barrier that prevented the strongest of them from freely entering the world. Even this restricted form could only be achieved through a contract demanding a vast tribute.

  “That will be sorted out in due time. Once it happens, I want you to be ready.”

  Despite their concerns, the disasters knew there was little to negotiate. The opportunity to manifest in the human world was something nearly all of the first One Hundred Evils desired.

  Even with the potential opposition of hunters like Adam Hunt or the formidable Sullivan O’Connors, the chance to spread fear and destruction outweighed the risks.

  In the end, the four disasters acknowledged the minister’s petition.

  “Very well. We will remain expectant of your actions.”