The Grand Azathoth Hotel - Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Riser Phenex arrived in a burst of golden fire, his presence warping the air with unbearable heat. The flames that birthed him roared hungrily, their tongues of light devouring the dry grass in a perfect circle around him, a coronation of destruction. He stepped forward as the embers crackled at his feet, his every movement oozing arrogance, the air itself thick with his presence. This was not just power—it was sovereignty, the unchallenged might of a devil who had never known defeat.

He was not simply a devil. He was a Phenex.

A god among devils. A creature of immortality and excess, bred to dominate, to take, to break. His body, sculpted by demonic privilege, radiated an aura of absolute confidence, his golden suit immaculately tailored, his stance a deliberate display of casual supremacy. He had spent his life winning. Not because he fought, but because it was already decided that he would. That was his birthright. The Phenex were untouchable. Indestructible. And Riser? Riser was the strongest of them all.

And today, he would prove it. Yet as his eyes scanned the field before him, his arrogance faltered—just for a second. This was not what he expected. The battlefield he had envisioned was one of ruin, of shattered confidence and burned-out hope. He had imagined a pathetic scene—Issei Hyoudou groveling at his feet, begging for his miserable life before Riser snuffed him out like an insect. But instead, there was this.

A hut.

Small. Humble. Handmade.

It was nearly finished, its planks sanded smooth, the roof sturdy, the foundation built not by magic, but by hand. The sight of it offended him.

Riser scoffed. What is this nonsense?

And then, he saw her.

A nun—though not quite. The unmistakable posture of a woman of the cloth, but she no longer wore the Church’s colors. Gone were the pristine whites and modest blues. Instead, she was adorned in gold, a simple, elegant garment that shimmered in the sun as she bent to draw water from the well. The wind caught the fabric, making it ripple like liquid sunlight. She was serene.

Disgusting.

How dare she look at peace?

Riser was a Phenex. He was power incarnate. The very presence of someone like him should have shattered any illusion of tranquility. She should have trembled. She should have bowed. And yet, when she turned to him, golden eyes steady and unwavering, she did neither.

He sneered.

“You,” he said, his voice rich with condescension. “Where is he?”

The nun blinked, as if the question itself was beneath her.

“Where is Lord Issei? I do not know.”

She smiled. Serene. Devoted. Untouched by fear.

It made Riser’s blood boil.

“Enough of this nonsense.” He stepped forward, his flames crackling, coiling around his wrists like vipers. “Tell me where he is, or I will burn this pathetic little hovel to ash.”

Still, she did not waver.

“Lord Issei will come,” she said softly. “And he will judge you.”

Riser’s fingers twitched.

“Then you can burn first.”

His arm lifted, golden fire exploding to life in his palm, his flames roaring with a hunger that promised absolute annihilation—

And then, silence.

The air shifted.

Riser did not hear his approach. He did not sense the movement.

One moment, he was alone with the nun. The next—

“Ah,” a voice, smooth and steady, cut through reality itself. “That’s not very gentlemanly of you, Riser.”

Riser turned, his flames faltering, and saw him.

Issei Hyoudou.

The boy. The trash. The nobody he had come to destroy.

And yet, standing there, clad in his immaculately maintained Kuoh Academy uniform, Issei did not look like a boy at all. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, his expression unreadable. There was no fear in his stance. No uncertainty. Only judgment.

Something deep in Riser’s chest curdled.

Issei’s gaze swept over him once, lazily, before returning to the nun. “Threatening a lady?” His voice was calm, almost disappointed. “Are these the ‘noble’ ways of the Phenex Clan?”

Riser snarled, his pride flaring. “You dare—”

“—to be a proper gentleman?” Issei interrupted, tilting his head slightly. “Yes. I do.”

Riser’s rage ignited.

“You pathetic little—”.

Riser roared as he thrust out his hand, emerald-and-gold hellfire exploding from his palm in a raging inferno, a tide of destruction vast enough to turn armies to cinders. The air howled as the fire swallowed the space between them, a tidal wave of demonic energy fueled by the power of an immortal, a Phenex’s undying wrath. The ground beneath him blackened instantly, the sheer heat warping the very fabric of the air, turning it into a shimmering haze of absolute annihilation. There would be nothing left of this fool—no bones, no ashes, not even a memory.

And yet—

Issei walked forward.

The flames struck him, but they did not burn—they curled around him, folding into his form, drawn into something bottomless, consuming, endless. He devoured them, his body absorbing the hellfire like it was nothing more than a cool breeze. Where there should have been screams, there was only silence. Where there should have been pain, there was only the slow, deliberate sound of footsteps.

And for the first time, in all his long, arrogant life, Riser felt fear.

It was impossible. The flames of the Phenex were absolute. They could not be denied, could not be stopped, could not be ignored—and yet, this boy, this nobody, had consumed them as if they were nothing at all. Issei’s gaze remained steady, unwavering, calm in a way that sent something primal crawling through Riser’s chest.

The distance between them vanished.

Then Issei struck.

The first blow was like a divine hammer, a straight punch to Riser’s gut that folded his body inward, the impact so devastating that the shockwave tore the air apart, flattening the grass for miles. Riser could not breathe, could not even scream—his ribs caved in, organs rupturing from the sheer force, his entire body catapulted backward like a meteor. He slammed into the earth with a thunderous crash, the ground splitting apart from the impact, rock and dirt exploding into the air.

And yet, Issei was already there.

Before Riser could even attempt to regenerate, a fist caught his jaw, snapping his head back with such force that his vision blackened, stars bursting behind his eyes as he felt his skull fracture. His feet barely had time to leave the ground before another blow—a knee to the chest, shattering his sternum, lifting him into the air as if he weighed nothing at all.

Higher. Higher.

The sky cracked as Riser was sent hurtling upward, the world below shrinking, the clouds folding around him like a burial shroud. His mind reeled, his flames desperate to heal him, to restore what was being broken faster than he could repair. This wasn’t just an attack—this was judgment, punishment, a sentence carried out by something far beyond mortal understanding.

And then—

Issei was above him.

Waiting.

A shadow against the sun, golden fury incarnate, a force of nature given human shape.

And then he came down.

A single kick, descending like the wrath of a god, drove Riser back to the earth. The air screamed, the sky itself howling as he fell, plummeting like a fallen angel, his own flames trailing behind him like the shattered remnants of his pride. The impact was cataclysmic. The earth broke beneath him, a crater miles wide forming in an instant, trees ripped from their roots, dust blotting out the sun.

Everything hurt. For the first time, Riser cursed his regeneration — he wanted to die, not to keep being in so much pain, again and again.  His flames sputtered—weak, struggling to mend a body that had never suffered like this before. He gasped, lungs heaving, his breath shaking, his body refusing to move. He was Riser Phenex. He was immortal. And yet, in this moment, he felt like he was dying. He wished he was dying. 

And then—footsteps.

Issei stepped into the crater, his uniform immaculate, his expression as calm as ever. Not a single scratch. Not a single drop of sweat. As if this had not even been a fight.

“Get up.”

Riser shuddered. His body screamed in protest as he forced himself onto his knees, his fingers digging into the dirt, his flames flickering around him in weak, stuttering waves. He had to fight. He had to—

A hand caught his wrist. The world stopped. Before Riser could react, his arm twisted unnaturally, a sickening snap echoing through the crater. The pain was instant, absolute, blinding in a way that made him forget his own name. He screamed, raw and broken, his flames dying in his throat, his regeneration slowing, failing, falling apart.

And still—Issei was not done.

A heel slammed into his knee, and something broke. Another fist to the ribs, and something caved in. A single, final punch to the jaw, and Riser collapsed.

Motionless. Defeated. Nothing.

He lay there, face in the dirt, trembling. His bones ached, his flames flickered uselessly, his pride lay in ruins. This was not how it was supposed to be. He was a Phenex. He was power. He was immortal. And yet—

For the first time in his life, he begged.

“P-Please…” His voice cracked, small, pathetic.

Issei watched him for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he took a step back.

“Very well.”

Relief flooded Riser’s body. His breath shuddered, his limbs sagging, the faintest spark of hope curling in his chest—

And then—

“But you have not repented,” Issei continued, his voice quiet, final. “Which means you will serve another purpose.”

The air darkened.

The sky itself shivered.

“You will be offered as a sacrifice,” Issei declared, his tone absolute, “to the Lord.”

— — — 

Rias lounged on the plush sofa of the Occult Clubroom, a half-read manga resting limply in her hands as she absentmindedly flipped a page. The words and illustrations blurred together, her mind refusing to focus. The upcoming Rating Game loomed over her like a storm cloud, but she pushed the thoughts aside, drowning herself in distraction, indulgence, sloth. She had earned this moment of rest, she told herself. 

Yet, as she exhaled, a strange sensation curled in her stomach—a pull, a shift, an urge that was as foreign as it was undeniable. It twisted within her, a whisper at first, then a command, a relentless imperative that she could not ignore.

The urge to get to work. 

Without hesitation, she sat up, eyes sharp with sudden clarity, purpose. “Akeno,” she said, her voice steady, absolute, the remnants of idleness burning away like mist in the morning sun. “Bring me my books. And my homework.” 

A beat of silence followed. 

Across the room, Akeno froze, the tea tray in her hands trembling slightly as she stared at Rias as though she had grown a second head. 

“…Excuse me?” she asked, her voice laced with genuine disbelief.

— — — 

James leaned back in his chair. “So,” he said, “what’s the second thing? I can’t just give you a notebook.”

Robin gulped.

The whispers slithered through her thoughts, their voices layered, overlapping in a chorus that did not belong to time. Ask for it, they urged. Take it. Claim it.

Her gaze drifted toward the small wooden bowl on James’ desk, a catch-all container for the little trinkets he had likely forgotten about. Among the coins, stray buttons, and other meaningless objects, there was a necklace. It was cheap. The kind of thing a child might win from an amusement park booth—a simple silver chain with a tiny, worn heart dangling from it. The metal had dulled with time, and the clasp looked slightly bent, as if it had been handled too roughly. It was utterly unremarkable.

Except it wasn’t.

The whispers had noticed it.

The Heart of Slaanesh…

Robin’s fingers curled against the cover of the Book of Eibon, her grip tightening as the voices grew more insistent. Ask for it. Ask for it.

She hesitated.

Not because she feared the whispers—she was used to them by now—but because… what would it look like if she asked for a heart-shaped necklace from James?

Heat rose to her face. She cleared her throat. “The second thing I want…” Her voice was quieter than she intended, her confidence wavering.

James raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Robin swallowed. “The necklace. That one.”

James followed her gaze, and the moment his eyes landed on the tiny trinket, he reddened to his ears.

“Th—That?” His voice cracked slightly before he coughed into his fist, trying to regain composure. “Huh. It’s a gift from an old man, and—” He coughed again, visibly flustered. “—but I’ve got no use for it. Take it.”

Robin carefully picked up the necklace, the metal oddly warm in her palm.

She hesitated only a moment before fastening it around her neck. The clasp clicked into place—

And reality shattered.

A wave of sensation tore through her, white-hot and all-consuming. The air collapsed inward, folding over itself, and suddenly, she was everywhere. A thousand hands traced over her skin, fingers both familiar and foreign, caressing, clutching, claiming. Her nerves ignited, pleasure laced with something deeper, something wrong, something that slithered beneath her flesh like liquid fire. She felt herself stretching beyond her body, unraveling into strands of sensation, her mind no longer her own. The world around her pulsed—laughter, whispers, moans of bliss and agony, echoing through an expanse too vast to comprehend.

Shapes coiled in the dark. Beings that should not be pressed against her awareness, their mouths too wide, their limbs too many, their touch both tender and monstrous. They sang to her, voices thick with honeyed corruption, filling her with a longing so raw it ached. Her breath hitched, stolen by an ecstasy that laced itself with terror. She saw herself as they saw her—a body to sculpt, a mind to mold, a soul to reshape into something perfect. And deep within it all, pulsing with a rhythm older than time, was the Heart of Slaanesh, bound to her now, woven into her very being.

And then—

It was gone.

Robin gasped, lurching forward in her chair.

The office. James. The warmth of the fireplace. The familiar creak of his chair as he shifted slightly. It was all still there, unchanged, undisturbed. Only her body remembered—her skin was damp with sweat, her breath unsteady, her pulse hammering beneath the cool touch of the necklace resting against her collarbone.

James, utterly oblivious, was watching her with mild curiosity.  “But it’s just a trinket,” he added hastily, waving a hand as if that would dispel the tension in the air. “So—what’s the third thing you want?”