Demonic Kitsune

In a land filled with towering mountain peaks, unfathomable terrains, dense rainforests, and vast plains of eerily purplish grass lies a place forbidden in tales and shrouded in fog on maps. This is the home of the Demonic Arrancar Clan: Δαιμονική Φυλή των Αρράνκαρ.

With a population of two hundred and fifty thousand, twenty-five thousand were recognized as Arrancar. They were scattered throughout the Demonic Arrancar Clan like ants in a colony, each member diligently performing their tasks.

Among these uneven peaks, the tallest and most central one reaches up to the skies. This is the Headquarters of the Demonic Arrancar Clan: Αρχηγείο της Δαιμονικής Φυλής των Αρανκάρ.

This peak lived up to its name. Even the red clouds lay beneath its summit. There were no slopes or entry points that allowed Arrancar travel. Those who were permitted here had to be carried, leap across mountain peaks, or fly like “An Archdemon in legends, who could soar through the skies with wings or levitate without them.” Only the Demoness and a select few others possessed this ability. The peak was surrounded by constant eruptions of magma, and fierce, cold, biting winds raged throughout the seasons.

Despite it being summer, the peak was covered in deep snow. A normal Arrancar couldn’t approach this sacred place of extreme cold. Only those who had achieved immunity to extreme cold and heat could climb to the top. In a show of power and superiority, less than a thousand Arrancars—including Arrancar Vikings, Knights/Generals, and Rooks—met that thin mark in the whole Demonic Arrancar Clan.

Beyond this, Arrancars of the Demonic Arrancar Clan didn’t dare climb the Central Peak for another reason. To them, the peak's summit was known by an exclusive name: Demonic Arrancar Royal Palace: Δαιμονικό Παλάτι του Βασιλιά των Αρρανκάρ.

This was where their god resided—the First Ancestor of the Demon Clan and Contractee of the Demon God, the leader of the religious Demonic Arrancar Clan, Demoness Yue Mingkong Gu.

Some of the high-ranked “Arrancar Knights and Generals,” “Grand Rooks,” and “Twelve Arrancar Grandmasters” were allowed entry. However, it was rare for everyone to gather in the Demonic Arrancar Royal Palace. Entry was only permitted when there was official business or a summons from the Clan.

Only one of the “Twelve Arrancar Grandmasters,” the Grand Tactician, visited frequently due to his nature.

It was the same on this particular day.

A lone figure streaked through the skies, slicing through the crimson clouds with elegance. His robes billowed in the wind like dark, flowing shadows.

As he approached, the lone figure’s form became clearer—a handsome yet unmistakably middle-aged Arrancar with a single horn just before his temples, suggesting an age far beyond his appearance. His eyes burned with a core of calculating fire. He was Iranad De Archite, the Grand Tactician of the Clan, one of the Twelve Arrancar Grandmasters. Also known as “The Thinker,” he embodied the saying, “Knowledge is power,” and “The brushstroke contains the power to erase a name.”

He descended gracefully onto the tiled entry, where the defensive perimeter enclosed several lush gardens and villas filled with beautiful plants, trees, and ponds. He took a moment to smooth his robes, which had been disturbed by his flight.

The Royal Palace was a single structure, an elaborate tower with triple eaves at the center, and three distinct wings joining it. The two smaller wings stood on either side of the main entrance to the palace. Towers stood at the ends of these wings as well. Directly opposite the main entrance was the third, larger wing, which housed the demoness’s throne room.

Entering the grand double doors, which creaked open, Iranad walked with his arms behind his back, continuing into the dimly lit, enormous hall. The hall featured an intricate array of inscriptions, with large tapestries lining the walls. Elaborate demon skull-themed, holy flame-themed, and Demon God-themed images and moldings were spread throughout the various sections of the long hall leading to the throne room.

His footsteps echoed in the silence as he faced a seamless circular door. With a satisfied look, he straightened and then coughed softly, announcing his arrival to the entity within.

“Come in…”

A deep voice could be heard, emanating from somewhere beyond the set of unfathomable doors.

The doors opened, revealing the figure of a middle-aged Arrancar with double horns protruding from his forehead. He seemed to be in his 30s, but his true age was far beyond that. His right eye was blue, and the other was black, though it was covered by a well-carved bony mask that he always wore. His hair was a purplish-white. Like most members of the Clan, he dressed elegantly, with eerie yet remarkable embellishments, always neat and clean. His well-made bony mask not only hid his face completely but, with his hollowing eyes brimming, it instilled fear, superiority, and power in anyone who happened upon it.

In a deep voice, he spoke, “The Demoness orders your presence.”

Iranad De Archite nodded as he passed through the doors, leaving behind a few words.

“It’s been a while, Great Guardians of the Abyss.”

The Great Guardians of the Abyss were the Demoness’s shadow security squad. They were eminences hidden in the shadows, protecting her and assisting her with everything she needed. It was a secret group, with each member possessing power and superiority second only to the Great Tactician. Some even had the skills of an “ArchDemon,” second only to the Demoness, though they were not officially titled. No one knew their names or faces, as they always wore different, crafted masks. They were simply called “The Great Guardians of the Great Abyss.”

In response to his words, the shadows quivered—or rather, blinked their intimidating, looming hundred eyes—and soon closed.

The hallway was dimly lit and led to another space, seemingly separated from reality but also not. Iranad’s footsteps echoed within the unwavering, mind-shivering silence as he continued calmly and steadily. The area grew narrower, both in width and height, the further he walked. Numerous dark-red pillars shot up from various angles, supporting the ceiling.

As Iranad continued down the path in the smaller hall, he noticed that, instead of black-tiled floors like in the Main Throne Room, there were white-tiled floors. In front of him was a smaller ornate-covered curtain on a higher platform, surrounded by luxurious decorations. A bas-relief image of a white dragon ascended and descended, breathing dark-purplish flames from the skies. Iranad stopped just before the platform at the end of the hall.

At the top of the platform, a shadowy figure with the outline of three horns could be seen sitting behind a curtain. The room imposed an atmosphere that, though not as grand as the Main Throne Room, was still designed to instill awe and fear in all who entered, intimidating anyone who faced the Demoness.

Yet, this hall still trembled with the pressure emitted by the figure behind the curtain.

“…Great Tactician. What brings you here to disturb this Demoness’s tranquility?”

“All hail the Demoness.” Iranad bowed deeply under the looming gaze that gripped his heart tightly. No matter how close he was to the Demoness, he knew that if his words didn’t please her or pique her curiosity, death would be instant for disturbing her peace. But he knew what to say. Despite this, sweat poured down his face as the weight in the air increased. Opening his mouth, he spoke gravely while still bowing, “I bring urgent news.”

Behind the curtain, the figure was startled by the words “urgent news,” as well as the tone in which they were spoken. “You know that this Great Demoness highly appreciates your capability and loyalty. Over the past five hundred years, I’ve allowed you to handle important matters and even yielded to your suggestion of not participating in the recent Holy Grail War, instead sending some of our promising elites. And yet, you come with news that, from your tone, shouldn’t require my presence…” She sighed. However, she knew that from the tone, this news still needed her attention. She was supposed to hear it. Her looming gaze closed as she asked further, “So, what is this urgent news?”

Iranad hesitated for only a moment, still bowing deeply. “It’s related to the Divine Maiden.”

The figure behind the curtain, adorned with white demon skull embellishments, was visibly startled. This imposing presence was Yue Mingkong Gu, the divine leader of the Demonic Arrancar Clan—and the mother of Noir Gu.

Iranad De Archite took the silence as permission to continue.

“As you know, the Divine Maiden is currently a young Arrancar of the Institute of Arrancar. Until recently, she became an ‘Arrancar Viking’ and was sent out for the tradition of ‘Wandering World Training’ as the Squad Leader of the Second Young Arrancar Group. This decision was made because you insisted that the rank of ‘Visored’ should be earned through skill and ability, not inherited.”

“You speak the truth.” The figure behind the curtain nodded, affirming his words. That was why Noir Gu followed the standard procedure, undergoing training and working tirelessly at the Institute of Arrancar to gain recognition and honor. Yue Mingkong Gu’s expression shifted subtly, her maternal instincts surfacing. “Hold a moment—do you mean to say…?”

“Yes… the Divine Maiden is in danger,” Iranad De Archite replied, looking up.

“Danger, you say…” Yue Mingkong Gu’s voice was a blend of care, mockery, and something more sinister. “Even if we put aside the fact that she’s my direct descendant—and as her mother, I know her capabilities—she is still skilled. I’ve heard she’s ranked second in the Institute of Arrancar, which is a bit unexpected… but I trust she had her reasons. Is it a mission that has put her in danger?”

Iranad remained composed. “Oh, Great Demoness, as you are aware, the missions assigned to the Young Arrancar squads are no easy tasks. It’s not uncommon for squads to face challenges that risk their lives, though the squad leaders should have no problem retreating with their teams. However, the Divine Maiden's mission is to eliminate the ‘Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath’.”

“I’ve heard of them, but the details elude me.”

“Understandably so. They might hold some influence in the Far Floating East, particularly in Ventamonte and Glacolia, but they are unworthy of your attention, Great Demoness. They were discarded tools of the Great Families after the Holy Grail War. Their leader, Rage, was a significant threat during the Holy War but mysteriously perished a year before its end. Since relocating to the ‘Edge of Salamander,’ they have lost much of their power, making them no match for the Second Young Arrancar Group.”

“What, then, is the problem?”

“That was how it was supposed to be. But it appears they have a new leader.”

“A new leader?”

Iranad hesitated again. “Are you familiar with the ‘Fairy Saint of the Central Holy Church’?”

“I believe I’ve heard of him. What about him?”

“The Fairy Saint is a formidable combatant, on par with an Arrancar Grandmaster. Even our Clan has few members who could match her.”

“I see. But isn’t he a saint of the Central Holy Church, which should be in the Middle States? Are you suggesting that the Central Holy Church is trying to stir up another war by sending one of their saints to the ‘Edge of Salamander’ and making the ‘Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath’ his lackeys?” Yue Mingkong Gu's glowing red-blood eyes bore down on Iranad, her voice as powerful as thunder.

“There is a possibility…”

The Demoness fell silent, contemplating the situation. The Divine Maiden—her dear daughter, Noir Gu—was still lacking if she wished to become the ‘Visored’ or the ‘Young Demoness.’ Yet, she wasn’t indifferent to her as a daughter. Despite her awkwardness, she yearned to show her love as a mother. But it was difficult because she was the Clan leader, the First Ancestor of the Demon Clan, and the Contractee of the Demon God. She needed to raise the next Demoness, not just a daughter.

“Where is she now?” Yue Mingkong Gu asked.

“We believe she’s currently near Glacolia, in one of the bases.”

Both the Demoness and the Grand Tactician grasped the gravity of the situation. The ‘Fairy Saint of the Central Holy Church’ was a powerful combatant of the ‘Transcendent’ rank, a level beyond the ‘Restrained Rank.’ If they didn’t send the right Arrancar, they would only be sending their own to their deaths.

“But we can’t simply send one of the Twelve Arrancar Grandmasters or a Grand Rook to handle this,” the Demoness said, her frustration evident.

Iranad understood the delicate situation. “Indeed. Sending just anyone to assist the Divine Maiden, who has yet to become the ‘Visored,’ would give our enemies an opening to strike.”

Yue Mingkong Gu sighed in agreement.

“Anticipating this, I devised a plan.” Iranad De Archite reached into his sleeves and produced a slip of paper. “The First Young Arrancars Squad is returning earlier than expected after successfully completing their mission. They should be passing through the outer water-drizzling forests of Lumencis by now. If they depart immediately, I believe they can reach the ‘Far Floating East’ in six days, with another two days to reach Glacolia.”

“Do you think she can survive until then?” The Demoness asked, her concern unmistakable.

“Half of the ‘Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath’ have already been slain, and the ‘Fairy Saint’ is currently tracking down the Divine Maiden. However, she is with the Second Young Arrancars Group. Fortunately, they’ve managed to maintain a significant distance from the Fairy Saint, so eight days should be enough.”

“Proceed as you see fit. Command the First Young Arrancar Squad to move to the Far Floating East.” Yue Mingkong Gu closed her eyes, issuing her orders. However, the anxiety hidden beneath her calm and indifferent exterior remained. 

The Great Tactician bowed his head and placed his hand within his sleeves as he retreated. “All hail the Great Demoness.”

‘An internal struggle within the Demonic Arrancar Clan, huh?’

Yue Mingkong Gu had anticipated such tensions to surface eventually. But she hadn’t expected it would happen so soon, especially before her direct descendant hadn’t fully matured.

She sighed as dense demonic energy swirled around her body, her jade-like fists clenching tightly. Being both the Demoness of the Demon Clan and the mother of a beautiful, yet troublesome, young lady was no easy task.

She hoped that the spirit of her late husband and the Demon God would help shoulder half the burden. 

Unclenching her fists, she let out a deep breath. For now, she had no choice but to endure a while longer.

— — — — — 

In a secluded antique fortress nestled within the craggy peak of a distant mountain—far from the Central Peak but not too far, and very well-hidden—rivers of cold, sluggish magma surrounded its ancient walls. Inside, within a room of considerable size and certain luxury, shadows wove a sinister tapestry, cast by the dim, flickering fluorescent magical beads. The atmosphere was thick with a faint hypnotic aura, seemingly born of musical rhythms and narcotics, tendrils of tension threading through the air as if it held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

A figure with two horns sat comfortably on a throne-like seat, shrouded in shadow. Indistinguishable, save for the outline of long, unkempt hair, she exhaled a white tendril of smoke from a long pipe in her right hand, her posture regal, almost queen-like. She listened leisurely to the haunting melody beyond the silken curtain, the soul instrumentalist’s song whispering like a forgotten past.

Across from her sat a raven-haired man with blue eyes, his features elegant yet weathered by age. His sharp, graceful face was lined with deep wrinkles, his long, dark-white beard flowing like a river of silver. With a practiced hand, he brought a mug of booze to his lips, savoring it deeply before speaking, his voice smooth as silk.

“Would the ‘Fairy Saint of the Central Holy Church suffice?”

From within the shrouded darkness, a feminine voice responded, soft yet laced with an unmistakable edge. “Whether the ‘Fairy Saint’ succeeds or fails is of no consequence. He acts at your command, not out of necessity.”

“But—” The old man’s voice sharpened as he shifted, clenching the mug tightly in frustration.

“Shh.” The figure’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. An unseen pressure bore down upon the old man, freezing him in place as if the very darkness itself had wrapped him in chains.

“Be at ease,” the voice continued, returning to its soft, almost mocking tone. “I have not forgotten the pact I made with the Great Families. What is the life of a mere ‘Divine Maiden’ to me? After all, sacrifices are meant to be made for a greater goal. Whether it’s a newborn baby, an old man, or those in between, they are but pawns. The true concern lies with the one who wields absolute power and influence, does it not?”

The old man’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the darkness, unable to discern any features beyond the long, unruly hair, horns, and ever-present smoke from the pipe. Yet, he knew that the power that sat on that throne belonged to one of the Twelve Arrancar Grandmasters of the Demonic Arrancar Clan—a being both revered and feared, cunning and unfathomable, rivaling even the Demon Lords and Demonic Generals scattered around Salamander at the very top of the hierarchy.

“Now,” the voice intoned, “present the item you have brought forth for our bargain.”

Reluctantly, the old man’s wrinkled hand reached into his sleeve, trembling slightly as he withdrew a small vial. The white liquid inside had a dark hue, swirling with otherworldly, malevolent energy.

“This is it,” the old man murmured, his voice carrying a trace of anxiety.

The figure’s eyes loomed closer, the darkness almost parting to reveal a glint of interest. “I see. So, this is the prized weapon you boast of? Are you certain of its potency?”

A twisted smile formed on the old man’s lips as he spoke with renewed confidence. “This poison is the very one that felled the ‘Godless Servant, a hero for humanity,’ the Heavenly Saintess, many years ago.”

The figure in the shadows remained silent for a moment, considering. “The Heavenly Saintess… She was indeed a formidable Disaster, enough to tremble the Heavens and cause the Holy Grail War. Yet, do you truly believe her to rival our Demoness?”

The old man’s voice grew fervent. “Listen well. This is no mere repetition of history. Since the Heavenly Saintess’s demise, I have spent ten long years refining this poison.”

The figure in the darkness extended her fingers, and dense tendrils of energy loomed through the air, taking the vial with ease. The old man felt a gut-wrenching premonition, now a certainty—the Arrancar in the shadows was beyond strong, capable of wielding “Energy Telekinesis” with terrifying ease. The figure glanced at the white liquid inside the vial, which seemed to swirl more violently at her touch.

“Very well.”

The old man gulped down the last of his booze, his eyes narrowed, his voice low and urgent. “I have upheld my end of the bargain. Do not forget yours.”

From the darkness, a cold smile seemed to form in the air. She took another long inhale from the pipe, exhaling with delight, creating a smoky, cloudy tendril. “Fear not. Help me ascend to the Throne of Demoness of the Demonic Arrancar Clan, secure my Clan’s future, and I shall uphold my promise.”

The hideout echoed with dark laughter, the two figures bound by their shared ambitions.

“Heh heh heh.”

“Ha ha ha.”

The haunting melody continued to play in the background.

— — — — —

A faint ripple echoed deep underground as a demonic mole scurried through the rigid earth. Its small, agile body navigated effortlessly through the tangled roots. It made a sharp turn, moving swiftly with purpose, sending vibrations that only an Arrancar could detect—yet its presence barely made a sound. 

The mole circled a few times around the water-drizzling forest, where large trees towered above a wide underbrush as if confirming its direction. Then, with sudden urgency, it zipped toward the eastern edge of the forest as though it had found something important.

At the eastern edge, a tranquil, crystal-clear river flowed gently. Clare Ederson, a half-breed Nin, was enjoying a peaceful swim away from the center where the First Arrancar Squad was stationed. 

Her green, flowing hair danced in the water around her as she moved with grace. Even her nine bushy tails were relaxed. But then, her drooped wet ears perked up at the faint vibration of something approaching from miles away beneath the ground. 

It was a familiar vibration—one she had been taught to recognize at the Institute of Arrancar. It was a Messenger Mole from the Demon Clan.

With a sigh, she emerged from the river, shaking her body vigorously from side to side, flinging water from her tails and head. She quickly wrapped her chest with a sarashi and secured her undergarments. Her movements were swift and practical. She then donned her robes and carefully packed her long green hair, leaving a few strands to fall across her forehead.

She wriggled her nine fluffy tails to shake off the remaining water droplets from their green, bushy fur.

By the time the mole reached the riverbank, Clare was fully dressed and waiting. She knelt down as the mole jolted out of the ground, her eyes softening as she gently fed it a handful of soybeans, caressing its soft, fluffy fur. Messenger Moles were quite friendly and obedient, perfect for delivering secret messages compared to the aerial demonic ravens. The mole nuzzled against her hand, and she smiled faintly as she retrieved a small circular box hidden within its fur. With delicate fingers, she opened the box and pulled out the letter inside.

"Gather the First Young Arrancar Squad," Clare shouted, her voice tinged with demonic energy. The sound reverberated through the water-drizzling forest, reaching every young Arrancar stationed within.

At the heart of the forest, her voice tingled the horns of all the young Arrancars. Scattered like ants, they immediately took off, their feet parting from the ground as they raced toward the familiar voice. They leaped from tree branches, and soon, the members of the First Young Arrancar Squad gathered around Clare, their faces lit with excitement.

They had completed their mission far ahead of schedule. They knew it was unlikely that the other squads could finish as quickly. The young Arrancars had been eagerly awaiting a message from the Clan. They wondered how they would be evaluated, what accomplishments they would be credited with, and if they would finally graduate from the Institute of Arrancars.

All eyes were focused on Clare as they gathered. But she only shook her head lightly and sighed.

"Hm. How unexpected..."

Her words puzzled the group. Zhan Ruyan, unable to contain his curiosity, spoke up. He had noticed the change in Clare's expression.

"Squad Leader, what did the Clan say?"

As a soft drizzle fell, Clare responded dismissively, "Head to Far Floating East. Act as reinforcements."

The mood instantly plummeted. Clare gazed up at the drizzling sky. There was still some time before the sun reached its peak. To meet the deadline mentioned in the letter, they would have to move quickly and without rest.

She looked around at the others, noting the injuries from their fight against the Five Purple Hobbits. Most were minor, but three of the young Arrancars had sustained serious trauma, though the poison had been removed. If they were forced to fight again, it could be their death.

Clare wasn’t willing to risk that.

"You three, return to the Clan with the heads of the Five Purple Hobbits," she ordered, instructing other young Arrancars to escort the injured back.

"Everybody else, get up. It’s time to move now." Her green eyes glinted with icy determination.