On Steel Wings

Disclaimer: I do not own Fate/Stay Night or High School DxD.

Prologue

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The winds whipped across the pale sands of the desert, rustling the pale and old-fashioned hide tents beneath the silvery moon and glittering stars of the dark night. The residents had long since retreated to their shelters, the sun leaving the sky a sign for their work to halt and it was time to eat and then rest for the next day's hard travel. Such was the way for those who travel in the sometimes inhospitable, and always unforgiving, world of sand.

But there was one family unit amongst these desert people that had not turned in yet.

A solid middle-aged man, with dusky skin and short black hair, laughed to himself softly as he watched his red-haired daughter play quietly with her giggling son, his eyes were creased with a smile and his neatly trimmed moustache and beard twitched in merriment.

"You know, daughter," he spoke humorously, a teasing glint entering his startling blue eyes reflected by the soft illumination of the lamps hanging within the tent's roof, "it is a fair while after the boy's bedtime. Perhaps you should lay him to rest rather than make him a giggling mess. The Lord knows that he has enough energy to run us into the ground on a good day," he huffed a laugh as he leaned back on the soft silken cushions that lined the tent floor, "I have no desire to see him on a bad day after a lack of sleep."

The long crimson haired woman glanced at her father with slight exasperation, her golden amber eyes glinting in the light in her dusky skinned features. Her face was what her people called 'peri-faced', soft curves and sharp angles blending together to create a visage almost unearthly in it's beauty, visible even behind the soft black veil she wore.

"You know why I have him up, Father," she responded with fond exasperation, going through the motions of an old argument that had long since been resolved but was still brought up in good humour.

"Indeed," he answered with a soft mutter, his face still amused, " I still sometimes think that He is an odd choice in paramours."

"That is an improvement on your first thoughts of Him," his daughter responded with a gentle smirk, unseen due to the veil and her return to entertaining her son.

"Quite," he mused to himself, remembering the extreme dislike he held for his daughter's lover/semi-husband after meeting him for the first time. Probably because he had walked in on them during an intimate moment. It had been further enhanced by the revelation of what and who he was.

His hands had been itching toward the sword at his waist, an odd thing to wear in these modern times unless you knew the Truth, every time He had entered his line of sight or his name was dropped in idle conversation among some of the more devout in the troupe.

Still, he had eventually given a grudging approval to the match between the two after several years of knowing him and seeing how he treated his precious daughter. This approval slowly gained respect in the face of His prowess as a warrior, sheer power, intelligence and steadfast loyalty to her. The final event that let him release his dislike of Him was the birth of his daughter's son, especially in the face of her somewhat reduced fertility due to a childhood illness.

He and his beautiful daughter had given him the most precious gift he could ever desire. No wealth of any form, no fame to any extent, no knowledge of great rarity nor power in any shape, could equal the feeling he had when he held his grandson for the first time after the laborious birth. His blue eyes shone as they met the infantile golden for the first time and the man somehow Knew that this boy, his grandson, would change the world. He would be a warrior born, the likes not seen in his homeland since the Old Times. The time of the Shahs, when the hero Rostam still rode or the likes of Esfandiyar still lived.

He had become good friends with his daughter's lover after that. Even if His laid back and lazy attitude annoyed the generally serious, in public, man.

The gleam of a magical circle forming in a corner of the large tent returned the man's attention to the present, his daughter halting the tickle game with her five year old son as she gazed with longing anticipation at the pale blue sigil.

"Finally," the father of the girl smiled, "it took him long enough to arrive. You would think that with the ability to teleport he would be a bit quicker."

"You try dealing with a committee and see how long it takes to get things done," the magically appearing being grunted slightly as he appeared out of the circle, which disappeared as quickly as it appeared, "I got out of the meeting only five minutes ago."

The being was slightly taller than the average man at six foot two inches with a deceptively slim build hidden beneath the Japanese-style robes (the father wasn't quite sure of the appropriate name for them) and soft sandals. His hair was scruffy, as if he had just gotten out of bed, and jet black, except for a series of golden bangs. His eyes, a calm hazel, glinted with a mixture of intelligence and mischief that hid the pure steel they could bring to bear if angered enough.

"Beloved," his daughter spoke softly, her eyes a melting amber as they gazed upon the being that had captured her heart.

"Abal," he returned, just as softly, striding across the tent before wrapping her in a gentle embrace, ignoring the amused man as he watched on, not minding the breaking of traditional family protocols. He generally treated them as guidelines rather than strict rules anyway.

A tugging on his robe drew the golden banged man's attention away from his lover and to the young child at her side.

"Hey there, little man," the man said softly with strong affection as he ruffled the boy's hair, more vibrant than even his mother's, "Have you been good for your mother?"

"Yes, Papa" the child spoke with a slightly serious look that was ruined by his childish features, "I did all my lessons and helped Mother."

"That is my little Salil," the man said with pride, reaching down and lifting his now squirming son onto his shoulder with an ease that belied his apparent size.

The middle aged man decided to interrupt the little family moment before it got too involved and he was totally forgotten.

"It is good to see you again, Azazel" the man said as he approached his daughter's chosen.

A warrior's handclasp between the two men was exchanged before the now identified Azazel responded to the taller and broader father of his beloved Abal.

"And it good to see you as well, Hyder" Azazel smirked as he gently urged his family to take a seat next to him as they all rested on the cushioned floor of the relatively opulent tent after he put down his son. Azazel eyes wandered over the sheathed sword that hung at the side of Hyder's waist, "still holding onto that old thing I see."

Hyder chuffed a laugh as he patted the sword that had been in the possession of his family for a number of generations, the bejewelled green studs glinting in the light of the lamps, "And I will continue to hold it until my grandson can take it up."

Azazel raised an eyebrow at Hyder, "I thought the sword chose it's own wielder?" he queried in some surprise.

Hyder chuckled again, "You named my grandson quite appropriately. The sword sings to him, even as I hold it."

Azazel smiled with pride, having a son who could wield that sword properly, instead of being a placeholder like some of the men in his heritage, was quite an accomplishment.

"Do you mind if I release my wings?" Azazel asked, "keeping them hidden is somewhat burdensome and the meeting was long."

A wave of hand in dismissive permission had the leader of the Grigori sigh in relief as he seemed to wrap himself, along with his lover and their son, in a cloud of black feathers, obscuring from Hyder's view for a moment, before the feather cloud slowly vanished revealing the abyss black feathered wings, all twelve of them, to all within.

"That's better," Azazel groaned in relief as he rolled his shoulders, his wings stretching out and loosening up after being hidden away. A soft stroking of his wings made him look at his mate with a slight relaxed smirk, Abal knowing exactly where to stroke to both relax him and satisfy her own fascination of the avian accessories, something that hadn't faded since the day he had met her.

"Given how much you like these," Azazel smirked as he flicked his upper wings, "I'm surprised you haven't sought to be an angel to get some yourself. You like these almost more than you love me."

"My place is at your side," Abal said softly, but firmly, even as she continued her relaxed stroking as she leant into his side a bit more, "no matter what, I am yours and you are mine. Paltry gifts such as those of wings, power and longevity mean nothing."

A slight tickling of his wings on his opposite side drew his slightly blushing face to his son, who was reaching out to gently touch the feathers, his expression curious as his golden eyes gleamed. The Grigori member smiled slightly at his son before his expression changed to a slight frown.

Gently extending his uppermost wing, he manipulated it so that the tip of it tapped gently on the brow of the slightly awed child, "Sleep," the Leader of the Fallen gently sub-vocalised, careful to not let his child hear. His son, even as young as he was, knew something was strange as his body felt heavy and tired so suddenly, he tried to fight and almost succeeded in pushing back the comforting darkness. The second pulse of power from Azazel finished him off though.

The father gently caught his son in his lower wings and brought him to his chest and held him there for a moment.

"Something serious must have happened," Hyder said, his eyes narrowed and face serious, "you have been away for several months and you put your son to sleep after barely a greeting and you aren't falling all over yourself to spend time with my daughter."

The Fallen gently handed off his son to his now slightly apprehensive lover, and he couldn't hate this whole debacle more than that moment. Nothing should put fear into his beloved's features.

Not while he was alive.

"Lay him down to sleep," Azazel said softly to Abal, "and get some sleep yourself, it is going to be long talk."

Golden met hazel in a battle of wills. Abal disliked being thought of as a delicate china doll, something that, while having a modicum of truth in that she was not a true warrior, made her feel insignificant. Unworthy of being by her beloved's side. It was something her love assured her wasn't true, but it still rankled her.

Her partner, her heart, tried to protect her and their child by keeping them away from anything thing, information or otherwise, that could give cause for some part of another Faction to come after them. It didn't always work, given her insistence in being part of his life, the good and the bad, and the fact that her father was a fairly influential person among the various Factions.

Just like any true wielder of that sword was.

In either case, ignorance wasn't bliss to her. She would be part of Azazel's life, all of it, because she was his, and he was hers. It was all more important, now, that she knew what was happening because she had to protect her son, her little Salil.

Against Heaven and the Underworld itself, she would protect her son. She couldn't call herself a mother if she did not.

Azazel must have picked up on the unrelenting determination, as he sighed slightly and broke contact with her eyes, "Fine. Just put him to bed. Come join us when he is settled."

Inwardly filled with a calm sense of victory, she merely nodded her head before moving off deeper into the tent, her precious child in her deceptively delicate arms.

Azazel watched her go with a wry smile, "Stubborn woman, almost nothing can budge her when she makes up her mind."

"But you like her like that," Hyder smirked, "after all, if it hadn't been for that stubbornness, she would have left you when I practically ordered her to do so."

"I suppose I can be grateful for it, just this once," sighed the former Angel.

"Now," Hyder spoke gruffly, his face intent and serious, the mark of a leader and warrior, "enough of the dancing around. What has happened?"

Azazel seemed to age where he sat at the question. For winged man who looked to be in his twenties, he suddenly seemed to have every year he has lived, millennia in fact, to be etched on his slumped body, making him seem to carry a great weight.

"How much do you know about the Civil War amongst the Devils?" inquired Azazel tiredly.

"Pretty much the basics," the Middle-Eastern answered, slightly puzzled, "Descendants of the original Maou wished to keep the war between the Factions going and some of the other families want to pull back and recover, tired of the endless and pointless fighting. Why are you asking? That event was over centuries ago."

Azazel raked his hand through his hair, his wings ruffling in agitation, "For the most part, the battle was over. Unfortunately, a few of the descendants managed to slip through the cracks after the whole bloody dispute ended. They went into hiding, recovering their strength and acquiring more. But they still have the desire, the wish, the hunger to destroy the other Factions and those they deem as traitors to their heritage."

"Okay," the black-haired human drawled, "that is slightly concerning," Hyder sighed in annoyance, looking at the floor of the tent, "the Devils never seem to get anything right and leave the rest of us to clean up their messes."

Azazel grunted in agreement and continued, "The Old Maou or Satan Faction has recently begun to move. Quietly, stealthily. Doing little things that won't draw much attention but serve their goals, immediate or long-ranging.

"And a new war between the Three Abrahamic Factions would be perfect for them."

Hyder paled slightly. He had heard stories of the Great War. Villages, towns, cities, countries. All of these and more had been razed and destroyed as a side-effect of the ongoing battle. The atrocities committed, or let pass, by all sides were beyond heinous. All so that one side or another could win an engagement. Mountains were reduced to rubble, islands sunk, forests burned to ash, even seas became nothing more than large pits of dry sand.

And the humans, his own race, his people, could do naught but suffer through it, too weak to clash against these beings of, to them, colossal power. Even with the rare event of a Sacred Gear user appearing, they were only the smallest of handfuls amongst the sea of millions, maybe even billions. They couldn't be everywhere and even if one was present, there was no guarantee that they would be skilled enough, strong enough, to make difference. Many of those who thought they were... had become a dish for the crows, along with those they tried to protect.

Hyder would do much, dare much, sacrifice much, to ensure such a thing did not happen again.

"How bad is it?" Hyder croaked, a warrior he may be, and a powerful one, but even the best of warriors fears war. Especially if they have something to lose. Like family.

Azazel was quiet for a moment, tired eyes examining his almost-father-in-law closely. The Fallen knew of Hyder's reputation, Hell, who didn't, but he wasn't sure what the old warrior would do if he gave the information out. Humans were never the most rational of species.

"The Grigori managed to catch one of their upper-level spies about a month ago. He was a disciplined, well trained fanatic. The majority of his interrogation consisted of mainly listening to his foul invectives directed towards our ancestry. Attempts to [Mind Delve] or other such spells revealed nothing due to defences placed by a third party that would erase the devil's mind before any information could be obtained."

Hyder's bushy brows beetled for a moment in slight confusion, "Why not have complete suicide conditioning?"

Azazel scowled heavily, "If the prisoner had just died, or was killed in some fashion, we would be able to contain some of the residual power left by his death and magically scan through it in order to obtain various memories and experiences. Remember, it is the soul that holds the memories and the soul lingers even after death. With this defence, it is effectively reformatting, to use a technological term, the soul, making it a blank slate, if it was triggered. The real kicker is that it could be triggered remotely and that actually killing him would simultaneously set it off.

"We found that out when a surge of magic, hidden in his body, exploded like a bomb mid-questioning. That killed around ten personnel, injured twice that and leveled the entire west wing of the Holding Centre. Luckily, none of the prisoners were able to escape in the confusion."

"Ruthless," Hyder breathed in shock.

"What do you expect?" Azazel retorted simply, as if stating a fact, "Still, we were just able to get something from him before he went boom. Wading through all the cursing and snarling and rampant aggression, we managed get the idea that his patrons wanted him to find something. Or rather someone."

Hyder looked at Azazel, his eyes blue eyes narrowed and as hard as stone, as his mind raced desperately to put all the pieces together.

The Arabian man knew the Satan Faction wanted the War to restart but also thought that the Descendants were not stupid enough to throw the first punch that could possibly lead to a two on one fight, Angels and Fallen against the Devils, that he knew the Devils would not win. No, they needed something more subtle, more sneaky, something that would draw both Factions of Angels to seemingly throw the first strike. With a first strike by the other Factions witnessed by the normal Devil populace, the calls for war would be heard, loud and clear, throughout the Underworld.

And the current Satans would be forced to acquiescence or risk complete revolt and annihilation from the other Factions because of a lack of cohesive and directed defence, effectively bringing the original Satan regime, and their ideals, such as they are, back into power.

Which left he million dollar question; What could they do to make that happen?

The green gems on his sword seemed to gleam as Hyder's thoughts went deeper.

It would need to be demoralising, something that would devastate the minds and souls of the other Faction leaders, something so reprehensible that nothing but rage and vengeance would cloud their minds. Instil a drive, deep and strong, to utterly destroy those who had harmed what... was... theirs...

...

The answer came to Hyder like a bolt from the blue, a startling revelation, something that he hoped desperately was incorrect.

"Please," Hyder asked with a growl, his normally dusky skin almost chalk white in rage, his voice wavering in shock and fear and terrible anger, his grip on the hilt of the sword at his side so firm it was rattling quietly in the sheath, "please tell me that they aren't focusing on the children or the heirs."

It made a terrible kind of sense to the sword-wielding Arab. The current Satans, Lucifer and Leviathan especially, were very family oriented and extremely protective of their younger siblings, more than willing to go so far as to completely eliminate a whole tribe or even a Pillar in order to protect them.

There were also the smallest of whispers that Michael, the current God, had a daughter somewhere in the world, probably in Heaven. He was known as being protective of his comrades during the Great War, second only to his loyalty to The Lord. With the death of The Lord, his protective nature was now his primary trait.

And Azazel...

Well, Hyder had no pity for the fools who tried. They would have earned death, by either his blade or his sort-of-son-in-law's.

Hyder could see how it could go. Quiet assassinations of the children, a little bit of planted evidence leading to both of the other Factions like they were working in concert, leaked intelligence of a weak spot in the Devil's defences, conveniently where either the Sitri or Gremory heiress was.

It was a masterful plan and a massive cock up waiting to happen.

That is, provided, that his guess was accurate.

A grim nod from the oddly scowling visage of the Governor General was the final nail in the coffin.

"Fuck," Hyder hissed as he violently stood and began to restlessly pace, his mind moving fast as he sought what solutions he could find.

Azazel began talking again, Hyder listening with half an ear as he kept pacing and thinking furiously, "We don't know much more than what I told you. The rest is all conjecture and theories. But I can assure you of one thing, where there was one spy, there will always be another. You can bet they know we had the little bastard, as shown by his explosive death, and they will take precautions, perhaps even acting before we can prepare a possible counter to their schemes."

"How many know of our existence?" Hyder growled as he continued his walk to and fro. It was an important question. His grandson's and daughter's life were in danger if they were discovered by the wrong people. He may be a warrior, and a damned good one, but he was getting on in years, no longer having the youthful vigour he once had, something that was needed against beings that, at their weakest, could exceed a human's abilities several times over. Skill could even the playing field, or even grant him the advantage, but that could only go so far.

Also, his daughter was not a warrior. Oh, she could defend herself easily enough, but that was only against more human threats rather than supernatural. That said, she would fight like a lioness when it came to protecting her child. Even if it took her life to do so. Something that was likely considering the sheer ruthlessness of the Satan Faction.

His grandson's abilities, whatever they may be, were also not awakened yet, and would remain so unless Azazel chose to unlock them. If he had been born a pure Fallen Angel, his abilities would have been already unlocked at birth. But, with those of mixed blood, certain precautions had to be taken, allowing the body of the child to adapt to the mixed nature of their mind, body and soul. In the past, children of such lineage sometimes went mad due to the clashing of human and Fallen natures and went on a rampage, their powers running rampant, causing death and destruction wherever they went, until either their body couldn't handle it and shut down, causing their death, or were killed in turn by others protecting themselves.

The existence of such beings, and their resulting actions, was one of the main reasons that The Lord had sent the Great Flood.

Thankfully, over the years, a solution was found. By slowly releasing their power in small steps, instead of all at once, it allowed the child to find an equilibrium between their conflicting natures before steadying themselves to allow them to handle more power. This process was slowly repeated until their complete power was unlocked and balanced by their natures. This process generally started between six or seven years old. Young enough for the bodies to be able to adapt to the use of the Light that was the Fallen Angel's power, but old enough to have a sense of self so that their humanity wasn't wiped away thus causing an imbalance which would then cascade to madness.

Salil was a somewhat difficult case. Unlocking a portion of his power, at this stage, was still dangerous, despite him almost being old enough and mentally strong enough. As a half-breed of the strongest of the Fallen, Azazel himself, he had an immense amount of power buried deep inside him that had yet to synchronize with his body, mind and soul through the unlocking ritual. So much that even now, at a mere five years old and Unawakened, his raw power feathered the border between a regular two or four winged Fallen. Something that was much more than an average pure-born equivalent. And it wasn't just the amount of power he had.

It was the potency.

If a regular Fallen's power could be compared to light beer in quality, then Salil's was just a few steps shy of.

As a result, because of the combination, it was still too dangerous to release Salil's power. If it was done now, his body had nine in ten chance of ripping itself apart, even if it was only partially unlocked. The power would just be too much for Salil's partially mortal body to handle.

This, thus, rendered the child as little more than a well trained five year old mortal boy child. Far from a threat to a mature and trained Devil assassin.

"Only two others," Azazel responded to the man's question, bringing the Arab back to the present, "Shemhazai and Baraquiel. I would trust them both with my heart and soul."

"You may just have," Hyder said darkly, his brows beetled and lips pursed in discontent. He had heard of both from various rumours and from the Grigori leader's own lips but had yet to meet them to form an opinion of them. Right now he couldn't take chances with the safety of his family.

Azazel grunted in understanding before he looked puzzled a moment and looked towards the rear of the tent, "Abal should be back by now," he commented, drawing the swordsman to a stop as Hyder's own thoughts caught up with him, attempting to divine how long they had been talking.

A quick mental calculation sent a chill down his spine.

Over fifteen minutes had passed in frenzied discussion. Far too long for Abal to settle an already resting child and not return.

Hyder was moving into the depths of the tent even as Azazel fell into step beside him, both of the men sharing the same dreadful thoughts.

Unceremoniously, Hyder tore down the cloth that separated the sleeping quarters of the mother and child from the main area of the tent, a brilliant blue crackle of dry lightning rushing across it indicating a broken spell, whilst Azazel stood slightly behind him, a Light Spear at the ready.

Whatever nightmare their minds could have conjured, was nothing compared to the harsh reality before them.

Abal lay bleeding on the floor of the tent, her limbs torn off and body mauled as if by an animal, as her breath gasped out, already on it's last legs. Her face was pale and untouched even as her hair mixed with her spilled blood, a formless merging of crimson.

The culprits, all three of them, were also there, frozen still in surprise as they were just about to leave the tent through a hole sliced in the fabric, with little Salil, still asleep and wrapped in a bundle, in tow.

Both sides were frozen for a moment, the air itself became still, awaiting the violence to come.

Hyder roared in anger, his sword swiftly coming to hand as he burst towards those who had most probably killed his daughter. His sword, old and powerful, responded to his righteous rage by burning with a blue-white light, an indication of a Holy Sword. A True Holy Sword.

"Abal!" Azazel shouted in grief, his movements, swift and panicked, bringing him to her side, sliding on his knees before her torn body, the sound of combat ignored by the grief-stricken Fallen. Frantically, he attempted to heal her but knew, deep in his sorrowful heart, that he would be unable to.

"Be-beloved?" his rose choked out in question.

"I am here," he whispered back, trying to staunch the bleeding and place her organ back in the body. The bastards had done as much damage as they could. "I am here, my beautiful rose, just- just hold on."

Azazel could only watch helplessly as his beloved began to fade. There was just too much damage for his meagre skills to heal. If he had more time, if it had happened elsewhere, if the injuries were less serious, she could be healed.

A flicker of inspiration ran through his agile mind, pushing aside his grief for a moment, and lighting a spark of hope within his breast.

He only hoped it worked.

He kept ignoring the battle, even when one of the assailants had fallen and begun to disintegrate into golden sparkles, evidence of a Devil meeting their end by Holy Sword, and reached into the pocket of his coat, withdrawing a large clear oblong blue prism about the size of his hand.

"Sleep," he spoke to his grievously injured lover, his voice a soft croon of comfort even as the battle raged, the rest of the camp now at arms fighting alongside their leader, Hyder. The Devils, however, seemed to have a reserve force that now played havoc amongst the mortals in addition to the trio of bastards.

As his paramour drifted to an uneasy sleep, Azazel didn't waste time. Pointing one end of the crystalline tool at the almost defiled body of his love, he channeled an immense amount of power into it, making it glow a royal purple. Brighter and brighter in glowed as the Fallen forced more of his power into it, before it looked like he was holding a small sun shedding purple light. Finally, it seemed to reach a peak in it's power and a pencil-thin beam of power shot out and struck the sleeping form of the injured Abal.

Abal glowed the same colour as the light, including her detached limbs, before they slowly began to change. From blood, flesh and bone, everything that made up Abal, shifted in form, becoming seemingly glowing energy constructs, even the blood and gore strewn about the floor. If this was any other time, for any other reason, it would have been beautiful.

Azazel was just hoping that this desperate plan would work.

Feeling out for the link the crystal made from his power, Azazel began to draw the flesh turned energy toward the crystal. The constructs floated slowly toward him, slowly shrinking as they did so. By the time they were within a foot of the crystal, they were small enough to fight in the palm of his hand. They floated there a moment before beginning to rotate around his crystal filled hand. Faster and faster they spun until they were naught but a blur, the rotation bringing them in tighter and tighter. With a last pull of his significant power, Azazel sealed the energy within the crystal with a blinding flash.

Azazel watched with a sort of relief as the crystal slowly begin to dim, the light fading with the final flash, before it returned to it's initial appearance as a clear blue crystal prism.

Except for one thing.

Inside the prism, there laid a small female figure, like a doll, with red hair and dusky skin. Her eyes were closed, as if in sleep.

It looked exactly like Abal.

With great care and reverence, Azazel stored the now occupied crystal into his storage space. It would not do for his successful plan, made by the seat of his pants and on the fly, to come undone due to carelessness.

Once that was done, he retuned his senses for the battle. It was easily heard and seen. Great fires, claps of thunder, huge energy discharges, roars of anger and screams of the dying mingled with clangs of metal.

It was the chaos of battle.

Azazel face twisted inhumanly in rage and anger, his wings extending fully, making him look like some bloodthirsty monster.

Many would be correct in that assessment.

"Death," he hissed to himself as he crouched slightly, his muscles coiling for explosive movement, like a great cat about to pounce on it's helpless prey, "may not have been my domain under The Lord, but these fools will feel my wrath and beg for it before I'm done with them."

With all his strength, he leapt into the air, his wings beating like a powerful drum of war as they carried him aloft. His hazel eyes almost red with rage as they sought out the filth that had dared to attack what was his with deadly intent.

Devils, beware, for your death comes on swift wings.

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Some time previously

Hyder roared as he leapt towards his foes. His True Holy Sword glowing brightly, like a sun's ray rather than a mortal blade, as he fed his own power, his own will, into it.

The devils collectively froze for but a moment when he unsheathed his blade, their instincts and fear of such blades halting their movements. Perfect.

The warrior quickly closed the distance, old instincts of battle coming to the fore, and slashed the leading devil, a purple haired pretty boy, with a blow that could have cleft him in twain from shoulder to hip.

The devil fell with a gurgling death cry to the floor, the Arab giving him a good kick to send him to the side for good measure. Unfortunately for Hyder, this snapped the other two out of their mesmeric fear of the Holy Sword. Before Hyder could strike again, the others' wings, bat-like and foul, appeared and flapped furiously, getting them out of reach of the frightening old man with the terrible sword. They had done what they needed to do and had the package they needed to deliver wrapped in a blanket over one of their shoulders. They didn't need to stick around and face such a dangerous enemy, they were assassins not warriors.
Unfortunately for them, someone wasn't willing to let them go unscathed.

"Get back here, you fucking Devils!" Hyder roared as he chased after the swift flying forms of the filth that had no doubt killed his daughter and kidnapped his grandson. He couldn't help his daughter now, she was in the lap of the divine, but he would be damned if he could not help his grandson.

The camp began to stir quickly, the men of the community swiftly appearing, armed to the teeth with weapons, ancient and modern, mystical and mortal. The quickly saw the situation and responded accordingly. They would not let one of their own be taken by the beasts

"Alalalalalalalalala!" they all yelled in a cry for blood, chasing after the pursuing grandfather and their leader. The few archers and snipers amongst them held back and took careful aim at the fleeing Devils. The filth were fast, but they could still be brought down before they reached the edge of the mystical protections placed around the camp, which prevented them from being able to teleport out.

Swiiiiip!
Crack!
Crack!

A volley of arrows and bullets leapt towards their targets, hungry hawks chasing fiendish doves.

The arrow was carefully aimed at the low flying Devil that held the child, aiming not to kill, but to incapacitate.

And what better way to ground a Devil, than to rip off their wings.

Red gore filled the air as the Devil cried out in pain when the blessed arrow struck true, the right wing ceasing to exist as the arrow passed through the flesh and bone that attached it to the body. The devil fell into a spiral, his flight now uncontrolled, before hitting the ground face first with a jarring thud, the miraculously still sleeping child being thrown from his back. The devil groaned in pain as it carefully stood, fighting instincts telling him to rise and ready himself, if he wanted to live.

The second devil was lucky, only one of the bullets hitting him with barely a graze. However, he was forced to swoop down himself in order to retrieve the targeted child that his companion had lost hold of. His intentions were to grab the brat and leave his companion to rot.

His pursuers were firmly against that idea.

Before he could come within grasping distance of the still sleeping child, his left ankle burned and boiled, causing him to scream wildly, before he was pulled by the aforementioned limb to the ground, his face burying itself in the deep sands. The devil lay there a moment, trying to get his bearings, before his instincts screamed.

A wild push of his arms and swift roll to the side, bringing him to his feet, even if one was barely able to touch the ground without blinding pain shooting up his leg, was all that saved his life. He quickly turned to face his attacker.

Hyder grimaced slightly as he withdrew the chain he had used the to ground the devil, letting it retreat back into the hilt of the sword, leaving only the hollow pommel stone to be seen, the four jewels that were embedded on the outside edge of the pommel caught the moonlight briefly as he did so. If he had been a fraction faster, like he was in in his youth, the foul being would have been dead from that chain lash.

Oh well. It just meant he could beat the shit out of it more.

"You damned human," the devil growled, eyes glowing a burning crimson in his rage at being hurt by a, to him, lower being and got into a fighting stance, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get into to the air to avoid the human before he was cut down, "you will pay dearly for this."

"Spare me the bravado and indignation," Hyder scoffed as he strode toward the devil, sword at the ready, "you came uninvited into my camp, killed my daughter, tried to kidnap my grandson and you have the utter gall to believe you did not deserve this!?" Hyder's face at this point was scarlet in anger and rage, the raw power of the sword in his hand responded to his rage, flaring brightly with power, making the devil cringe heavily. Hyder took advantage of it, blurring forward into the face of his adversary.

The cheers of his people along with a devil's dying screams were heard by Hyder, even in his towering rage. The other devil had been killed. Good.

"Join your foul brethren," the leader of the caravan hissed darkly as he came within striking distance of the sole remaining and disabled devil. His sword, his Holy Sword, rising to deliver the death blow.

BOOOOOOM!
ROARRRRRR!
ARGGGGHH!

A massive concussive force sent Hyder and the devil flying away from each other, the devil landing closer to the still out of it Salil.

Hyder twisted to look at the source of the explosion and paled heavily.

Three massive beings, each between approximately ten and twelve metres tall, each with three massive canine like heads that drooled fire from their open jaws. Their crimson eyes all looked upon the group of human warriors before them with a bestial hunger.

Cerberus. These bastards had Cerberus reinforcements?!

"Fuck!" snarled Hyder, as he watched the Guard Dogs of Hell wreak havoc among his people.

A small chuckle returned his angered focus to the devil. His anger (and fear) doubled as he saw that the bastard had a hold of his grandson.

"It's been fun, human" the bastard chuckled smugly, slowly rising into the air, knowing the human would not attack when he had his claws at the brat's throat, "but I have more important duties to attend to. Ta-ta."

The devil started floating backwards, his eyes locked on the troubled for of Hyder, ready for any attempt at retaliation from the human. So intent was he on the human, he never saw the attack coming from behind.

SPLUUURRRRCH!

The devil froze in pain and surprise, even as his blood and bone started to boil. He coughed slightly as he looked down at his chest, seeing the blade of a crimson light spear protruding from it. A rasping growl filled his sensitive ears as he stared blankly at the weapon.

"That was Abal, you piece of bat shit," growled the angry Fallen, before ripping the weapon out harshly, grabbing his son and violently kicking the devil back to the ground. He would not be getting up again.

Azazel stared angrily at the devil who had come close, far too close, to killing his heart as he began to float down to Hyder, his son in his arms.

"Took you long enough," Hyder growled, his face flushed and now panting heavily, his old body not used to channeling the amount of power he had used for a long time. It had also been a very long time since he had pushed his body to the limits as he had tonight. Now that the adrenaline and rage had worn off, he was now feeling the ache.

"Excuse me if I was focused on saving your daughter first, rather than taking vengeance," Azazel snapped back, his words belied by the gentle grip on his son.

Hyder's eyes widened slightly in surprise before seeming to collapse in relief, "She is still alive then?" he asked hopefully.

Azazel was about to respond when more roars and pained screams split the air, "I'll tell you later," Azazel frowned, pushing the miraculously reposed body of his son into the Arab's arms, "take care of him until I get back. Your people need some help to get rid of the mutts and your not really in good shape."

"Hnn," Hyder grunted in annoyance as he held his grandson, "the side effects of growing old, not that you really know of them."

Azazel didn't respond, simply launching himself into the sky and making bee-line for the massive hounds, his bloodthirsty anger not yet quenched.

Hyder merely watched him go as he parked himself on his ass in the sand, rocking Salil all the while.

"Give them hell, boya" he mumbled to himself as he relaxed.

This was a fatal mistake.

Hyder felt his instincts howled wildly, telling him to move, but he was ill positioned to do so, seated on the ground and with his grandson to protect. Hyder did the only thing he could do.

He blocked the attack.

His body twisted around, sword parallel to the ground in front of him, as he held the Holy Sword before him from the attack from behind. A massive swirling ball of dark power, screeching wildly, interlaced with threads of gold, bore down on the human wielder and his charge. Hyder had barely time to brace himself as the ball of power struck the blade.

Hyder immediately felt like he had been hit by a truck going full speed on a highway. Nevertheless, he braced his body with the Holy power of the sword, making himself stronger, more durable. The two powers, one bright blue and the other black and gold, struggled mightily against each other, putting their full force into it.

Hyder sweated heavily as he tried to push it back, but was unable to. It was an uphill battle of monumental proportions just to keep it from himself and Salil.

While the struggle raged, Salil slowly began to stir, a flash of silver running across his body for a moment.

Hyder's teeth gritted in desperation. His arms felt like noodles and his body a pressure cooker but he still held it back through sheer determination. Then he heard something that made him pale in disbelief.

CRACK!

Hyder's looked at the Holy Sword in disbelief. A nigh indestructible sword of The Lord, was being cracked. Bright light flashed from the cracked blade, even as he still kept the malevolent ball of power at bay.

SCREEEEEECH!
CRACK! CRACK! CR-CRACK!

Disbelief warred with horror as more cracks appeared, light of many colours beaming from within them, as if the blade contained a sun inside. Thankfully, the ball of power began to slowly reduce in power. It would be a race against time to see whether the sword would break first, or if the ball of power would run out of the magic that fueled it.

The stalemate went on for a few more moments. The sound of cracking steel and quietening screeching was heard in desert, but too silent be heard over the ongoing battle between the hounds and Azazel. It was obvious to Hyder that those hounds were a breed apart from the regular dogs, especially if they could prevent themselves being torn apart in an instant by the enraged Fallen, unlike their brethren.

Finally the stalemate finished.

SCREEEEeeeeech-cha.
CRACK! Crack! Shatter!

The ball of power was successfully stopped, but at great cost.

The Holy Sword, forged by The Lord himself, lay broken before it's stunned wielder. Smashed into several parts, each of them releasing a rainbow aura that slowly began to dissipate. The exhausted Hyder was beyond thought at seeing the impossible done before him.

Crunch, crunch.

The Arabian man stirred himself from his stupor, holding his grandson close, as the figure who had obviously cast that ball of power approached.

The monster, because what else could he be, came easily up to the kneeling family, unconcerned about any possible reprisals from the human. He, very much a he, was clad in a light-drinking black trenchcoat and black jeans. Black boots with golden tabs adorned his feet, matching the button up shirt he wore beneath the coat. His skin was white, slightly paler than normal, that stood out against the black and gold short hair that adorned his tall head. His eerie heterochromatic eyes, coloured gold and black, peered predatorily down at them.

"Impressive," the monster rumbled, his voice deep, confident and filled with power, " I was expecting for my power to destroy you, not be halted by a Holy Sword."

The monster ignored the two before him as he examined the broken pieces of the sword with a critical eye. A moment passed, Hyder keeping quiet as he attempted to find a way out of this predicament. Trying and failing.

The monster snorted in annoyance, "A pity. I can't identify it as it is now. I would have loved to have known what could possibly have halted even a fraction of my power."

His terrible eyes returned once more to them, "but it should be known, nothing can beat a Dragon."

Hyder's eyes widen as another ball of power, screeching quietly due to the smaller size, formed in the outstretched hand of the monster, pointed directly at them.

Hyder's last thoughts was the hope that Salil would survive.

BOOOOM!

The monster stared at the point of impact of his power, his hair flaring around him from the shockwave. A crater the size of a house stood where the human and the half-breed had been prostrated was created within the desert sands, like a giant hand had scooped out the area, leaving only a hole where it had been.

The monster grunted in satisfaction before turning on his heel and ambling away, his task accomplished. As he strode, a silhouette of a massive dragon could have been seen enveloping his figure, before it slowly faded from existence, taking the monster with it.

Frantic flapping of feathered wings was heard a few moments later, a blood drenched Governor of the Fallen Angels appearing at the crater's edge.

"Hyder?!" he roared in panic, having felt the disappearance of the warrior human's energy, however small it was, along with his son's, "where are you?! Come out!"

A few more yells and desperate calls yielded nothing to the Fallen. His calls became weaker, came less often, as he looked and looked and listened and listened.

It was as the dawn came, that Azazel finally gave up, sinking to his knees in the pale sand.

It was not the cockerel's cry that greeted the dawn that day, but the howl of an anguished man.

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Dimensional Gap
After the monster's attack

Hyder had thought that when the monster's power had struck his defenceless form, he would be greeted by either oblivion, the Realm of the Dead or perhaps Heaven.

The great pain that struck him as he looked into a kaleidoscopic sky disabused him of that notion.

'The Dimensional Gap!'

He realised the danger he was in instantly, along with his grandson. He was already dead, he knew that, as his mental processes were already beginning to scramble just from the brief glimpse of the madness inducing terrain, but his grandson, who had an enormous amount of magical power and had yet to look upon the coruscating rainbow madness of the realm, had a chance at survival, no matter how slim.

Unnoticed around him, the various shards of his broken blade began to glow a pale silver, the same colour as the young Salil. They kept throbbing, pulsing, until they were in synch, before, with a flash that drew even the muddled and dying Arabian man's attention, they disappeared. The silver pulsing of young Salil doubled in intensity for a moment before stopping and vanishing.

H##d#r stared at the young ##li# for a moment, before focusing once more on e###pin#.

His ###s wandered around, looking for hop#.

He saw something. a ##### of moving colo#rs, like the G## but more alive, coming towards them, or maybe just passing by.

'###nce. ##pe. Saf#.'

The love of family is a powerful thing, able to breach the realms of logic and law, chaos and disorder. In this case, an old, wounded and dying man, his mind no longer able to reason and think, his body slowly being crushed by the sheer power within the Gap, was able to process enough thought, against any logic and conventional law, to understand that this moving morass of colour may be able to save the life of his precious grandson.

With the last ounce of his depleted strength, the body that once housed the soul of Hyder, threw his grandson towards that moving swirl of colour, so like the Gap, but entirely different.

The empty body, watched blankly as the small form of Salil was engulfed by the swirl as it shot by, taking the child with it to a destination unknown.

The torn soul of H#de# watched in relief as his #####son was saved.

'Live. Fi##t. Sur###e.' H#### thought, 'Return. Salil.'

With this final thought, so passed Hyder, Lion of the Sands, Wielder of Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegar.

With a smile on his face.

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Fuyuki City
Different Dimension

The fires of the city raged, reaching hungrily for more victims, despite already devouring many in order to sate their mindless hunger.

Even the figure of a small boy appearing in a rainbow light was not spared.

The boy awoke from his induced slumber to find himself among flames. He scrambled to his fight and tried to run, his paths blocked by flames even as he ran. Narrowly dodging some of the flickers and tongues, after a time, he began to slow, his energy tired and sapped.

He slowed to a lifeless walk, his eyes taking in the horrors amongst the burning city unflinchingly, already having given up his sympathy as he marched onward.

His slow plod, step by step, reduced more and more off himself. His memories, emotions, his thoughts. All of these slowly slipped away, fuel for the flames to prevent his body from being devoured.

Eventually, he had nothing left to give, nothing left to hope for, nothing left to drive him forward, and let himself fall, awaiting the death he knew would come as he closed his tired eyes.

The sound of whispered pleas and gut-wrenching sobs brought the child with no name back to conciousness, the voice sounding so familiar yet so strange. His eyes slowly opened to look at the tear-streaked face of a dark-haired man. Yet, the man with tears in his eyes, still looked like the happiest man of earth with a smile of complete wonder and relief and joy.

'I wish I could smile like that.'

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Well folks, here is the prologue of my new story. It may be a bit long, for a prologue, but I really needed to set the scene. I hope this meets your approval.

A few quick mentions though. First, I have decided on what Sacred Gear Shirou will have. It wasn't any that any of you helpful people sent in, but it was insprired by some them, a throw away idea I had and a recent book I have just read. It may or may not be of a Longinus level. So please do not send in any more ideas. Unless it is for minor Sacred Gears to be used by other characters.

Secondly, this story will be a bit more complex than most I have attempted. Similar to Campione, the universe of DxD is both broadly expansive, ill-defined (like how exactly magic works) and completely over-powered (Dimension Lost anyone?). So I have no real limits but also have little in the way of foundation to build on. Let us see how it works.

Thirdly, my apologies for the Raiser comment I made. But you guys have to understand, when I said high-level in Nasuverse, I meant powerful magi and creatures in comparison to most of the general supernatural populace, not the game breakers like the Dead Apostle Ancestors, Types and what have you. I personally put them in a league of their own in regards to Nasuverse characters and would easily contend them with their counterparts in DxDverse. Though DxD stills had beings that stand above even the best of the best of the best in Nasuverse. Ophis, Great Red, Sirzechs and a fair few others.

As for Shirou not being top dog, you are completely correct. Canon-Shirou wouldn't even get a sniff. My Shirou, on the other hand, is a different kettle of fish. I will go into depth for this comparison at a later date, but be prepared for a butt-kicking Shirou. Even if he still isn't top dog, he will still be powerful enough for most to give him a very wide berth. In fact, Altrouge or the Queen of the Clock Tower would most likely cross the street than face him. The Blue, Zelretch or other stupidly strong and mad as a hatter morons might give him pause though.

Thank you for reading and please leave a review.

Your favourite authour,
kujikiri21