The Fallen Messiah

by Paulzies

He woke up with no memories in a whole new world. But that won't stop him. He'll get them back fast, and in doing so, he'll reawaken his lost powers. And all of a sudden, the Wildest Wildcard has finally been drawn. Read and review! Fav and Follow!

11. Chapter 11

A/N: Well, like i promised. A doozy. Sixteen thousand words. Two weeks. And we're only halfway done with the Battle of Kuoh. This is tiring. Next chapt might not come out next week too, haven't decided how long it's going to be.

Anyway, enjoy! There's a personal A/N at the end of this chapt you can read if you want to.

Thanks to mah mate Shaded for being an awesome Beta-reader and a wonderful conversation partner to bounce ideas with!

---

Chapter 11:

She told him it was going to be difficult to surprise her from now on. She meant it - an army of Fallen hadn't been able to achieve that task and, frankly speaking, she didn't know what would.

But life was full of surprises, as the boy holding her hand was determined to show her. They were running, and Minato was dragging her by the hand as they dodged in and out of alleyways and streets.

She wasn't even complaining at being manhandled like that. She was glad they were running, as long as they were going far away from that... thing the boy had called.

She turned her head to look behind her instead of the boy's back. A building blocked most of her view, but she could still catch a glimpse of the monstrosity over its roof.

That was how big it was. She saw hundreds, if not at least a thousand, of Fallen circling it like a flock of crows. They formed a vortex, surrounding the entity in a hurricane of raven wings. Like a comet show, streaks of light flew down from their hands and into the flesh of the beast.

Towering over the average building, she still couldn't identify what it was. Storm clouds surrounded its body, hiding it, and the lightning that was generated by them incinerated more than a few Fallen when they lashed out of the walking tempest. With each step, the ground shuddered. Windows shattered, buildings crumbled, and jagged cracks raced through the streets as the tarmac struggled to sustain the creature's weight.

It screamed. That too, was a weapon - a bomb made of sound. The Fallen unfortunate enough to be nearest to it had their bodies popped like balloons due to the sudden change in pressure. What was left of them fell to the ground in droplets and chunks - a rain and hail made of blood. But that did not mean the rest got away unscathed. The shockwave sent them flying in all directions, and their once tight tornado-like formation scattered, flinging them through the air like ragdolls.

But they were in a jungle made of concrete and steel, and many of their paths were cut short by the haphazardly-placed buildings. With bloodcurdling cracks and thumps, they slammed into buildings with enough force to leave a crater. For many of them, the impact knocked them out, and their heads drooped forwards. The lucky few who remained lucid quickly peeled themselves off the buildings before taking to the skies once again. She watched an unconscious Fallen slide down the side of the building he had crashed into, plummeting downwards where the ground waited for him.

He was not alone. For a minute or so, it rained bodies. Wings that had once fought against gravity were rendered useless by their hosts' unconscious states. Some of them regained their senses as they fell and, like a divebomber, managed to pull themselves up mid-course, saving themselves from a grisly death. But many could not, and their screams and landings were the only sounds she heard.

With a single roar, over a hundred Fallen had died. But they numbered in the thousands, and their eyes flared in fury as they scowled at the murderer of their comrades.

"To the sky! Keep your distance and it won't happen to us again!" Commanded a senior Fallen. Her six wings spread out to its full length, before she shot even higher into the clouds. The Fallen did not hesitate, and they followed her lead. Soon, thousands of black wings filled the sky.

The beast was as tall as a skyscraper, but the Fallen rose to a height far greater, where even their large individual black wings, unfurled to their maximum length, were but a blip in the sky. But their numbers were so numerous and dense that they formed their own cloud, a conglomeration of black-winged beings blocking out the Sun and the sky.

Then the darkness changed to light as if the Sun had returned. It was just as bright, perhaps even brighter, for the mass of light in the sky radiated a holiness the Sun could never hope to match.

Spears made of light, tens of thousands of them. Every Fallen hand gripped one. For the Fallen that could create more than two, they hovered behind their creators, missiles ready to be launched at their targets.

"Fire!"

The spears fired off at insane speeds, and streaks of yellow light were the only thing that could be seen. With every shaft that launched, another was quickly formed to be hot on its heels, causing a cascade of light to crash onto the monster.

The meteor shower did its job. The creature howled, and for a moment, the impact of their attack knocked away some of the clouds that hid the monster.

She stopped, her feet rooted to the ground. She could feel the blood rushing away from her face. The air suddenly became very still, as the Fallen caught sight of the behemoth, and their cheers hushed as they tried to process what they were seeing.

It wasn't a monster. It was several of them fused into one body. There was no consistency in its physique. Its skin was made of every material imaginable. There was a region where it was scaly, like a dragon. Then there were patches of fur. Feathers jutted out at the most random of places, while some areas seemed to be covered in vegetation. But it was the eyes that unsettled her the most. Eyes dotted along the entirety of its body, each the size of a family car. They raced along its skin, like insects crawling over a carcass. Occasionally, an eye would stop, then roll around its mobile socket and blink.

Then she noticed some of the skin bulging out. It was the scaly part, and a lump was growing at a rapid rate. Two eyes raced towards it, and they spun to a stop at the top of the lump, where they began to blink independently. Then she realised, It was a head.

A crack began to form on the protruding piece of flesh and it split open. Rows upon rows of jagged teeth greeted the Fallen as a forked tongue whipped out. It exhaled a wispy white vapour into the breach and once the hole in the cloud layer was patched up, the creature sunk back into obscurity.

But that short glimpse was enough. A shapeshifting beast, but more importantly, one that was completely unharmed despite the Fallen's assault.

She felt someone tugging her hand. It was Minato, and he was looking at her with concern in her eyes. "We must hurry," he said, "if we want to save them."

She ignored his request. "Minato..." she stammered out. The boy looked surprised, and she realised this was the first time she called him by his first name. "What..." a shaking finger pointed at the giant, "is that?"

He sighed, as if knowing she would not budge unless he gave her an answer. "Typhon," he conceded, "the father of all monsters."

Time stopped. She knew of Typhon. She knew of its might, how it had taken all of the Olympian Council to stop its rampage. She knew of its immortality, and it was only by sealing it under Mount Etna that it was tamed. She knew of its berserking nature, how its very presence led to natural disasters, and how it left only rubble in its wake.

The boy pulled on her hand again, and this time her body followed his without resistance. As they ran through the alleyways, the boy's wrists clamped around hers while they searched for the rogue Fallen Leader, she wondered who the true monster was.

---

Every army needed eyes and ears. They needed someone to report movements and positions, someone to find weaknesses and strengths.

It was people like him that let the Fallen hunt down the scurrying Devils when they had used the city's catacomb-like sewages to their advantage. He used the potholes, the drains, every single hint to deduce the structure of the underground maze. That was how they had flushed them out.

At that very moment, Dorian was very happy that he was that someone. He was perched on the top of a radio tower, surveying Kuoh City in its entirety. Well, that's what he was supposed to be doing, but his eyes had never left Typhon ever since it was brought into existence by the boy.

He recognised it, of course. He had seen it once before. It had been a long time ago, when he first started out as a Recorder. He hadn't Fallen yet, and he was still Dohnaseek's apprentice then, and they had been tasked to record the clash between the Olympians and Typhon.

It felt weaker compared to the last time he had seen it, but that was to be expected when it had been sealed for a few centuries.

It had been epic, and had any mortals been present, the sheer amount of magical energy being tossed around would have probably vapourised them on the spot. Bolts of lightning fell from the heavens like rain, while tidal waves as tall as the sky itself surged across the lands. The gods had ridden around on their chariots, using their divine weapons and powers to strike Typhon down. The Sun itself had been an enemy, with Apollo commanding it to blast beams of pure energy at the monster. His twin, Artemis, Goddess of the Moon had not been limited by the lack of a night sky, and celestial arrows flew out of her bow faster than his eyes could count.

And that had not been enough. Typhon had stumbled, but not slowed. Demeter had summoned a forest of giant trees, each as tall as a small mountain in an attempt to halt his rampaging path. Only then, with his limbs trapped in vines as thick as normal tree trunks, his legs drowning in moshes and swampland, did it come to a halt.

With their target immobilised, the Olympians rained down attacks for seven days and seven nights without rest, as an army of Cyclops and Hundred-Handed-Ones moved an entire mountain across the land - Mount Etna, and it would become Typhon's prison for an eternity to come.

Twelve gods. Seven days of non-stop fighting. That was what it took to stop Typhon. Dorian smiled. Today the Fallen would show they could do it in less than one.

He'd bet his life on it.

There was a reason why they were called the Grigori. They were Watchers. That was what they excelled at. After the War, the Angels had barricaded themselves above the clouds, slammed the Pearl Gates shut and hid within the walls of Heaven, content to nudge humanity here and there when they could afford to. The Devils had fallen into civil war, slaughtering themselves and causing their society to crumble. The Fallen had done what they did best. They sat back and watched. It was what they had always done, so why would they do anything different?

Watch something long enough, and eventually you gain the ability to learn. The Fallen had learned a lot. They learnt more from the mistakes of others than their own. They did not have the numbers of the Devils, nor did they have backing of the world's system the way Angels did. But what they did have, they abused viciously.

They had eyes, and they used them to observe, to mimic, to improve. He had seen the Olympian's strategy with dealing with Typhon. He had seen what had worked, and what had not. He had seen what they could copy, and what they could not. And he had seen how they could bring down Typhon.

He was the eyes and the ears of the army. But in times like this, he also became its mouth.

That was how Kokabiel trained them. And he would not let their leader down. Not when they would all perish by the end of this week.

Having already memorised the layout of the streets and buildings of Kuoh, his gaze turned calculative as he sifted through the city to find opportunities. A moment later, a smirk spread across his lips.

He began to bark commands into his communicator, telling the six-winged Fallens that led the army his plan even though he only had two wings of his own. They did not object. Everyone knew their places, and they knew there was no one more knowledgeable than Dorian when it came to dealing with Typhon.

The Fallen formation split apart. Instead of relying on orbital bombardment like they did earlier, they splintered off into many small and tiny groups. Each had their own roles, and completing them all was essential to bringing down the behemoth.

He paused as he realised something. He gave a new set of commands to a few groups.

"Find the boy. If we kill him, Typhon will no doubt disappear with him."

One way or another, Typhon would fall by the end of today. They might not have a mountain nearby, but Kuoh had many, many buildings.

---

It was a very popular misconception that Angels could only make swords and spears with their light. That was the way the Fallen liked it, for it allowed them to keep multiple aces up their sleeves, and they were prepared to play a full hand against Typhon.

Arianna was a fighter. It was something she accepted, and to a certain extent, appreciated. Fighting wasn't easy, but it was simple: kill the enemy before the enemy killed you. She wasn't like Dorian, who could analyse and plan. Following orders was easier than giving them, and when Dorian's instructions blared out, she followed them to the letter.

She bent one arm in front of her chest, her knuckles pointed directly towards Typhon. The hundreds of Fallen that she led copied her action. She channeled energy into her hand, but this time instead of compacting it into a spear, she spread it out, diffusing the energy across a larger volume.

A plane of light began to grow from the back of her palm, stretching in width until it covered her body. A shield. Every Fallen around her did the same, and a wall of light was erected right in front of Typhon.

Typhon roared. She braced herself, pouring every bit of magical and physical energy into her shield. The shockwave came moments later. It threatened to blow her away but she held on, leaning all her weight against the constuct of light. She could see the looks of exertion on the other Fallen's faces, but none gave way. She allowed herself to grin slightly - already they were improving, adapting to Typhon's strength.

The clouded beast stopped for a moment, as if assessing the situation. Then, from the fog a blur burst forwards, so fast that even her battle-hardened eyes could not identify it. There was the sound of shattering glass, and she slowly rotated her head, dread filling up in her heart.

A dragon's head. There was no other way to describe it. A long and scaly neck stretched out from the layer of clouds. It was connected to a reptilian skull, whose slit eyes glared at the Fallen as it turned its head.

As she stared at its bony crest, its jaws opened. Its teeth were coated in Fallen blood, its oral cavity littered with torn bodies, some whose faces were still locked in expressions of surpise. Typhon had ripped through their shields like nothing, and the Fallen in its mouth had paid the price for their weakness. She grit her teeth. They had dropped their guard ever so slightly from their first little victory. They would not repeat that mistake again.

A ball of fire began to grow in the dragon's mouth. She felt no fear. This was what they planned. A command was given, and the flocks of Fallen that had been hiding behind the barricade of light hurled spear after spear into the draconic head.

The ball of flames extinguished itself as the beast screamed. But it was one of pain instead of defiance, and thus did not carry the same weight as the roars from earlier. To the Fallen, they welcomed it like a spring breeze. Pools of purple blood cascaded from the fresh wounds and gashes that covered the beast.

It could bleed. That meant it could die.

"Again!" The Fallen commanded. This too, had been planned. Dorian had said the layer of clouds were more than just a visual obstruction - they served as a physical layer of defense, and the Olympian strategy was to bait out the many heads of Typhon and cut it off whenever a new one emerged. They repeated the process up until there were no more heads left to regenerate the clouded layer, and then they had pounded the body relentlessly to prevent it from regrowing its heads.

That had been the purpose of the layer of light shields. It had never been meant to protect its users from attacks. It had been created to draw out those attacks in the first place. Nothing screamed 'attack me' as well as an enemy fortification right in front of your face, and for Typhon, who was blessed with monstrous strength but little intelligence, it had fallen for the trap quite instinctively.

But it was hardly stupid. It also knew it had been hurt, and the moment the Fallen gave the order to attack a second time, it withdrew the head and once again the entirety of the beast was coated in clouds.

That gave the Fallen time to gain a breather. A few Fallen rushed to join their ranks to replace those that had been snapped up in Typhon's jaws in that previous attack, their own light shields blazing to life, and a great wall was formed once again.

It came not a moment too soon, because like a peacock showing off its feathers, suddenly over a dozen heads shot out of the mist, swaying and hovering in the air menacingly.

The dragon head from earlier was there, its wounds seemingly healed, but her attention was drawn elsewhere. Every head was different, there were recognisable ones - wolves, crocodiles, eagles, turtles. But others were more exotic - mutilated parodies of living beasts that had no place in this world. Their features were grotesque and misshapened, their expressions contorted and twisted. They were the true monsters.

"Join shields!" A voice commanded.

For any other group of Angels, it may as well asked them to fuse their arms. An Angel's light was unique, and merging their light required a level of understanding and trust that was simply unreasonable to expect.

Unless you were trained by Kokabiel.

Their general copied human practices when it came to training. He broke you down, and rebuilt you from scratch. You became another cog in the machine known as the Fallen army. Your individualities, tastes and preferences were overridden by the collective need and cohesion. The Fallen here were closer than siblings, tighter than family, and knew each other as well as the back of their palms.

Still, it took great concentration. Shields began to overlap, and she could feel other presences invading her mind as she did the same to theirs. They let each other in, and in that moment, over two hundred Fallen shared a single collective conscious.

The light shields formed a literal wall, a uniform plane of luminescence as large as a lake. This too, was a human strategy Kokabiel had copied from the Romans. While the first layer of soldiers focused solely on defense, those behind would bombard the enemy with ranged weapons.

They attacked together.

As dozens of whip-like heads lashed out towards them, a stream of uncountable javelins made of light crashed down on Typhon. It halted the beast's advance somewhat, but its whip-like appendages still crashed into their wall with significant force behind each blow.

She felt her bones rattle, and her mind and body was straining to maintain the shield. Every time they collided, she could feel flashes of pain as some Fallen were overcome by the power, and holes and cracks began to break out on the light shield. But they were quickly replaced, and a steady stream of reserves took the places of those who could hold out no more.

Typhon wisened up. He recoiled its many heads, and magical attacks spewed out of its mouth like a machine gun.

Fireballs, corrosive mists, bolts of lightning. All kinds ranged attacks collided with their defense.

She felt her focus faltering as she was being tested to the limits, and spiderwebs of cracks appeared in front of the yellow surface in front of her. A hand tapped her shoulder. She turned.

A baby-faced Fallen smiled at her, and she felt relief overcome her. He wasn't part of her unit and she didn't know his name, but nevertheless she trusted him with her life. She felt no shame in giving her position to him. They were an army who shared each other's burdens. That was how Kokabiel trained them.

As she flew up to join the attacking squadron, she felt reinvigorated with purpose. A light spear ignited in her palm. She would give Typhon hell.

Her mind drifted off to Kokabiel. She loved him, even if he would never love her the way she did. She had Fallen for him, both in heart and in soul. She wouldn't let him down, not when this would be their last week together.

---

"Aren't you guys curious at all to find out who our little blue-haired friend has called this time?" Kokabiel asked in exasperation while dodging a bolt of lightning launched by Akeno. "Don't you want to see what ridiculous creature he's conjured up now?"

His reply came in the form of a jet of water that came blasting straight towards his face. He tilted his head and it sailed right by. It hit the tree behind him, chopping it clean into two. He whistled in appreciation as he turned to see the upper half of the tree crash into the ground.

He looked at the aggressor. She adjusted her glasses. "We won't waste this opportunity. You're alone now, and we can always ask Arisato-san after we win."

He chuckled. "Confident, aren't we?" Sona smirked, and Kokabiel frowned. "But really, I haven't even harmed you guys and yet you're chucking all these lethal spells at me. That's hardly fair, isn't it?"

"You're the one that attacked the city! Don't pretend we're the bad guys! You're the evil one here!" Issei burst out, voicing the thoughts of everyone else present.

He faked an expression of hurt. "Well, it's not like I wanted to raze the city. If you had just peacefully surrendered like I wanted you guys to, then this wouldn't have happened."

"You would have killed us," pointed out Rias.

He shrugged. "I'm still trying to kill you now, aren't I?"

They looked at each other. Frankly speaking, it didn't feel like it. It felt more like he was fooling around, shooting off more words than magic. If anything, their pride hurt.

And if there was one race that cared more about pride than anything else, it was Devils.

"Take us seriously, damn it!" Growled Issei. "Or we'll really go serious on you!" There was an influx of power as the Boosted Gear appeared on his hand. "Boost!"

They grinned. Dual swords appeared in Kiba's hands, while Xenovia readied Durandal. Even without her Excalibur, Rias had managed to find a sword somewhere for Irina, who unsheathed it and pointed it towards Kokabiel. The Student Council tensed, their bat wings unfurling as they ascended into the sky. They were not as individually skilled or talented as the Gremory Peerage, but they made up for it with superb teamwork and communication.

Rias spread out her own wings, a crimson orb that radiated bloodlust bursting to life in her palms as she floated up. Behind her, Akeno smiled as streaks of lightning arced around her body in a mesmerising dance. Koneko slipped on a pair of gloves and raised her fists in front of her.

Kokabiel did not appear to be fazed by their apparent display of intimidation. If anything, he found it to be adorable and cooed, "Awwww, you're busting out the big guns. But my dear children..." He took a deep breath, "I'm afraid you're still a little out of your league here."

Nary had that last word been uttered before he flexed his power. The air around him thickened, and it was only then that it dawned in their minds that the Fallen in front of them had ten wings. That was equivalent to a High-bordering-Ultimate Class Devil. The difference in their power was stark to all - the lone Fallen emitted more energy than the dozen or so of them did combined.

Rias bit her lip as she pumped a bit more energy into sphere hovering above her palm. The odds might not be in their favour, but they could win this. Battles were not won on the merit of strength alone. There were many variables that needed to be considered - terrain, strategy, numbers, even luck. There were still many ways they could swing things around.

They had to.

---

Mauriel knew the plan was going to be complicated when Dorian's voice crackled over the communicator.

"Have any of you watched Star Wars before?"

The Fallen around him mirrored his mystified expression. He had seen stars at night and partook in many wars before, but never heard of a latter that involved the former.

"You know, Empire Strikes Back? The scene with the Snowspeeders and the AT-AT?"

Their looks of confusion only intensified. Dorian sighed, and his next sentence contained a trace of disappointment.

"Uncultured swines. Never mind, here's what I need you guys need to do..."

Their eyes widened as Dorian explained their roles. When he was done, they looked at Typhon, the Father of All Monsters too busy trying to swat the Fallen flying in front of him with its many heads. The attacks bounced off their giant light shield uselessly, but even so their comrades could not keep it up forever. As if he'd just jinxed it, a frosty breatb erupted from one of its jaws, and several dozen Fallen froze in mid-air before crashing into the ground where they shattered like glass.

He stretched his six wings as he turned to his men. Unblinking and emotionless faces stared back. He knew underneath those expressionless masks there was a torrent of emotions overwhelming them. Kokabiel had forewarned that this would likely be their last act. Even if they did succeed in their goal, no doubt the wrath of Heaven or the Satans would ensure that they did not survive for long.

Some no doubt felt fear. Death was unknown territory, and even they were wary of what lay beyond. Others trembled in excitement - for they lived to fight, and a battle as glorious as this was the perfect way for them to go.

He simply felt a resigned sense of acceptance. He had done a lot of bad things. But he had also done alot of not-so-bad things. He just wanted it to end already. He followed Kokabiel because he made a promise, and as questionable as his character was, he never went back on his word.

"Well then," he sighed as he addressed his awaiting soldiers. "As much as I want to, we can't let the others do all the work."

A cheer rang out even though his words had been somewhat lacking in luster and passion. The men were used to his lethargic attitude from centuries of fighting together. But even so, they still followed him. Mauriel allowed himself to smile as they made their way towards their objective. Dying with this bunch wouldn't be that bad.

---

Dorian watched as all the pieces moved into their places. Beneath his stony exterior, he was cackling with glee.

Back then, he had felt so helpless and insignificant watching the fall of Typhon. This was his chance to turn things around. He felt like a playwright in the audience of his own performance. He was giddy with anticipation as the moment of truth approached.

Would his plan work?

The first stage was baiting Typhon. That was what the barrier team was in charge of. They were slowly shifting their position, and like a moth to a lamp, Typhon remained fixed in chasing the bright shield as a hail of spears rained down on him. Every step created a tremor, and the buildings in its path were inconsequential as they were knocked down as easily as sandcastles. The many heads of Typhon whipped around, slamming into the flock of Fallen. Occassionally, those supporting the luminescent barrier could not react fast enough, and the many ravenous mouths would sink their jaws into the unprotected host of Fallen.

By the time they had led the monster right where he wanted, they were on their last legs. They had done well, and their sighs of relief were audible when he told them to pull back, and the giant barrier of light vanished.

Now came the stage two. He waited with bated breath after he gave the command. He hoped Mauriel and his men could pull it off. If not... well they were all going to die anyway.

But he'd rather not get squashed by Typhon into a red smear on the ground. He winced, poor Jariel.

Seeing his targets fleeing, Typhon roared and the ground shook even harder as it lumbered towards them at a speed that could be considered sprinting for something so bulky and large.

"NOW!"

He recognised Mauriel's voice. It was rare to hear him shout, but he supposed the circumstances were dire enough for the normally passive Fallen to raise his voice.

Dorian held his breath. The moment of truth.

At first it appeared as though someone had activated a giant laser in front of Typhon's feet. A thick bar, made of divine light, ignited in the path of Typhon's legs midstep.

It was too clumsy to avoid it, and the monster crashed into it with all the force that it was running with.

His heart raced, and he prayed that Mauriel and his men would be able to sustain the pillar. For a moment, he almost thought they wouldn't. If it were metal, he could imagine the material screaming as it was stretched beyond its physical limits.

But it was made of light, and even though light was supposed to travel in straight lines, the bar was clearly buckling under Typhon's massive weight and momentum. From its initial straight line, it had bent into a 'V' shaped rod, and it was only through the sheer amount of focus and energy Mauriel and his men were pouring into maintaining it that it did not shatter.

In their private conversations, Mauriel had once remarked he did not know why his men followed him. He was not charismatic, nor was he exceptionally talented in any way. Dorian could see why they did now. He was at the forefront of the tug-of-war, his face mere inches from the clouds that veiled the behemoth's body.

Should the beam of light break, he would be the first to be pulled into the layer of clouds, where he would most likely never resurface. Great leaders led by the front, and no one was closer to Typhon than Mauriel. Dorian sighed. It was a shame the world would lose good men like Mauriel and Kokabiel so soon.

Wings burst forth from the back of the Fallen supporting the bar from its ends. There were hundreds of them and they used the propulsion their feathered appendages offered them to pull the light-made rope as taut as they could.

The inevitable happened. Even if it was magical in origin and nature, Typhon could not escape from all of the laws of physics. The inertia was tremendous, and that had caused the centre of gravity of the beast to go past the pillar of light which acted as a pivot.

It began to tip.

It seemed to realise it was losing its balance, and the many heads and necks that had originally been attacking the Fallen reprioritised, and began to shoot out at anything that could stop its fall.

They launched towards buildings, hoping they could act as anchors to hold it in place but there was a reason why Dorian had chosen an area with lots of open spaces and low buildings.

The heads hit air and flailed uselessly as they desperately tried finding something to latch onto. Head began to dig into the ground in order to support Typhon's gargantuan body - something like a monster push-up - but its weight proved to be too great, and it continued to topple towards the ground.

Dorian heaved out the breath he had been holding, an ecstatic grin on his face. Mauriel and his men had managed to pull it off. A low throaty noise begin to emanate from Typhon has he neared the ground, and Dorian liked to think of it a a scream.

And then Typhon hit the ground. Even though he was perched high above the ground, Dorian could still feel the radio tower - no the whole city - vibrating from the force of the impact. The sound was booming, though it paled in comparison to its initial roar, as did the seismic wave that followed. There was a pang of irritation that a giant cloud of dust and debris had been formed, which prevented him from seeing the collapsed beast at all.

Still, Mauriel's men had fleed the very moment it was confirmed Typhon would fall, and he could see them joining the streams of Fallen that were regrouping above Typhon. They had made a right choice, for they definitely did not want to be near Typhon when the next stage was implemented.

He waited impatiently for the dust to settle. He could feel anticipation and restlessness building up amongst the ranks. Over twenty thousand Fallen, a gathering so large it had not been seen since the end of the Great War. And every single one of them was waiting for that command he would soon be issuing.

The amount of power he wielded currently, he realised, was actually quite scary. So many people at his beck and call, so many dying because of his plan.

His musings were cut short when the dust settled. Like he suspected, the fall had taken a large toll on Typhon. Parts of its unnatural and abberant body were exposed, no longer having garments made of clouds to hide them. The eyes that carpeted its body were in a frenzy, racing towards quickly-forming lumps of flesh, as numerous and similar to warts on a toad in appearance.

That too, was part of the plan. Typhon's weaknesses lay in its heads and eyes, and there was no better time to attack both when it was trying to repair its defensive layer of clouds. They only had a small window of opportunity before the lumps turned into fully-formed heads which would breathe out the fumes necessary to create the misty protection.

"Rain Hell!" He shouted, 'or should it be Heaven?' He thought to himself in amusement afterwards.

A thunderous cry came from the Fallen host, and the sky fell. It made their earlier displays look like a drizzle.

A torrential downpour, made of light and not water, cascaded towards the Earth from the hands of the Fallen. Spears of light were catapulted off at such speeds and numbers it looked as if someone had drawn yellow lines between the Fallen and Typhon. An endless barrage of holy projectiles, and every single one of them hit their marks.

This was the firepower that had brought even Ultimate-class Devils to their knees. Individually, the Fallen would have stood no chance. But as their numbers grew, their strength grew exponentially as well. That had always been the core strategy of Angels, Fallen or not. They would bombard their enemy from afar tirelessly, never giving their opponent time to even breathe, while they sat comfortably in their thrones made of air. Humans called this strategy shelling or artillery. They called it divine judgement.

Typhon screamed in agony. The Fallen took pleasure in it, and they hurled their javelins with even more speed and power. Without its clouds to protect it, Typhon bled. Its skin was tough and thick, perhaps enough to even stop some of light spears from piercing into his body. But it did not matter, for the Fallen overcame that number with pure numbers.

With enough time, a Gatling gun could shred the armour of a tank. While the initial bullets might deflect off, or even flatten themselves against its thick metal plates, they would still eventually break through. Every shot would peel off another layer of defense, even if only a single atomic layer was destroyed by the round. Sooner or later the once-invincible tank hull would give way.

The Fallen used the same concept here. Against the merciless onslaught of the Fallen, Typhon's tough hide did little to protect it. Even at its thickest regions, it would bruise, and from its bruise it would start to bleed. Then it was over. With marksman precision, the Fallen aimed at these bleeding wounds. They cut it deeper, and tore it even wider. And thus from a little pinprick did the wounds grow to a gouging wound the size of a bus.

Blood spilled out of the beast like water when a wet sponge was squeezed. It poured out of every orfice possible, and they landed on the ground in great purple waterfalls.

Every flail, every scream, every struggling action wasted energy Typhon could not afford give. Its movements began to become sluggish, and what heads remained swayed aimlessly in the air before they were ruthlessly cut down by the Fallen.

A euphoric warmth spread through Dorian's veins. How he had dreamt to see this again. It had been so long since the world had witnessed the strength of the Three Factions. So long since they had been allowed to show that their power had not dwindled even though their numbers had. Laughs began force their way out of his mouth. And he was the one that orchestrated all this. There was a small pang of regret in his gut that he could not be part of the grand spectacle, and that he could only observe from the side. Still he supposd the view made it worth it - there was a flutter in his heart he had not felt in a long time.

A voice came over the comms set.

"Dorian, we've found the boy."

He grinned. Time to get back at the boy for shooting him out of the tree with a bow and arrow.

---

He needed to find his friends. They were in trouble. There were so many Shadows, and they just wouldn't stop coming.

He pulled on her hand, taking sudden turns and increasing his pace in order to lose them. But they wouldn't go away. They kept following, dark shades chasing after him in the air. He cursed. Then he noticed the silhouettes running along the roofs, porcelain faces with etched smiles staring at him.

Suddenly, the grip he had on the girl was torn away, and he found himself holding onto nothing.

He skidded to a stop then turned around. The girl was on the floor, using her hands to try to get up. She stumbled when she tried resting her weight on her legs. That's when he saw how swollen her ankle was, and how it was bent at an unnatural angle. She must have fallen.

He was going to rush forward to help her, but a sharp pain stopped him. It wasn't his pain, and he didn't actually feel anything, but he was aware of its presence somewhere.

Then the ground rumbled, and a earsplitting moan reached his ears.

Typhon.He hadn't summoned the Persona at full power, but he was still slightly amazed that they managed to bring it down so quickly.

They must have seen the look of realisation on his face. The Shadows sneered, and their taunting voices bounced off the walls of the alley.

"That's right, your pet has fallen."

He looked at the one that seemed to be the leader. It was sitting on a window ledge, a mocking grin on his face.

His temper broke. He loathed them. They took away his friends, and now they were stopping him from rescuing them too. He hated them. He wanted to destroy them, to grind them to dust, and rid the world of their existence.

He called Typhon back into the Sea of Souls to stop its agony.

"Persona."

It came out as a seething whisper.

The Shadow leaned forward "what did you sa- urkh?!"

It looked down at his own body. Or what was left of it. The life faded from a pair of surprised eyes while blood seeped out of an agape mouth. A severed torso slipped off of a pair of standing legs, which quickly sunk to a ground like a praying man. A pool of blood separated the bifurcated corpse of the Shadow, and the the culprit was finally revealed.

Muscled and toned arms held a bleeding sword, attached to a pair of crimson pauldrons. They made a rustling noise when the owner shifted his shoulders in order to sheathe the weapon. Shining metal cloaked his body, unscratched and undented. It glinted from the sunlight when he adjusted his body to stand up straight. His uncovered head carried a handsome face, and his tousled long hair curled into locks that draped onto his neck and shoulders.

The Shadows tensed. The Persona smiled.

"I am Roland of Charlemagne, and I have come to crush all those who stand in my master's way."

The shadows could not respond, in fact, they weren't even looking at the newcomer anymore. How could they, when they were too absorbed by what was happening to their own bodies?

A head rolled off a neck, a fountain of ichor creating a bloody trail as its body crashed to the ground.

A Shadow screamed, its hand desperately clawing at its chest, trying to remove the metal tip jutting out of it.

A body tumbled off a building and slammed into the concrete ground, where a lone arrow stuck out from its back.

One by one, the Shadows fell, their deaths all as unannounced as the first. Some burned. Some exploded into gory showers of blood and entrails. Some were crunched or swallowed up by unspeakable creatures. One simply vanished without a trace.

Personas took their places, taking on a diverse range of appearances. But they were all dressed for war. Gone were Uriel's white robes, and instead he was adorned in set of glaring golden armour, seemingly crafted from the rays of the Sun itself. Artemis unslung her bow, her silver armour emitting whispy hues as she stared at him. Even the non-humanoids were covered in mail, and he saw the usually benign Kirin covered from head to toe in segmented metal plates, the tongues of flames that coated the dragon-horse hybrid leaking out from the chinks of its armour.

But he was not done. Dozens more of Personas appeared, regal figures all battle-ready, awaiting his command.

There were still many Shadows that needed to be eradicated.

Then he realised, there was still one more in front of him. How had he missed it? It was writhing on the ground, as though it was injured. He smiled and summoned the first weapon a Persona would lend him.

A golden metal shaft appeared in his hand, taller than he was. Intricate carvings on its smooth polish gave the weapon its grip, and they detailed its long and illustrious history. At the top, a flower made of blades.

A lone metal tongue protruded from its center in a wave-like pattern, its barb wickedly sharp.

Ascalon

, the dragon-slaying spear.

It was more than enough. He raised it in the air, its tip pointed straight at the whimpering Fallen.

"MINATO!"

It screamed. Raynare screamed. He blinked once, then twice. Where did the Shadow go?

Raynare was on the ground, legs sprawled in front of her, shivering as she looked at him with abject horror on her face. Was she... scared of him? Didn't he kill all the Shadows, so why was she still so...

Ascalon crumbled into dust.

He looked around. Bile rose up to his throat, and he covered his mouth to keep it in. It did not work - his spit and vomit leaked through the gaps of his fingers, before he gave up and bent over to let everything out.

Fallen Angels everywhere. On the floor. On the walls. Hanging from railings, limbs and organs all over the place.

He did this.

There were no Shadows, no emotionless heartless manifestation of darkness. They had been living, breathing, sentient souls that had feelings, hopes and dreams. And he had killed them all without even giving them a chance to surrender.

And the worst was how he didn't even feel any regret. This wasn't like him. He didn't spend the lives of others as though they were his to spend, and he certainly wouldn't have killed them just like that.

His fingers shook slightly. What was going on with him?

"Minato..."

This time Raynare didn't scream, but her voice still trembled. He knelt down to be eye-level with her, but couldn't think of anything to say. His Personas hovered above, their faces pensive as they waited for his orders.

"What..." He could hear the concern hiding behind Raynare's terrified voice, "what did you see?"

He looked down. A bloody pool next to him was threatening to reach his shoes. "My past." He finally said.

A voice from a receiver interrupted the moment.

"All units, Typhon has fallen. Target has been reprioritised to person-of-interest Arisato Minato. Kill him at all costs." The voice then continued to list a bunch of numbers he could only assume referred to his present location.

"We should move." He said, slightly relieved that he had a reason to abandon their previous topic of discussion.

She left it at that, but gave him a look that implied she wouldn't forget about it. He helped her up, and they hobbled forwards together.

As she leaned her weight against him, he realised she smelled of vanilla. She spoke.

"I thought you wanted to stop Kokabiel and the Fallen quickly? I can only assume they've managed to get their hands on the Devils by now."

He grit his teeth. Time was definitely not on his side. But the last time he focused solely on his goal, He had lost sight of himself. "I cannot let what just happened happen again. Besides, I cannot just leave you here alone." He said, trying to convince himself more than the Fallen next to him, then he added, "I can always send a Persona first."

They stiffened at his mentioning. Then one of them nodded and sped off into the distance, his white wings leaving a faint golden trail.

"And the Fallen that are hunting you? They won't stop until one side is dead. That is the kind of fervour and loyalty that Kokabiel has inspired amongst his troops."

He winced. He did not want to kill so nonchalantly again. But the circumstances left no choice. Instead of replying Raynare, he raised his head to speak to the waiting Personas. "Go. Stall them. Keep the killing to a minimum. And if they offer to surrender, take them up on it."

They bowed stiffly, before becoming blurs that zoomed towards their objectives.

"Wow," remarked Raynare. "Personas sure are useful. Where can I get one?" The tone was awkward, but he could tell Raynare was joking to try to lighten up his mood.

That comment almost made him smile. Almost. The only reason why it didn't was because he wasn't sure of the answer.

---

"Slow."

"That didn't even hurt."

"Your movements are too big."

"You gave away your intentions too quickly."

"You left your flank open."

Soma cursed in frustration. None of their attacks were damaging Kokabiel. Worst of all, he had started to hit back.

Their initial plan had been simple. They would take advantage of the Student Council's well-coordinated attacks to keep Kokabiel busy. Meanwhile, the hard-hitters in the Gremory Peerage would find opportunities to deliver lethal blows to his back. There had just been one problem.

Sona glanced back where Asia was tending to a wounded Irina and Kiba. Tsubaki had been injured as well, but had recovered enough to join the fight.

She turned back to the battle. Her Peerage was doing well to draw Kokabiel's attention. Saji charged forwards. Kokabiel met his attack head-on, but at the last moment her pawn swerved away, and instead Kokabiel found himself being attacked from both sides from Momo and Reya.

Like she expected, Kokabiel flew upwards. Her heart raced. He was right where she wanted him. Right in the crosshairs of Tsubaki, Rias and Akeno. If this failed, she wouldn't know what they could do.

Lightning flared towards Kokabiel, taking the form a dragon's maw. It surged towards an unaware Kokabiel's back. From the sky, a crimson column fell towards the Fallen, the magical embodiment of wrath and gluttony.

Like she expected, Kokabiel somehow knew of the attacks. But knowing about them didn't mean he could get out of the way in time. But that was precisely the problem. Akeno's lightning was fast, but Kokabiel's wings were faster. They shot out, as if they had minds of their own, and they moved to block his unprotected back from the incoming attack.

The bolt of lightning bounced off the layer of feathers harmlessly, and vanished into the blue sky. If light was an Angel's sword, then their wings were its shield, and Kokabiel's ten wings were nigh-impenetrable to all their attacks.

Except one. Rias' Power of Destruction was their ace-in-the-hole, the only thing Kokabiel seemed to bother himself to defend against. But it was much slower, and he narrowly dodged it.

He turned to Rias, who looked annoyed. "You know, I've had your brother shoot that stuff at me before. It's very nasty stuff, but not as all-devouring as you think."

Rias tried not to let the surprise show on her face. "What do you mean by that?" Sona knew she was joking. Of course Rias knew about her own power. She was only surprised that Kokabiel knew of it too.

"Well you see," Kokabiel began to lecture, "your Power of Destruction actually has a limit to how much it can consume. It's not a bottomless pit, it's got a stomach, and it gets full too. Of course, its appetite increases with your power level."

Rias seemed completely unaffected. Sona knew exactly why. But they needed a few more seconds.

"And my current power level?" Rias asked innocently, "would you be able to block it?"

Kokabiel shrugged. "Probably. Not that I want to try, though."

A bold claim, Sona believed. The only people she had seen shrug off Rias' Power of Destruction like it was nothing were their siblings.

Rias smiled sweetly. "And if it were twice my power level?"

Kokabiel narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but it was already too late.

"MIRROR ALICE!" Tsubaki shouted from behind Kokabiel.

A gilded mirror materialised in the path of Rias' attack. She had already known their first attack would fail - their attacks simply didn't have the speed and the power to catch Kokabiel off guard.

That's where Tsubaki's Sacred Gear came in.

The crimson pillar of annihilation slammed into the magical mirror, and the mirror buckled. For a moment, she feared that Rias' power was too much for Mirror Alice, and that it would be consumed. But she saw Rias' and her Queen's look of intense concentration, and knew her friends were already trying their best to prevent that from happening.

There was a snapping sound, and within the next heartbeat Rias' attack reversed in direction. If their original attacks weren't sufficient, the only possible way to power up their attacks in their current context was to utilise Tsubaki's Mirror Alice.

Another heartbeat later, the attack was already in front of Kokabiel's face. It was the perfect strategy. Tsubaki's Sacred Gear would amplify Rias' attack by a factor of two, including its speed and, in Kokabiel's own words, its "appetite", making it impossible to block or avoid.

Sona tried to hold back the triumphant grin on her face when she saw Kokabiel widen his eyes in alarm. Elation overwhelmed her as an invisible barrier sparked to life, desperately trying to withstand the crimson assault. It would be futile, there was nothing the Power of Destruction could not consume.

Then Kokabiel smiled, and a pit formed in her gut. Why was he still so happy? The attack was devastating - she could feel the pressure from where she was standing, and the sheer potency behind it seemed to warp space itself as though it was a liquid giving way to a greater force.

Then the pressure doubled, then tripled, and kept increasing until she couldn't even breathe. But it did not come from the Power of Destruction. Pure, unadulterated magical energy poured out from every single pore on the Fallen's body, feeding Rias' trump card with as much as it could devour.

And then some. The crimson beam grew smaller, and the once mighty pillar-sized attack diminished to become as small as a twig before vanishing completely.

Despair quickly degraded into panic when she realised what was happening next. Without the drain that had been sucking it away, the energy exuded by Kokabiel only had one place else to go.

Everywhere.

Light sprayed everywhere from Kokabiel, like a supernova. For a few short moments, it bathed the entire crater they were in and Sona could feel the holy light burning her skin, as if somebody was pressing a hot iron against her.

Sona hissed. For her to be hurt by the mere aura of an Angel - a Fallen one at that... Kokabiel was truly frightening. To block Rias' Power of Destruction, even after it had been doubled in strength... she had not fought an Angel before, but she was certain even Ultimate-class Devils had trouble accomplishing that feat.

The light dimmed down. She saw the other Devils first. They were clutching the exposed parts of their bodies, their skin raw and they winced as they poked and they prodded themselves. The Exorcists looked none the worse for wear. In fact, Irina seemed to have more colour in her face, and Xenovia looked down at her hands in awe, Durandal seemingly brimming with energy.

Then she saw Kokabiel. The Angel was still in the air, seemingly unhurt from all that. But his shoulders sagged, and his chest was visibly sinking and rising from heavy breathing. So their attack had tired him. That was all they could do.

They wouldn't be able to repeat it for a while, not until Tsubaki's cooldown expired. She started chewing on her nails, a nervous habit she thought she had long outgrown.

"That... was very clever. I'll admit that even I was caught off guard." Was that approval in Kokabiel's voice? But in the next instant his face soured, "but using God's gift to enhance a Devil attack," he shook his head. "Sacrilegious. But that is the Devil way I suppose, taking whatever you want and using it however you want to."

Sona could see Rias paling, and she was certain her redheaded friend was still in disbelief that her attack had been thwarted.

"Oh well. Round two?" Smiled Kokabiel.

---

Arianna's hands fell limply to her sides. While her men cheered around her, she did not. Centuries of battle-honed instincts were screaming at her.

Something was not right. Monsters did not just disappear like that. They did not sink into the ground after falling, into an unknown vortex that led to the void. It was not that easy.

If anything, it felt as if things were only just beginning.

Her fears came true a moment when a strange sound was heard and the host of Fallen descended into silence. It sounded like the chiming and jingling noise that bells made in the wind.

It came from above, and they craned their necks up to try and find it. It was on all fours, crouching on a cloud. Plates of metal covered its body, and for a moment they thought it was a war horse. Then the plates disappeared, and what greeted them was a layer of glistening turquoise scales. With a mane and tail made of fire, the creature cocked its head. Two golden antlers sat at the top of its head, while its snout remained open, producing the metallic noise that had drawn their attention. Arianna did not know its name, but knew enough to know that the creature did not belong here.

The oriental dragon's head attached to a horse's body spoke of its origin. At best, it was a member of the Youkai, whose realm of influence did not cover Kuoh. Or it could be under the Tao-Buddhist faction, but they had nearly no sway in Japan at all. All that she knew was that the entity did not belong in Kuoh, which begged the question on how did it get past the barrier without them realising?

The sounds it was making was fast-paced and shrill. There was an underlying tone of urgency that transcended words and language, making the Fallen apprehensive. Nervousness began to rise up her throat.

"Is it... trying to warn us?" A Fallen asked. Nobody answered, for everyone was asking themselves the same question.

Arianna pursed her lips. It was unexpected situations like this where the six-winged Angels were expected to take charge.

"Shoot it." She commanded. They were trying to start a war amongst all the supernatural Factions anyway, so what was the worst thing that could happen if they shot at an unknown enemy?

There was no hint of hesitation, and a torrent of light spears was in the air at the next second. The creature stopped blaring its alarm, and cocked its head. In the next second, it was gone, leaving only a jet stream in its wake.

Arianna held up her hand to call the assault off. A gnawing sensation in her gut motivated her to keep her men on their guard.

Then they started to die.

---

Mauriel stepped over a pool of Typhon's blood. He wrinkled his nose at the putrid stench entering his nose. Even after the behemoth had been vanquished, the parts they had managed to cut off before it disappeared still remained. They littered the area, necks and heads still bleeding from their stumps, a few bones here and there, and they had found out very painfully that Typhon's blood was extremely corrosive.

He did not believe that Typhon could have disappeared as simply as that. He had been right next to it, and felt firsthand the power it exuded. Something that massive couldn't just vanish with a snap of the fingers. Hence why they were walking through the jungle of body parts, trying to discover if there was any hint to where it had been teleported to.

His foot hit something hard. He looked down, and picked up the white object taking care not to prick himself with it. One of Typhon's teeth. It was big, larger than his palm could hold. Idly, he thought about holding on to it, then realised it was pointless since he probably wouldn't be leaving the city alive.

He dropped it and then crushed it with the heel of his boot.

"For a moment there I thought you were going to pocket that." A voiced announced, "that would have been most dishonourable."

His men halted at the invisible newcomer. He surveyed the surroundings intensely, trying to spot anything amiss.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" He directed his shout towards empty air, and waited patiently for a response.

It came a moment later.

On top of one of Typhon's neck, a body was born from the wind. Bulging muscles held an imposing blade, and a crimson chest plate bore a familiar-looking crest on it.

"That's the symbol for the Holy Roman Empire, isn't it?" Asked one of his men.

He nodded dumbly. He recognised the armour. "Only one group of people wears that coat-of-arms." He turned back to his men, who readied themselves for a fight. "Prepare yourselves. The man is a Paladin."

Even though there hasn't been a living one in centuries.

He did not voice out that last thought. It would not help in the upcoming clash.

The man smiled, showing off a set of perfect white teeth. "You still remember us, even centuries after our fall? I am honoured."

The unknown man hefted the blade so that it was right in front of his face and pointed towards the sky. A universal symbol for a swordsman's salute.

"Prepare yourselves. I, Roland, Paladin of Charlemagne, will face you in battle."

Mauriel blinked. "You're dead," he said.

"And now, so are you."

The response came from behind him. The image of Roland lifting his sword, Durandal, in front of him vanished, and when he turned his head to see behind him, Roland was already sliding his sword back into its scabbard.

Mauriel blinked. Then the pain hit.

---

Dorian cursed in every language he knew, which was surprisingly many. The tables started to turn when Typhon evaporated into thin air which, for the life of him, he still could not explain. Then the Qilin had appeared and blared out a warning in its strange language.

Obviously, as a Recorder, he knew of the Chinese mythological creature. He knew of their pacifist ways: how they never walked on grass to avoid killing individual blades, or how they only appeared under benevolent and just rulers, or how their presence would hint to a prosperous and peaceful future.

But the scene he was looking at was anything but peaceful. There were muffled cries from the communicator, Fallen Angels calling for any available support as unidentifiable attackers zoomed in and of their ranks.

It was pandemonium. The Fallen had split up to engage in various tasks, including hunting that blue-haired boy he was certain was at the centre of all this. And every single group had been attacked by unknown assailants. The descriptions varied.

Nobody had really known what had attacked Arianna's unit. They had suddenly just started to fall from the sky one by one. He could still see them now, huddled in a tight defensive formation as a body plummeted to the ground.

And according to some, Mauriel and his men were fighting the first wielder of Durandal, Roland himself, amidst the remains of Typhon. He could see bright flashes as metal met light in the distance, but could not make out the legendary swordsman himself - only a blur.

But they were merely the tip of an iceberg. All kinds of mythical figures and creatures were being quoted by Fallen everywhere. Their movements were erratic, unpredictable, and sometimes downright counterintuitive.

From his vantage point, he had a rough gist of what was going on. Hit'and'run tactics, guerilla warfare. But that made even less sense to him. If his comrades' accounts were to be believed, and he would never doubt their words in situations like this, then there was no need for their enemies to resort to such underhanded tactics.

He remained in his spot, watching thousands upon thousands of Fallen trying to regain their bearings, struggling to maintain formation. He just didn't understand what his opponents were aiming for. If they wanted to win, they would have just attempted an all out effort to crush them. But there was a chaotic organisation in their attacks and manoeuvres. They had a plan, and he couldn't for the life of him figure it out. He grit his teeth, every moment he couldn't was a waste of their lives and their time-

Time. They were wasting time. That was their end-plan. They wanted to distract the Fallen from what was the most important.

When was the last time they heard from Lord Kokabiel? He was certain his leader would be fine against the teenage Devils. Prodigies or not, they wouldn't be able to match a Seraph-level Fallen at their current levels. But if the blue-haired boy was making his way there like he suspected, things would turn out very differently.

He made a motion to grab his receiver to instruct his brethren to return to Kokabiel's side, only to realise that it was no longer there.

Or rather, he was no longer there.

The Sun grew smaller as he looked up, and when he turned back down, he saw his reflection in the windows of building he was falling next to.

A dull pain spread across his chest, as the winds whipped past his face and the ground grew ever closer. The last thought in his mind before he blacked out was wondering why the silver arrow embedded in his chest looked so damned familiar.

---

A group of Fallen blocked his path. They scowled threateningly at him.

Moments later, an armoured figure landed in front of them, his shield up and blade poised to attack.

"Go, my Lord! I, Sir Lancelot, will keep these wretched creatures at bay so you may continue to pursue your noble task!"

The Fallen distanced themselves away from the Persona, giving him time to make a turn. They hissed as he did so, and one even tried to go after him.

Lancelot beheaded him easily, and his comrades watched his headless, lifeless body land with a meaty slap and his head rolling away, eyes glazed and tongue out.

"Go."

He complied, and took a detour. The sounds of battle continued on from behind him.

His pace was much slower now, leisurely, even. That was to be expected when he was dragging around an injured girl.

She had let go of his hand earlier, saying it was undignified and unnecessary. So she limped behind him. He tried convincing her to let him use a Persona to heal her ankle.

"It would probably incinerate me by accident," she had retorted, "seeing how much of a battle frenzy they are currently in."

He had frowned in return. His Personas were not as careless or incapable as she thought they were. She was probably still wary after his little bipolar bout earlier and the scenes of his Personas ravaging her brethren wasn't helping much either. So she remained adamant in refusing his help, and he had dropped the matter.

It was only a small matter in what plagued him.

He felt it all.

Metal tearing into flesh.

The smell of burnt meat.

Screams of pain and agony.

The cracking of bones.

Droplets of blood splashing onto his skin.

Every single sensation his Personas felt when they killed a Fallen was transferred to him even though he hadn't asked for it. But they knew that he wanted it anyway. He wouldn't let his power get to his head. He wasn't naïve to believe he could go through his whole life without killing, but it was certainly something he wanted to keep to a minimum.

His Personas understood that, respected it even. That was why they did it. He wouldn't allow himself to become the type of person that ended people's lives on a whim. Every death stabbed him like a knife, and he would dig it in even further, to make sure he would never forget this horrible feeling. Countless lives, unfulfilled dreams, untapped potential, extinguished because he reciprocated their act of war.

Unacceptable. He wanted to end it now. He understood Kokabiel's intentions. That did not mean he agreed with it.

He would find him, and then he would knock some sense into him. For all his love for humanity, the Fallen had made one crucial error.

Kokabiel had underestimated humans.

He had proclaimed they could not coexist with the supernatural. Such thinking only built more barriers, and they limited the direction in which humanity could grow.

That was a waste of potential. Maybe they could not exist in balanced harmony. But even so, that did not mean humanity would lose out. When he saw Issei, he did not think of a Devil. He saw a perverted, determined, and loyal friend.

Breaking barriers and shattering expectations was something humanity was predisposed to do. Even if those barriers were between races. He still knew little of the world, but what he had seen was enough to give him hope.

Rias and Sona were good people.

Irina and Xenovia were compassionate and faithful individuals.

Even Raynare was becoming better.

The supernatural would not drag humans down.

If anything, humanity would pull them up.

---

Kokabiel sighed. And that last attack by the Gremory girl has gotten his hopes up, too.

He was disappointed. This wouldn't do at all.

Halfheartedly, he dodged another lightning bolt while using his wings to block a wave of magical spells. For Devils so young, especially the Reincarnated ones, their attacks were impressive.

But not enough. It was nowhere near enough. So many of them here were once human. He wondered if their lives would have been better off if they were still human. Some had not led pleasant lives as humans - many reincarnated Devils did not. Most of them would have remained blissfully unaware of the supernatural world.

What would have happened to the Sacred Gear users? Would their gifts go undiscovered and untapped their whole lives? Maybe, he thought, that was for the better. Humans had not relied on mystical gifts and knowledge to create the most advanced and diverse society known to history. And without any supernatural threats, there really was no need for Sacred Gears. Humans were resourceful; they would be able to solve their own problems without God's help.

He nodded his head subconsciously. That settled it; he cemented his resolve in carrying out his plan. He would rid the world of the Supernatural, even the human ones. Sacred Gear users, Holy Sword wielders, Magicians, all of them had to go.

Even Arisato Minato.

The task seemed daunting, but he had spent centuries planning this. It would work out. Only a third of his men were here in Kuoh, which would spark off a rift between the Three Factions. The rest were scattered around the world, stirring trouble covertly amongst the other Factions. By the end of the week, the world would be embroiled in war.

He had performed countless calculations, factored in every possible variable, pre-anticipated every kind of reaction.

All until Arisato Minato showed up. The boy was a Wild Card, an unknown who was not slammed but sneaked onto the table, and threw everything out of whack. His abilities were an unknown, his motives even more mysterious, and in the event that the child disrupted his meticulously-planned operations, he could only pray that the boy could succeed in where he could not.

"Boost!"

A hand latched onto his ankle while he was deep in his thoughts. The Longinus boy had suddenly doubled in speed, and that burst had caught him off-guard, leaving him no time to react.

"I've got you!" Hyoudou Issei cried out, determination burning in his eyes. "C'mon Xenovia, I believe in you!"

He looked at the boy grabbing onto him. The other hand grabbed a street lamp, keeping him locked in position. He clicked his tongue and kicked the boy in the face hard.

The boy grunted in pain, but the grip around his ankle only tightened. "I won't let go!" He gritted out.

He frowned at the boy's stupidity. "What do you even hope to achieve my trapping me in this spot? You've already seen that even the Gremory's greatest attack does nothing."

"Maybe Buchou isn't strong enough," the boy admitted, "but that doesn't mean that we can't hurt you. There's always a way!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Issei smirked.

"Like me."

It was a girl who spoke. The one with short blue hair and green highlights. The wielder of Durandal. She had not been a genuine threat earlier, what with her close-quarter specialty hampered by the huge distance between them.

That had changed.

Durandal was crackling with arcane energy. Red sparks jumped and leaped along its unchipped edge. Kokabiel noted with interest that even though Durandal was a Holy Sword, the nearby Devils didn't seem to be adversely affected in the slightest by the energy exuded by it. If anything, it spurred them on, bringing hope into their eyes.

"They say Roland single-handedly wiped out an army of a hundred thousand with Durandal." Xenovia mused. Then she smiled, admiration in her tone, "I think I can see how now."

Kokabiel stared at the sword, and a memory long forgotten hit him with the force of a freight train. He stopped resisting out Hyoudou Issei's grasp, and his muscles relaxed as the past overwhelmed him.

"You are an Angel."

Kokabiel looks at the man. His beard is unkempt, and his hair is ragged. Yet there is something imposing about the man. Perhaps it is the dried flecks of blood that cling to his skin. Or the bulky body that is hidden away underneath the worn-out cloak. Or most decidedly, it is the sword that hangs from his side. The blade itself hidden away by its scabbard, but even its handle and its semicircular guard reeks more power than lesser Angels.

"Perhaps I am," he finally responds to the man after giving him a once-over.

The man bows. "I am Roland, a Paladin of the Holy Roman Emperor Charlemagne. I have come to meet the one known as Kokabiel. They say you are one of the few Seraphs that descends onto the Earth regularly."

His eyebrows rises slightly. He recognises the name and, in doing so, the sword as well. Durandal. He remembers with great fondness when God crafted it and gifted it to the first of the Roman Emperors.

The man is dangerous.

"I am Kokabiel, but I am no Seraph. I am merely a ten-winged Angel. Perhaps in a few centuries or so I may gain that title."

The man's face slumps slightly. "I see. I will not lie, I am slightly disappointed. I had hoped you were going to be a worthy fight."

Kokabiel laughs. "You wish to fight me, why? We are not enemies. You are willing to attack a messenger of the God that blesses your Empire to fulfill your thrill-seeking ways?"

Roland shakes his head. "No. I wish to fight you to see where I stand. I know there exists a world beyond what my eyes can see. I know there are beings out there who are so monstrous in strength that it's incomprehensible to me. And I know some of them wish harm unto humanity. I want to know whether we can beat them."

His smile drops. All pretense of friendliness is gone. He sees the man differently now. His shoulders look burdened with heavy responsibilities and knowledge. "Why do you wish to face them? It is our jobs as Angels to protect your kind from such foes."

The man gives him a very grave look. "But you will not be here forever, nor should you. One day Man will have to fight our own battles. Please, indulge me, no holding back."

Kokabiel hesitates. To be brutally honest, he is worried that Roland would get hurt. But he knows from the fire burning in the man's eyes that he would not take no for an answer.

"Very well. Everything is permitted except killing." He finally relents.

Roland replies by raising his sword. Red mystic energy starts rolling off in waves and tendrils.

They clash.

At that moment, he no longer saw Xenovia Quarta. Another image was superimposed onto her lean body. A knight, wrapped in bloodied and dented armour, blade held up high, eyes shining with defiance at the Devil horde charging towards him.

He stood on a small hill of Devil corpses, beckoning for them to come at him, and when they did, he shouted a single word.

"Du-"

A red aura coated the blade, as though it was alit with divine and arcane fire.

"-ran-"

He swung the blade.

"-dal!"

An arc of energy leapt off from the edge of the blade. It was a tsunami of destructive power, a red crescent-shaped tide of annihilation. Air molecules were split into their basic elemental atoms as the chemical bonds that held them together shattered under the force. Even space itself, for the most miniscule of moments, was cut apart by the duress Durandal forced upon it. It left behind a dark trail, one that was quickly covered up by everything else. For a time equal to a fraction of an instant, Durandal had opened the door into the Void.

Kokabiel felt the hand holding him down release, but he did not react. There was not enough time to escape anyway. Instead he smiled welcomingly at the attack.

"Do you yield?" The voice is raspy from exertion, and comes out as a soft whisper.

Kokabiel coughs out blood. "I don't have any other choice, do I?"

The blade that is pressed against his neck pulls away, and Roland lifts his knee from Kokabiel's chest. Gratefully, the Angel takes in a few lungfuls of fresh air. When he recovers he sits up, inspecting the various wounds that decorate his body. A gash here, a fracture there, internal bleeding in the lungs. It is nothing a good night's of rest will not heal.

He is more worried about Roland, and even though the Paladin technically won, he is in far worse shape. His breathing is shallow and uneven, and the man is struggling to stand straight, the once proud and mighty Durandal reduced to a walking cane.

He looks around. The landscape is ruined. There is a gaping hole in a nearby mountain. Whole swathes of forested land have had their forests demolished. Large craters dot the land, smoke still billowing from some of them.

The fight was much more difficult that he ever expected, and that overconfidence had caused him his victory. Roland is a remarkable fighter, and there is doubt brewing in him that the man in front of him is truly human.

"I would have won," he protests weakly, "but I had to hold back because I couldn't risk killing you. My wings would turn black, and I don't want that."

The Paladin gives him a knowing smile. "I'm sure that's why." Then he sits on a log, and takes a few moments to catch his breath. "That was a very difficult fight," he says when he is done, "and I shudder to think how powerful the Archangels and the Devil Pillars are compared to you."

"They are real monsters," he says wistfully, "and I will be joining their ranks soon enough."

"You sound confident," notes Roland.

"It is my fate. That is what Father says." He says without pausing. He has long accepted the responsibility and the expectations that will fall unto him in the future.

Roland nods in understanding. "If that is what God decrees, then it must be true."

They sit in silence for a while, content to survey the destruction that they have caused.

"Have you fought them before? The real monsters you speak of?"

He has. He has frequent spars with his older Seraphim brothers. But they are only spars and nothing more, which he points out to the curious swordsman.

"Do you think I can beat them?" Roland asks hopefully.

He wants to say no at first. But he had made that same assumption against himself and Roland had defied that fate. So even though he does not voice his thoughts, he does not lie either.

"I am sure with enough practice, anything is possible." He says encouragingly.

Roland seems to accept that.

"When you become a Seraph, will you fight me again? I will double in my efforts to hone my skills until the day comes where we will meet again."

As if the Paladin's skills are not scary enough as they are, Kokabiel thinks, but he cannot help but to accept. "Certainly." He grins, "I will show you that your win today was a mere fluke."

Rolands smiles in kind as well. "And I will practice even harder to show you that it was not."

They shake on it, but that fight never comes.

Roland dies four months later defending his Emperor from Devils and Demons that wished to usurp his body.

Kokabiel stood unfazed. His arms opened wide, welcoming it like an old friend.

The girl was not Roland, but it did not matter. This was enough for him. It was weaker than Roland's own version, but that was to be expected - the Swordsman was twice the girl's age when they fought. Yet the girl accomplished something even Roland could not when he was her age. There was a pain in his heart. It was such a shame - he was certain she would surpass Roland in swordsmanship if she were allowed to keep growing.

The war would kill her, wasting all that untapped potential. If she had been born maybe a hundred years earlier, and allowed to sharpen her skills and realise her potential, then perhaps this war would never have been needed. It was such a shame, he noted miserably, that this war would have to claim her life.

At the very least however, it allowed him to partially fulfill a promise to an old friend. And so, he let the light engulf him.

---

Xenovia dropped her arms with Durandal, her heart pounding with euphoria and adrenaline. She had managed to do it. After years of dreaming and training about it, she'd finally managed to get Durandal to respond to her.

It had finally acknowledged her.

She still couldn't believe it, and judging from Irina's agape mouth, neither did she.

"You just... did that thing... wow..." her friend was dumbfounded, and struggled to find words to express her shock.

Xenovia nodded her head weakly. "Yea... I did..."

"Wohoot! That was AWESOME Xenovia!" Issei yelled out while running to hug her. She actually let him, tolerating the sweat and the smell - she wouldn't have been able to hit Kokabiel without him holding the Fallen down.

Irina looked slightly jealous, she noted with amusement.

"You've got to tell Arisato-san! Then you'll be as cool as him!" The boy jabbered on. She smiled. To be honest, she had no idea how she did it either, but ever since Minato had returned to her, Durandal felt... different.

It was as though the sword seemed lighter, and responded more quickly to her desires, and it felt truly like an extension of her own body now. Maybe Minato had... spoken to it? She was not sure, but she held Durandal with a newfound confidence she never had before.

She had been so driven to defeat Kokabiel that instinctively she had channeled her raging will into her blade and it had reciprocated, crackling to life with arcane energy.

And then she was able to do that. It took her breath away, the sheer amount of devastation that had been compacted in that one attack. Even now, the area where Kokabiel had occupied was still a dust cloud, and when it cleared she was certain that it was going to be empty space, the Fallen having been atomised or blown into oblivion.

The rest of the Kuoh students jogged up to her. Ecstatic expressions and congratulatory cheers greeted her. Her heart was still thumping, and she was genuinely taken aback by the sincerity behind their gestures. She was an Exorcist that was now a true wielder of Durandal. That was supposed to be bad for them. So why were they still so happy?

"I'm so happy for you!"

She froze. It was the excommunicated nun, Asia Argento. She had played a pivotal support role, ensuring that none of their wounds had been lethal. She had saved Irina, and that was something she would always remained grateful for. Xenovia saw the blissful look on her face, "I knew you could do it! Though I was getting kind of worried for you too," her chirpy voice turned slightly bashful, "I didn't want you feeling like you weren't good enough for Durandal after what Arisato-san did. You are, by the way! Durandal is very lucky to have you as a wielder!"

Xenovia blinked, and Asia must have noticed her puzzlement, because she went on in her cheerful voice, "I mean you're helping us even though we didn't ask you to. You could have run away and kept your lives, but you chose to do what you thought was right and help us to protect the town! You even sided and fought with Devils like us!"

That was right. She had almost forgotten. They were Devils.

So why did she feel so fond of them?

She smiled back at Asia. "Thank you, for saying that. I really appreciate it."

Asia beamed.

She fainted.

---

Issei realised something was wrong the moment Xenovia closed her eyes. Her legs buckled, and she suddenly slumped forwards. In his boosted state, it appeared to him as though in slow motion, and he caught her unconscious body.

"She is exhausted" said Sona after everybody heaved a sigh of relief after he caught her, "an attack like that must have sapped her of alot of energy. Let her rest."

Issei gently put her down. Even in her current state, her hand refused to let go of Durandal. The Boosted Gear vanished from his arm, and he felt his own wave of fatigue hit him. His butt sank to the floor, and he sprawled himself on the ground.

"Man, I'm beat! We're done right? We can go home now that we've beaten Kokabiel," he whined. His eyelids threatened to close. His arms were shaking from overuse, and his bones felt like they were going snap at a moment's notice. "I just want to sleep, I'm so tired I don't even have the energy to masturbate before going to bed!" He complained loudly.

The others frowned, either at his inclusion of what was clearly personal or at his less-than-enthusiastic attitude of cleaning up after the battle.

A voice interrupted them before they could voice their objections.

"I am afraid you cannot pleasure yourself just yet. The battle is far from over."

At first he thought Kokabiel had returned, but the dust cloud had long dissipated, and there was no sign of the Fallen.

He snapped to attention anyway.

The voice was deep, though there was a hint of cheekiness in it. Issei desperately tried to look up to find the speaker, and froze in fear at the sight before him.

Oblivious, Rias nodded her head sagely, "that's right, Issei. There are still many... Fallen... in the... city." Her words trailed to a stop as realisation dawned on her. Slowly, she tilted her head up, and her features were locked in the same gobsmacked expressions of everyone else.

Two.

Four.

Six.

Eight.

Ten.

Twelve.

There were twelve wings behind the being's back.

Twelve pure white brilliant wings, as if the feathers were plucked from the finest swans. They dazzled in the sky, but did not outshine their owner.

The only way they could describe him was gold.

Golden armour. Golden hair. Golden eyes. A golden halo hovering above his head. Automatically, Asia and Irina knelt.

"Archangel-sama," they intoned together. The reverance in their voices were as clear as day.

The Devils turned back. They did not know what to do. They were technically enemies, but they were in no state to fight him. That did not mean they would need to, for Angels were not the type to pick a fight for no rhyme or reason.

So they offered their respect. They did not go so far as to kneel, but they did lower their heads slightly to await further instructions.

"So docile, Devils these days." The pressure behind the voice had eased, and the Archangel descended to walk amongst their midst.

"I do not like all these formalities. While they make me feel important and so very grand, I think they put an invisible barrier between me and the people I am suppose to care for. Raise your heads and stand up, I mean you all no harm." Slowly, they followed his instruction. He looked satisfied.

"See? That wasn't so hard." The Archangel chuckled. "You look very tired, relax a bit. I will take over from here. Go rest, you have fought hard and valiantly. I saw everything from the above. Let me handle this."

They looked at each other in confusion. "Handle what?"

"Why, your little pest infestation, of course. To kill the colony, you must kill the Queen. This Queen in particular seems very fond of hiding." He smiled mischievously. He snapped his fingers. A giant explosion rocked one of the nearby buildings. "We will have to flush him out, yes?"

An irritated voice took over. "You ruined my surprise."

Issei's heart froze.

Kokabiel hovered out of the building, looking mildly irritated, but not at all intimidated by the twelve-winged Angel across him. He looked completely untouched, as though Xenovia's attack hadn't even scratched him. In fact, he looked as good as he did before the battle even begun, but there was something about him that just seemed... off.

There were gasps around him. "But Xenovia hit you with Durandal! You should be dead!"

There was a look on Kokabiel's face that could only be described as reluctant acceptance. "You're right. I should have died hundreds of years ago, but I did not." Then he stared at Xenovia's fallen form for a bit. "it is good she is not awake to see this," he said softly, "it would crush her to know that Durandal's attack did nothing. And I would rather kill her while she is still blissfully unaware and unconscious."

"And I'd rather you not kill her at all," Kokabiel's white counterpart chimed in cheerfully. "Good Exorcists like her are hard to find these days. She's a keeper."

Kokabiel narrowed his eyes. "I was in Heaven for several centuries. I know every single Seraph, Fallen or not. Yet I do not recognise you."

The Angel laughed. "I do not know who you are either. Let's trade. You first."

There was an audible change in pressure as Kokabiel's features hardened like a rock, and took on a dead-serious look.

"I am God's son, Man's mentor, and the Fallen's Leader."

"I am the youngest Seraph, the last of the God's trusted advisors."

"I am the Toppler of the Tower of Babel, unparalleled in the High Heaven Arts and Military Might."

"I am Kokabiel, the Star of God."

That grand speech made Issei recount Kokabiel's wings. He gulped. Twelve. Two more wings sprouted out from the back of the Fallen compared to earlier. The bastard had been holding back the whole time. They had tried so hard, and had only managed to make Kokabiel begin to become serious.

It made him feel so useless and weak. He scrunched his fists together and slammed the ground. Damn it all to Hell. What good was the Boosted Gear if he couldn't even protect his friends with it? If it weren't for the Archangel, they would all certainly be dead now.

"That does sound very impressive." The Archangel said sulkily. "I don't believe I have many fancy titles like that."

Kokabiel inclined his lips slightly. "Give it a shot. I believe you can come up with something."

The Archangel scratched his chin. "Give me a moment, let me cook something up." A few seconds later, he snapped his fingers excitedly.

"I got it!" He exclaimed. He straightened, and adopted a serious look of his own. In an exaggerated manner, he cleared his throat.

"I am the Fire that burns the Wicked.

I am the Hearth that warms the Cold and Forgotten."

"I am His rage, and His Love.

I am Uriel."

Fire erupted to life around Uriel, constructs made of flames dancing and circling around him.

"And I have come forth to bring Salvation to the Damned."

---

A/N: So... I know I said I'd update weekly as often as I could. I also know that I said I'd TRY. So if I'm lazy, stuck, or I'm cramming a chapter that is more 8k words, I won't. Some of you checked in with me. That's fine, I actually appreciate it - it's nice to know that you guys message me to see if I'm still alive. Some of you go a little further. "Is it going to be updated tomorrow?", "Can you try to update it by this weekend?", "When will your Beta be done?"

STOP. It's super annoying and stressful.

I'll upload the chapter when I want to. Shaded will finish Beta-ing the script when he wants to. We have real lives, and other things to do with our time. I get it, you like the story and want to read it as soon as possible. I get that, I read FF too, and there are so many abandoned awesome stories out there and that breaks my heart. But have you ever wondered why they quit? Maybe they're just busy, or lazy, or they simply didn't know how to continue.

Or maybe they kept getting bombarded with annoying questions and unreasonable demands, and that caused them to realise that writing FF just isn't worth their time and effort. Do you know when rush us, the quality gets worse? Then you won't enjoy reading it, and I won't enjoy writing it.

So for the sake of the story, please be patient. Writing is hard, especially for me since this is my first real fic, and considering how I genuinely know nothing about DxD and Persona (all my background comes from existing FF and Wikis), it's way harder for me to write this stuff.

Sorry that I have to end the fic on such a sour note, but this is something I feel needs to be addressed.

As always, leave a review or PM if you wanna chat (but don't ask about upload dates or speed, cuz i'll get annoyed. And please don't ask weird questions that I have no way of answering as well or simply don't make sense.)

Fav and Follow,

-Paulzies out