Something i forgot to make clear:
' [text] '
That is a person's thoughts, distinguished by a pair of apostrophes, and Italics.
It ticked inside his head, the way the devils stole from the gods. The 'Sacred Gears', twisted in the hands of the corruption. Stolen from the forge of the gods, a glorious treasure bequeathed only to the most righteous, in the filthy hands of evil. The simple sight of the red armor sickened him.
By the mandate of the Darksun, must all who sin against the Gods not be righteously punished? The rite of the Darksun went through his head, and guided his blade.
"Guilty."
His legs pulled ahead, a mix somewhere between hastened walking and simple jogging. Another step and his sword became clouded with the same yellow streaks of lightning.
"All Guilty are to be crushed."
The shield-soldier leaned forward, and hastened into a full charge.
"The Darkmoon exists to expunge all who are Guilty."
From the other side, the armored devil seemed to mirror his charge, along with a frenzied roar. As if siphoning energy into a powerful ability.
With a resonant grunt, the Lordranite vaulted the rest of the way. He lifted clear off the dirt, only a little, but enough to kick the wind into the old grass. Rushing quicker in the air than on the ground, he pulled his sword upwards and backwards, placing firm grips on the handle.
He had forgoed the use of the catalyst, there was much to be gained from a supporting hand in sword-work. Besides, should the need for miracles arise, he was proficient enough to use his own hand as a catalyst, though with certain drawbacks.
His own longsword was the beginning of knighthood, as such it was easy to manuevre, but lacks raw power as seen in the more heavier, and sometimes, more magical variants.
Issei, easily swayed, made the attempt to leap as well, though he was a madman to underestimate the speed of his vault.
The length of the sword brushed the wind from behind his head, and eagerly awaited it's purpose.
The boots found the ground, in the same moment, his arms violently pulled the blade ahead, and poured his strength into a cleaving strike into his opposite side. Where it would cut again.
Clearly, Issei underestimated the momentum that carried along the leap. He had readied an armored limb ready to block the inevitable sword. But fool that he was, did he not remember what happened just before? The devil trusted his strength too much, believed that a single arm however armored, would be able to stop the strike.
His attempted block failed, resulting in an arm that started burning.
Once again, he forgot what kind of lightning the Race of Gods employ.
The devil placed some hope in a crude scratch of the claw, thrusting the unharmed limb forward, he finally struck the offending squire. At a large cost, it should be said.
The longsword followed its trail, another slice into the dragon armor, alongside a patch of missing scale where the visceral attack landed. This back-track was followed by the lowering of body altogether, where the weapon was lowered for a large thrust, backed entirely by his entirety lunging forward, further driving the piercing tip into the flesh that was bloodied only about a minute ago. Freely bypassing the dragon armor, for a gap in the scale exposed the vulnerable flesh.
For a person who grew with the wind on his back, and preciseness as a weapon, Issei might as well be unarmored.
In a desperate attempt to push him away, Issei clawed the air in front in a semi-frenzy, but met only thin air as Tristan had already leaped back in a somewhat elegant manner.
But the moment Issei's panic ended, he broke for the devil, now completely shifted into rushdown. His weapon was once again held back, and sliced a scratch into the armor. The support hand was closer to the devil, and was braced with a short push of the body to deliver a blunt elbow into the low abdomen. With the hands curled around the sword's hilt, he lunged himself forward, and stomped his forward foot down, for the chain's next link was a large upwards slash that pulled the blade to Tristan's opposite side, allowing the connection of the next strike. It might seem like a rushed move, but he was more precise than most.
The body shifted in front of the helpless devil. He aligned his arm with his shoulder, and springed, almost jumped at him. He nearly fell over, but a shred of effort pulled him back, and he commanded his legs to move him away from the squire's unending composite of blade and body.
In a real battle, swiveting oneself would only bring them ruin, and this is case is no different.
Again, his right leg forward, it crushed the ground beneath. A two-handed stance, the type to bring the fight to a fleeing enemy. He moved with quick steps, and entered a forward leap. The tip of the blade speared into the chest, where a compromise in scales revealed the flesh, under which, the vileblood of devil kind writhes within.
Like a heartless beast, he kicked the failing body off his sword without any regard for the victim. His boot held the weight of a boulder, and forced it on the devil's neck.
"Sentence these fiends to death, in the name of the Darkmoon."
He retrieved the catalyst, and surged his faith into the strength of the gods, taking a pitiful look at who was lay on the ground. His head questioned the will of the cosmos.
Why would someone so pathetically unprocifient be able to come into possession of one of the old artifacts? It doesn't matter if you were the one with the finer blade, or ancient weapon. You're own proficiency decides the use obtained from the tool.
A blade master can defeat a novice armed with a legendary weapon, using only a stick.
The charge dispersed into the crack of the armor with a resounding smash of white, and he twisted towards his healer, the younger-looking blonde devil.
He swung his sword clean of the vile devil blood, and marched towards the smaller girl. As menacing as an executioner to a sinner. But, as misunderstood as ever since he arrived in town.
Two leaders battled it out in the school gym's bright interior, hurling all kinds of spells at the other in hopes to bring an end to the recurring stalemate. An end to which has already occurred, as for one of the leaders, her entire league had been erased from the event. Similar to the way their Great War came to a grounding halt with the faction of the Gods.
A wall in the conjured school's gym blasted open, replaced by the cloud of smoke from the wall's filling, which would eventually give way to the flooding moonlight.
The leaders within the gym, now purged of static traps, both glanced at the smoke, red and black hairs tustled as they did. Sona smirked when her queen piece appeared from the smokescreen. The queen ran to stand beside her leader, sharing reports of the most recent battle.
With the small skirmishes complete, there was only the final battle, and the end of the constant stalemate.
It is all thanks to cooperator.
But the slight smile faltered when she noticed the lack of said cooperator. Before asking of his whereabouts, queen piece Sona had already prepared an answer. Interrupted, by rushing footsteps that tapped lightly on the polished wood.
Rias turned her head to look again at the source. Already in knowledge of his melee orientation, she fled to height with the use of her devil wings. But she knew that simply retreating to the skies above wouldn't mean that she could completely forget about him.
The hastened squire fired a white bolt, it tore through the brightened hall. But the spear had nothing to guide it after its launch. The devil swerved right, almost into another spell from the other devils in the room.
"Ngh..." Taking glances between the two, she discerned the situation cooly. It was not great.
...
"Rias, I'm sure that you know how this will go. It would be best for you to resign, and end this stalemate." Sona voiced from the opposite side of the large interior
The devil king onced-over the spring of lightning. The boy already held another shot of it ready and waiting, thankfully he's read the situation clearly. He waited silently for her answer to his employer's comment, surveying the floating king with the most indifferent of inspections.
The Sitri heiress murmured to herself, already knowing the answer she was going to receive.
"But..."
"Knowing you, that won't be the outcome." Beside her, the only queen left in the rating game approved the answer.
Meanwhile, their quiet cooperator listened in with his keener-than-most sense of hearing, keeping a close watch on his former employer. His grip on the sword loosened as he inhaled air, like he was taught on the lengthy transfer by a stranger, now friend of sorts.
Finally, Rias made a move, and cast a quick blast spell at two devils, who easily removed themselves from it's small radius. The best that could be done, under current circumstances. She knew that the moment she started on the magic circles, a surging bolt would fly at her. So the effects were weakened.
Once again, the squire had readied another spear. Should she steady herself for even a moment, it would dart for her.
A three vs one was doomed from the start. But giving up simply didn't feel within Rias today.
Tristan was always moving, keeping the time to travel for his bolts as minimal as he can, thus forcing the devil to always keep moving. And its not like she could even get close to the floor, he was waiting, sword covered in lightning, eyes sharpened, and a readied blade. This little chase left Sona and Shinra all the time they needed for a greater cast.
Like this, Sona's faction wrestled a victory from perpetuated stalemate.
It was always the mistakes that would come and get you. Rias was forced into a corner, and simply ended.
"But prez! We were gonna win! That can't be possible!"
Surely, her group wasn't very interested in the idea of defeat, and after the constant ties, they were sure that victory would be theirs. But, the night was not theirs, and they were defeated.
When the game reached it's end, both peerages, as well as a cooperator were transported behind the school, on the track. While the devils mingled and socialised with each other, sharing experiences and what-not, the key to the end of the stalemate reclusively retreated to a distant patch of grass. That place there; where they all laughed and teased one another, boasting about who defeated whom, is not a place for him.
He set down his sword, and breathed deeply, already worried about little Eria back home.
It was not his choice, but one that was made for him via the false rumor that started to circulate a while ago. Yet there were good memories in his head from times past, so he reminisced about those times, under the light of the moon, his back to the devils. What had he done wrong in the little time since arriving?
He remembered a pale woman, and her wonderfully foreign accent, similar to Asane's.
"Excuse me." Her voice seemed condescending, but mixed with enough monotone to make it seem passive.
But before he could delve into the bloody duel that followed, he was interrupted by a familiar voice.
Without open hostility, he allowed himself to lay a tired eye on the devil. Unsurprisingly, it was his employer, her assistant followed behind. The two girls looked down on him, expecting some kind of answer in return.
A silent face, and the natural frown that accompanied it.
"I've come to thank you. For your participation in this rating game of ours." She fixed her glasses, and returned to her folded arm pose. Expectant of a reply? Her sentenced ended, and Tristan returned to his previous activity.
"Also."
He spun his head back around.
"I may call you to the student council's office at a later time during the week. So, expect that." He made an audible hum of acknowledgement, and for some strange reason, the devil leader sighed.
"Other than that, you may leave. And thank you, once again." The two of them performed a polite bow of etiquette. After which, they turned and departed.
But now that he was interrupted, he couldn't help but hear his name more than once from the nearby crowd. There was mixed feelings in their words.
But, before any of them could become brave enough to confront him, the stranger took his blade, and disappeared into the night.
He reappeared near his apartment, where the stairs meet the walkway to his given room.
But there was a woman there, leaning on the rails haphazardly, without a care in the world about what would happen if she happened to fall. She looked at him, a fiendish smile plastered on her face. He asked the stranger an obvious question. What business might she have with him?
...
"Do I know you?"
The woman, a black, spiky mess in hair looked at him, exhaled a deep breath and shut her eyes momentarily. The strangely, yet familiarly dressed woman approached slightly, and folded her arms.
"Well, that's certainly no way to treat me, Tristan. Don't you remember?"
A confused expression invaded his facials. He knew the faces of his siblings and mother by heart, surely they haven't changed this much.
"Oh, how could you forget? I seem to remember holding you within my arms when you were just a little infant."
"And you've grown so much since then..."
Clearly, this woman was more than just a stranger.
Ey.
The usual, tell me how things went, what yall liked and all that.
Also real big thanks to follows and favs.
Thanks for reading this chapter, the next few will be all festive-like.