Chapter Twelve: Miss Me When I'm Dead

The courtyard outside the church had quieted with the egress of Kiba, Mordred and the Exorcists, all of them intent on confronting the excommunicated priest. Well, Kiba and the two junior nuns were, Mordred was more or less accompanying them out of the need to protect her Master. It left the groups of Johan, Trent and their Servants, as well as the cadre of Devils, who were still debating the necessity of contacting their older siblings.

While that circular debate was going on, Ryoma cleared his throat and motioned for Johan, Trent, and Nobu to follow him into the church, Oryou floating along beside him. The albino followed his partner without protest, while Trent and Nobu took a moment to share a curious look and shrug before ambling in afterwards, the Archer kicking the door shut behind her.

Once within, the Rider glanced around the largely ruined church, then picked up a couple pews that were still in decent shape and set them down, facing one another. He sank down onto the one facing the door, tossing his hat to one side and waving wearily at the other. Oryou, sensing her hubby's exhaustion, wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her chin atop his head, humming quietly.

The group took a seat opposite Ryoma. After a moment's silence, Nobunaga languidly stretched out along the pew, her legs crossing as she watched the diplomat.

"So, what is it you wanted to speak on?"

Ryoma was quiet for a moment, then let out a breath. "Master, Blackmore. I perhaps overstep my bounds with this, but I feel as though it needs to be said, nonetheless." The Hero of Reformation leaned forward, and bluntly declared, "You two need to get your shit together."

Trent blinked, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as he steepled his hands in front of his face. "Colour me curious. Explain."

"I realise that the two of you lean on one another for support in the face of the unfamiliar, and that your back-and-forth is as much a coping mechanism as it is for your own amusement." Ryoma paused, then continued, "But there is a time and place for such things, and in the midst of battle and in front of relative strangers is certainly not that time."

"I mean, fair," the blond acquiesced, bobbing his head in agreement. "But I will note: Johan and I are nuggies, we'll do it at the drop of a hat without really thinking about it. It's very much not a conscious thing."

"That's true," Johan admitted, "but it probably is something we ought to work on, especially if we're going to be immersing ourselves in the supernatural and the like." He shook his head and glanced at Trent. "The fact that we occasionally share exactly one brain cell half the time isn't an excuse, just an explanation."

"In truth, I don't really see any harm in it," Archer remarked, reaching up to tilt the brim of her hat out of her face. "True, it might be a distraction for them, but it also puts potential enemies off their guards." Pulling her hand away and clawing it, she grinned as she continued, "Let them play the fools, for what does it do but benefit us?"

Ryoma grimaced. "Perhaps that worked for you, Lord Oda, but they do not have the accomplishments and legacy that you did to back their actions. Foes may yet underestimate them, but by the same token, potential allies may well disdain them." He shook his head. "Do not mistake me: there is use in such a tactic, but when our position is so tenuous, we must be exacting with our choices, lest we wind up indebted to Azazel, or Yasaka, or whoever else might attempt to become our patrons."

"You forget, diplomat, I was not always the Scourge of Hiei. For so long, I was the Fool of Owari," Nobunaga retorted, her wrist loosening to let her hand point towards him. "I was constantly scorned and treated as an idiot, and used both that reputation and my skills in order to crush them." Flame danced across her digits, her gloves seemingly untouched as she continued, "Should we end up needing to square things with whoever...well, we could easily settle that, no?"

"Perhaps," Ryoma allowed, "but the fact that we are capable of such does not mean that it is a desirable outcome."

Here, Oryou cut in. "Oryou will eat anyone who threatens her happy life with Ryoma, but she would rather not have to eat too many people. Oryou's still watching her figure, you know?"

"Honestly, Nobu…" Trent interjected, his gaze shifting to look at her from the corner of his eyes. "Rider has a very good point, we need to shape up a fair bit." Johan nodded in agreement.

The Archer shrugged, the fire disappearing from her hand as she remarked, "Well, I suppose it just can't be helped."

-x-x-x-

Following the cheese-dust trail left behind by one of Osakabehime's familiars, the united group of Devils, Servants and magi came upon Kiba standing across from the priest they had identified earlier, a cavalcade of glowing children surrounding them. The exorcists and Mordred stood awkwardly outside of the gathering, gazes wandering as they tried and failed to figure out where they should and shouldn't be looking, while Valper babbled about something being impossible.

Even as the group arrived, Astolfo and Charlie came upon the scene from the opposite direction, their respective hairdos conspicuously wet and tousled.

Sauntering up to stand beside the Saber, Trent leaned over and stage-whispered, "What's with the radioactive preschool escapees?"

"They're Master's comrades, the ones who died back when they were being used by the fat priest," the blonde replied, her arms crossed over her chest plate as she watched the scene. "I don't really get the hubbub, though. Something about him needing to forgive himself? It's stupid."

The Canadian Master hummed, and explained, "It's like how you feel about what Morgan's curse did."

Mordred's nose wrinkled and she turned her head to the side, spitting at the ground. She missed, and left a gob of phlegm on Charlie's shoe as he moved to stand with them. The homunculus blinked down at the effluvia, and let out a sigh.

Looking back up at the tableau, he remarked, "I think I understand. It's...it's the guilt, of having survived while they didn't. He could never forgive himself for it. I, I sometimes feel the same, about all those who were unable to escape while I am allowed to live freely." Closing his eyes, the ashen-haired young man shook his head. "It's not something that can easily be forgotten, or moved past. Perhaps, this is the catharsis he's chased for so long."

Trent blinked at the homunculus, and then pulled his phone from his pocket, silently adding a note to tell Carmilla that he was really proud of how insightful his adoptive son is.

As the Canuck slid his phone back into his pocket, the spirits of the children began to fade, light swirling from their forms and coalescing around Kiba. The Knight looked down at his hands, tears shimmering in his eyes, and then clenched them into fists. A bar of light and shadow was born between his hands, gathering into the shape of a blade.

The sword was a simple one, a gladius-like longsword bearing a silver blade and minimal decoration. Despite its simplicity, though, the weapon drew in every eye present. How could it not? The paradoxical aura of holy and demonic energy present within the weapon was palpable even to the least trained among them, yet the weapon stubbornly retained its form.

"I will become a sword," Yuuto Kiba intoned. "One that carries the wishes and hopes of my comrades.

"Balance Breaker: Sword of Betrayer."

Leaning back over to Mordred, Trent murmured, "So, did you inspire him, or did he just steal one of your swords?"

"Feh, of course I inspired him, I'm the best there ever was," the knight grunted as she nodded at her Master's valiant form. "Be amazed, asshole, I raised that swordsman to where he is now."

"That's a blatant lie!" Rias interjected, glaring at the blonde as she waved her finger at the Servant. "You only just came into Kiba's life, I'm not allowing you to claim such a thing!"

Mordred just snorted. "He named it after me, not you."

With an exuberant noise, Astolfo pulled the two into a hug, and exclaimed, "Aw, c'mon, you two can both be his moms! I'm sure he'd really like that!"

As the Knight of Betrayal lashed out to grab the pinket by the chin, they were cut off by Valper letting out a horrified screech, the priest's face twisting in horror and shock.

"I-impossible! A-a holy and demonic sword? In the hands of a filthy Devil!? The two antithetical elements cannot possibly be contained together, least of all by a heathen!"

Kiba ignored his ranting and stalked forward, his blade glinting with holy moonlight and infernal sunlight alike.

A look of rapturous realization came over the Genocide Archbishop's face and he let out a broken, mad laugh as he toppled onto his back. "Of course. OF COURSE! How could I have been so blind? The breaking of the Excaliburs should have been proof enough, but this truly does prove it!"

As the Knight of Gremory loomed over Valper Galilei, the corpulent man squawked, "In the Great War, not just the Original Satans, but even our holy Father was—"

It happened in an instant. Even a bolt of lightning would have seemed slow by comparison.

And somehow, Mordred was faster still.

A great, tumuscent, crackling pillar of light had slammed through the priest, annihilating his torso. The blow would have caught Kiba, had it not been for his Servant's intervention, throwing him from the blast radius.

A calm, almost bored voice called out from above. "Goodness, you really are incapable of accomplishing anything I set before you, Galilei."

A thin, pale man with elfin features and jet black hair reclined upon a chair as he floated above them, looking down his nose at the priest who was rapidly becoming a corpse.

"You really can't get good help anywhere these days, can you?" Kokabiel asked rhetorically with a sigh. "I suppose if you want something done right, you must do it yourself."

The cadre's gaze moved from the corpse and a bullet cut through his mane of hair, the Fallen's head dipping forward to dodge the attack.

Nobu clicked her tongue as she kept her musket trained on him, watching him with an uninterested stare.

Languidly, a long-fingered hand came up to touch the burnt ends of his otherwise immaculate hair. The Fallen let out a curious hum. "Hoh? Curious, most curious indeed. Such nostalgic fires…" Kokabiel's austere face twisted into an animalistic glare. "So familiar that it makes me want to vomit."

His violent, violet eyes fixed on Nobunaga squarely. "Just who are you, little girl, that Mara's Flames of Sin bow to your call?"

"A little girl, am I?" the Fool of Owari asked in reply, looking down over her form, before shrugging. Flames consumed her form, and she stepped out moments later, taller, her hair burning crimson while form fitting armour glowed from the fires burning around her. An armory formed in the air around her as she met his gaze.

Whipping her arm out, a katana with a stylistic cut down the center of its blade appeared in her hand, and she roared, a gleeful smile on her face. "I am Oda Nobunaga! The Demon King of Six Billion Worlds! And I assure you, when I'm done with you, you'll be burning with the corpse of your father!"

The laugh started low, as a barely audible giggle. It grew, though, until the very air seemed to shake with Kokabiel's exuberant mania. As he rose from his chair, it disappeared, and from his back burst ten wings that seemed spun from shadow. As his cackles subsided, he spread his arms out to either side of him and leaned forward.

"I am oh so eager to see you try," the cadre crooned, his voice somewhere between mockery and climax, "but we must have a proper stage." He glanced at the rows of residential houses surrounding them.

"Unless, of course, you would prefer endangering the lives of your precious constituents," he simpered at Rias and Sona, the ecstasy vanishing from his voice and leaving mockery alone in its place.

"You wouldn't dare!" the redheaded Devil hissed, her very expression dripping with hatred as black energy crawled around her clawed hands.

Nobunaga burst out laughing, her voice echoing through the night. "Do it then! Slaughter them all, Watcher of the Stars! Set these young Devils' hearts ablaze with hatred, while giving me an opportune moment to shoot you down!"

Kokabiel let out a moan that was barely PG-13 and reached out to Nobu with both hands. "Ah, Demon King, you tempt me greatly. Not since the Great War have I felt so moved by an opponent!"

He sighed. "But I must have my stage. Where better to string up the violated corpses of the Satans' precious siblings than from the walls of their academy?"

"Kokabiel, I understand, I truly do." The now-redheaded Demon King chortled, fire burning through her hair as she used her free hand to gesture across the town. "I would suggest that we could use the entire town as our stage, using the danger to help these whelps understand the cruelty of the world...but, I am a generous and magnanimous being. Go, Watcher of the Stars, prepare your stage, for your glorious death awaits!"

Beside her, Trent looked at her in utter bafflement, shaking his head as he muttered, "God damn it, Nobu…"

With a joyful, near-orgasmic cackle, the Watcher of the Stars vanished in a whirl of feathers, his giddiness hanging in the air like a funeral bell.

The Avenger smiled, her katana disappearing in a burst of flame as she crossed her arms and shook her head sadly. "I'm going to miss him when he's dead."