This chapter gets pretty wild, and there aren't a whole lot of low points so buckle up.
Xenovia found herself with a bit of a conundrum on her mind.
The Artificial Dragons they battled as their group fought their way deeper and deeper into the dungeon were made of swords.
Ergo, when attacking, they did so by swinging swords (didn't seem to have a breath weapon like most Dragons did).
So did that, or did that not make them swordsmen?
"Xen-chan, your habit of thinking out loud is only getting stronger, huh?" Irina murmured dryly, putting an extra lightspear into a fallen Dragon, mainly because it was hard to tell when they were making death-twitches or alive-twitches.
"Ara, I confess I'm a little curious about the answer too, now," Akeno chimed in, pouring oil on the fire with a leisurely smile. Her own mischievous tendencies aside, banter like that was actually a positive thing as long as it didn't distract anyone from the task at hand.
Stress and fatigue often went hand-in-hand, after all.
"Nyaa, well… we've figured out that they're being directed somehow, so aren't they kinda being 'wielded'? Might be more sword than swordsman," Kuroka suggested.
"Hrm, that's a good point," Xenovia conceded.
"What I'm wondering is if Kiba-Senpai can learn to do the same thing," Gasper said from above, currently hanging upside down from the shadows on the ceiling. "If someone's making swords that are also Dragons, and Kiba-Senpai can make swords, maybe he can also make swords that are also Dragons?"
"... Bring him one?" Koneko suggested, lifting a broken body for emphasis. "Tuck away in the Dark?"
"Oh, yeah, I could do that, just figured out how to keep things from floating away on me," the little Dhampir replied, the sideways tilt of his head looking odd when he was upside down.
They were making their way down the roughly hewn tunnel to what seemed to be the largest opening yet, as they spoke.
Rounding the corner, they found themselves facing a short walk towards a pair of open doors wide open as if to invite them in.
A doorway that someone could easily fit a commercial airplane through.
It led to a… 'boss room' as Koneko murmured, a cavern of sorts too vast to see the ends of, centered around a circular platform surrounded by a steep drop on all sides, save directly in front of the door where the walkway continued on, linking hall and platform.
The doors swung shut behind them, just as the two young gamers had confidently asserted, trapping them in with their next set of playmates.
The leader of which was reclining on the far end of that huge arena, surrounded by a small pack of Artificial Dragons curled up around its body-
"Well, Xenovia-chan," Akeno began casually. "If you want to know about Dragon swordsman, why don't you ask that thing over there?"
Ax met fist, and the ax lost when the corona of gold sheathing said fist detonated outwards, shattering the golden ax and blasting its wielder back.
But Kalawarner had expected as much, and as soon as she felt her own strength overcome, had let it push her back, the explosion largely serving to distance her even further.
It still hurt like a bitch though, adding to her growing collection of burns and destroying her outfit further, reducing her sleeveless maroon turtleneck to a fancy knitted choker.
At least she had elected to wear a bra underneath her top today- Kalawarner was just thinking that when an audible snap cut her train of thought short. What was left of her bra had burst open, bearing Kalawarner's impressive assets to her leering opponent, who wolf-whistled in appreciation.
Raynare took advantage of the distraction to fire several glowing pink arrows at the side of his head, but their opponent, Heracles, barely seemed to notice even as the arrows exploded against the aura his Sacred Gear provided.
But the explosions did the job of obscuring his vision, and when Heracles flailed a massive arm to dispel the smoke, Kalawarner, an arm covering her bare bust somewhat futilely, kicked him hard in the gut.
Heracles gagged a little at the blow and was sent skidding back, floor tearing beneath his heavy feet.
Kalawarner clicked her tongue in dismay- the hit had been solid, and she'd managed to not get blown up in the process, but kicking that mountain of a man felt more like kicking a mountain than it did kicking a man.
If it weren't for her tendency to reinforce her limbs as a single unit, she suspected she might have earned a sprained or even cracked ankle.
Raynare, looking a little less ragged but just as if not more worn out, swiftly flitted over to her side as Heracles brushed his armor off, the dismissiveness in his action clear as he smirked their way, egging them on in silence.
His arrogance was well-placed- it was a battle of attrition and the bastard was barely winded.
"Kala, what the hell are we gonna do?" Raynare hissed at her. "Nothing's sticking!"
"What are we going to do, Raynare?" The seductive school teacher replied with a calmness she did not feel. "Why, we're going to do something reckless, of course."
Raynare's eyes widened a moment later as she fully clued into what Kalawarner was getting at, and her feathers rustled as she shivered in glee.
"Glad you approve," Kalawarner smiled, still not looking her way. "But, if you approve of that…"
Raynare flushed crimson as she was pulled down towards the ground by the torn-open front of her school button-up.
Pulled towards Kalawarner, and straight into a passionate, open-mouthed kiss.
Raynare promptly forgot who they were fighting, or rather, that they were fighting at all as something far more important was conveyed to her mouth-to-mouth.
… What the fuck was he watching?
The two Fallen sluts had stopped fighting so that they could make out with each other!
Heracles seriously did not understand what the hell was going on, but…
Like hell he was gonna interrupt that.
They were going to do a lot more than kiss once they belonged to him, so what was the harm in letting them start the show a little early?
Heracles was still thinking that as his best and last chance to win passed him by unannounced.
There was a reason that the smallest of the Biblical factions had endured every hardship, and remained standing even when they were the first to limp away from a conflict where they were vastly outnumbered by both their rivals.
'The secret was in the feathers', as Fallen scholars liked to smirk and proclaim.
Ascension through the ranks of Heaven was a path marked by selfless devotion and unwavering, unyielding faith.
But for their disgraced kindred that soared through the netherworld upon darkened wings, the most tried and true method of gaining power was to lose.
To lose to one's self.
To give in to the most base and unsightly impulses that lurked in a heart made of scars. To willfully embrace the reality of a life that began with the greatest of failures.
For a Fallen Angel to grow in power, they had to revel in the sins that had ruined them.
Revel in the knowledge that there was always further to fall.
Further to fall for each other.
Further to fall for him.
Kalawarner faced her Greed. A selfish, self-destructive desire to never let anything slip through her fingers ever again, even if those fingers were torn from her hands in the process.
For Raynare, it was Pride. A stubborn, petulant oath that she would be what they wished her to be, because that's what she wished she would be.
Giving everything to each other. Taking everything from each other.
Somewhere along the way, they lost track of where Kalawarner's Greed ended and Raynare's Pride began, but it hardly mattered when it all belonged to Yuuji anyways.
It was not an even relationship.
It could not be an even relationship, and that knowledge was sweeter than any forbidden fruit could ever be.
Because he had left them a task.
They had offered up everything to him, and he had a use for it.
Their little 'ritual' was thus both a celebration of that triune bond, and a renewal of their vows to defend it to the bitter end. It was proof of their uniqueness, the way they easily achieved what few other Fallen would even consider attempting.
Two souls Falling as one in a Resonance of Sin.
Not even Azazel himself had ever laid eyes upon the scene that the so-called Hero was using up every last bit of his luck to witness.
… And truthfully, they had forgotten their enemy entirely for a moment as they indulged in each other, indulged in the ecstasy of Falling further still.
It was not precisely arrogance that led to them neglecting entirely to defend themselves in the face of the enemy. No, they could just tell at a glance when a mortal was a slave to his own Sin, and had no qualms about exploiting that weakness. The Lust in his eyes, the Envy and Greed for what could never be his. The Pride that dictated he would never make an unsportsmanlike attack as long as his courage held.
Instead, he was left watching as Raynare's four wings became six, and Kalawarner's six wings became eight.
Perhaps, if Heracles had occasionally sought knowledge instead of glory, he would have understood that every kiss and caress shared between the two had been preparation to cut his legend short.
Ax once again met fist, and once again, the ax lost, this time, shattering like glass.
Somehow, Kalawarner managed to twist away as the massive punch tore through the space where her head should have been, but a sneering Heracles promptly seized her wrist with his other hand, yanking down and destroying her center of balance.
His free hand lifted high and came down hard in a brutal chop aimed at her collarbone, a cleaving strike beyond what any mere ax could do.
Somehow, Kalawarner managed to catch his hand, though it took her to one knee, and when Heracles released her wrist and snatched out, abruptly found herself locked hand-to-hand, straining not to be overwhelmed as she grappled the mighty Greek.
Heracles let her struggle for a moment, whistling encouragingly as she managed to regain her footing, putting them closer to eye level.
Heracles let the light of his Sacred Gear build slowly, dangerously, letting Kalawarner fully appreciate the significance of Variant Detonation's light creeping up her arms and towards her shoulders and neck.
With sadistic glee, the supposed-Hero reveled in the fear in the Fallen's gaze, the futile tugging sensation as she attempted to break free, and-
Savored the sensation of those slender hands spasming madly in his grasp as a vicious explosion engulfed the woman's upper body.
He'd gotten a good handle on how sturdy his new woman was, so she probably wasn't dead or maimed, just helpless.
"Calamity… Cupid!" a lyrical voice sharply shouted from somewhere out of sight.
Heracles felt a fierce tremor wrack his body with agony, and looked down with eyes widened in disbelief to find a thorn of pink light, large enough to serve as a spear, pierced deeply into his chest.
Coughing up blood, Heracles made to break the grapple and stagger away, only to fail as the hands interlocked with his own gripped tightly enough to make his bones creak.
The last of the smoke was blasted away with a violent swirl of power, and Heracles found himself staring into the eyes of a smirking Kalawarner, keeping him in place despite the sharp pink light jutting out from between her breasts.
And over her shoulder, Raynare stood with another arrow nocked to the asymmetrical, beautifully twisted bow in her hands- branches of thorned pink light all tangled together, with the largest of the 'thorns' nocked and ready to be fired once more.
"Y-you crazy crow bitch!" Shock briefly, ever so briefly overpowered the pain. "Killing your own comrade to get to me, you treacherous cunt!"
Heracles had conveniently forgotten that his reputation for 'collateral damage' outstripped any of his fellows, too enraged by the 'cowardly' attack that had slipped past his guard-
"Do I look hurt to you?" Kalawarner drawled, tightening her grip.
"Yeah, the only one allowed to 'pierce' Kala is Yuuji, and only in bed!" Raynare helpfully elaborated. "... Though other locations are fine too."
On cue, the arrow 'impaling' Kalawarner began to dissolve, leaving not a single pinprick on her skin, yet leaving nearly a foot of thorned light jutting from Heracles' muscular pec.
… It was only then that Heracles fully processed the failure of his own finishing blow against the Fallen Angel, and that the golden light wreathing her upper body was too gentle and unwavering to be the boisterous glow of Variant Detonation.
Kalawarner gave him a moment to appreciate that before she flattened his nose with her forehead.
Vision blurring from the air-shaking, skull-rattling impact, Heracles reeled back with ribbons of blood streaming from his face as Kalawarner released his hands. He followed up by folding himself over the pointed toe of Kalawarner's high-heel that dug in under his ribs, launching him up straight over her head as her beautifully sculpted leg snapped up towards what was left of the ceiling.
A pair of sharp wings bloomed to life in parallel, forming the blades of the hulking yet graceful ax gripped firmly in Kalawarner's hands. The feathers of one wing pointed down towards the shaft of the weapon while the other was the reverse, eliciting an elegant sense of asymmetry mirrored in Raynare's new weapon.
Kalawarner raised her ax as the brutish, flailing body of their foe fell from above, and didn't even bother to glance his way.
"Howl for me, Labrys." An arc of gold and a roar of wind blasted away the debris, as if sweeping aside even the smallest of obstacles without restraint.
Kalawarner closed her eyes as she felt Labrys bite deeply into the pitted stone floor beneath her, and the legacy of Heracles fell in two halves around her.
The next thing to hit Kalawarner, moments later, was a jubilant but exhausted Raynare, and it was the most pleasant impact by far.
… Like every Dragon they had fought to reach her, she was made of blades.
And even if she was over twelve feet tall and made of Holy steel, there was a youthful, almost dainty quality to the draconic figure.
Much like Tiamat's smaller form, she was mostly human in shape, though her hourglass proportions lacked the lush curves of the Dragon King. And where Tiamat's arms and legs ended properly in hands and feet, this one had a longsword fused to each dainty metal hand. Below each knee were merely long, tapered swords, lending the grace of a bizarre ballerina to one effortlessly balancing on the point of two blades, likely assisted by the segmented length of her long, serrated tail.
Her face was featureless save a pair of soulful blue gems for eyes, and a latticework of blades tumbling down her back to resemble swept-back hair. Other sharp blades jutted out from the side of her metallic skull, forming approximations of elfin ears and ram-like horns.
A muted screech of metal accompanied the draconic metal maiden skipping forward a few paces, drawing pained winces from the Nekoshou sisters with their especially sensitive hearing, though a quick casting from Kuroka alleviated the issue before it could become debilitating.
Slowly, the Dragon tilted her head to and fro, radiating girlish curiosity as a quick, calm set of instructions from Akeno had her team moving into formation, facing down both both the largest threat, and the pack of smaller Dragons that had been lounging at its side moments before, now circling the gathered Devils (and one Angel) like hungry wolves.
Without any sort of warning at all, the draconic maiden herself up into the air with a playful twirl, scattering their formation in an instant as her bladed bulk came shrieking down.
Stupid sexy Yuuto.
Musashi was trying to be jealous of him, but he'd been all cool and assertive and the jealousy kept melting as her eyes watched his every move.
The swordsman he was dueling called himself Siegfried, which was hard for her to stomach because she'd met a real Siegfried on her travels. The Dragonslayer had been a kind of too serious but still warm example of a Heroic Spirit, and not an arrogant pretty boy with a magic third arm and a three sword-style.
Three. Sword. Style!
She'd never fought anyone with a three-sword style!
… No wait, if he was swinging Gram and Balmung did he just pick between being Sigurd and Siegfried?
How did that even work?
No, not important at the moment.
What was more important was that Yuuto was on the edge of a breakthrough, and Musashi had a job to do.
That Siegfried guy probably thought she had her swords drawn to intervene if Yuuto was in danger, and he was right.
He never would have guessed that the danger she was on guard to protect Yuuto from was Yuuto himself.
Thankfully they weren't alone, because she didn't really have the attention to spare for Rias, who was watching Yuuto just as intently but also forgetting to breathe now and then.
The room winced as one of three swords slipped through and sliced open Yuuto's cheek, and his near simultaneous counterattack was blocked with two crossed blades.
But Siegfried's red eyes went comically wide as the blocky sword he had 'blocked' launched him off his feet, across the room, and deep into the wall.
Yuuto's followthrough made him look more like a batter that had hit a homerun, rather than a swordsman who had just landed a telling blow, but his refreshing smile remained firmly in place as he filled the hole in the wall with a wave of flying summoned swords.
… That same smile faltered as a rapid series of ringing clashes sent every single one of those swords bouncing back out of the hole, tearing through the smoke as they went.
And then Siegfried, with a bloody face and a composed smile, sauntered out into the open wielding two extra Demon Swords, and one Light Sword.
The silvery draconic arm that had emerged from his back had been joined by two more.
"Hah, I'll give you round one," Siegfried laughed. "What did you say your name was again?"
"Kiba Yuuto," Yuuto replied back calmly, and Musashi missed the rest of the words, because Yuuto was getting to fight a six-sword style!?
… This time, the jealousy vanished beneath a wave of visceral fear.
Musashi wasn't used to having to worry about other people, and her ability to brace herself for it was nearly nonexistent.
… She could feel the bones in her fingers creak as her grip on her swords tightened painfully.
Dangerous, dangerous, that wasn't something a single person was meant to fight-
Eyes clear and blue captured her own, clearing her head in an instant as Yuuto turned his head to look her dead in the eye, and smile.
Yuuji was going to scold him for this, Yuuto mused to himself as he weathered the storm of blades raining down on him. Not like Rias, or Akeno, or Musashi would scold him for something like this, of course, Yuuji never used that many words.
Yuuji just had the natural talent with which to condense several hours of chastisement into a single, stilted sentence and a long stare.
He'd probably be a good parent.
Kiba was all too aware that asking to duel the Hero Faction swordsman was a terrible call. And he'd felt a little cruel for knowing just the right words to say to get both his King and his girlfriend to allow it.
But this was the moment he'd been waiting for.
This was the moment when he showed Loki just why he kept smiling.
This was the moment when he put their fears to the sword.
It was time for Paradox to find Harmony.
His body had 'stabilized' at one quarter Holy, and three quarters Demonic.
So Rias believed.
But swords always told the truth, even when they were nasty things like Excalibur Nightmare. He'd realized what his true sword was telling him, when he'd figured out why he could never get the balance right.
Rakshasa Divine had become less Holy and more Demonic.
He could shift the balance at will, but when left to its own devices, it would return to being three quarters Holy and one quarter Demonic.
… The sword that was the crystallization of their shared dreams was protecting the last one left to fulfill them, even now.
Kiba had accepted that moving for his own sake wasn't really his way. The men belonging to the Peerage of Rias Gremory all shared that in common.
And Kiba accepted that Yuuji was stronger than he was, and probably always would be. Even if Yuuji had never had any interest in competing with him, which had honestly stung his pride a little, at first.
But competing with Yuuji was a waste of his efforts from the start, just as the reverse was true. After all, their King had never compared them, had she?
One was a soldier, the other a knight.
One was a bullet, the other a blade.
He had his own role and his own way of life, and he was going to prove its worth right here and right now.
And his King had her own role, and her own way of life, and she proved it, right then, and right there, as her freely bleeding Knight disengaged and gained a little distance.
"Yuuto, I have only one word to spare for you."
"And what is that, my King?"
"Win."
Kiba's eyes widened as he struggled to contain the surge of giddy laughter welling up within.
And so, with a flourish of his sword and a smile on his face, Kiba bowed his head and broke his chains.
Beneath the bravado, Siegfried had been rather looking forward to crossing swords with Kiba Yuuto.
They were the same in many ways, after all- guinea pigs of both the scientific and the occult, discarded lab rats designed solely to hold the blade.
But whereas Kiba Yuuto was a failed attempt to make wielders of Holy Swords, Siegfried was grown in a vat for the sole purpose of wielding Demon Swords.
The dirty little secrets that the Church couldn't contain.
They had risen above their wretched origins, and the time had come to prove which one of them was superior.
… But first, maybe he'd have his backup get the distractions out of the way.
This was a duel between swordsmen.
Neither interference nor an audience was necessary.
From the darkness behind the High-Class Devil, something moved, and Siegfried spared it not another thought as he eagerly waited to face his destiny head on.
… Siegfried had been wrong from the start.
Kiba Yuuto was not made by the Church.
The Church claiming any credit for that was arrogance surpassing that which went into raising the Tower of Babel. Kiba Yuuto had not been made by the friends he'd left behind, nor the King whom he served, nor the Heavenly Flower that walked by his side.
But they had shaped who he was, unlike the scars he'd discarded.
It was what made himself and Yuuji more similar than anyone realized, even themselves.
They were defined by what they carried with them, as they rose above what tried to drag them down.
They were both something that had never before existed, and never truly would again.
And at last, Kiba Yuuto had truly embraced what that meant.
A Paradox made of flesh and sword.
An impossible Harmony between Heaven and Hell.
And so there could only be one true name for his Balance Breaker that embodied both.
Rakshasa Divine: True Nephilim
… Forks of black lightning crackled angrily across wings of pale sunlight, and tousled hair as white as snow danced playfully in the illusory breeze. The irises of his eyes were the soothing blue of a clear and pleasant summer sky, yet his pupils thin and red like open wounds.
Adding an uncanny touch of the modern to his otherworldly appearance, his attire was a dashing, tailored suit of a white too pure for even the slightest texture to exist. Yet the tie on his neck and the slim gloves on his hands were formed of polished, layered obsidian that gleamed dark and deep.
In his right hand was the inky silhouette of a longsword, through which dull ciphers of golden light drifted to and fro, as if stars cut adrift to wander the night sky.
But even if so much of him had changed, the smile on his face remained the same. And there, pulsing faintly through his clothes and sitting right where his heart should have been, a tiny bit of crimson shaped like a chess piece revealed itself proudly.
Each for their own reasons, those watching with bated breath forgot how to breathe at all.
She watched a swordsman and his sword removing all separation between the two.
Her sworn servant as he found his perfection.
The witness to a hero being born for the sake of someone else.
… And while she thought it all looked very impressive, one of them was mostly just happy that the bleeding had stopped.
And last but not least, one of them was getting ready to murder an unwelcome guest, before abandoning that idea entirely in favor of staying out of an irate Devil's way.
… Gathering his power, he had prepared to eliminate the hindrances from the board, already tasting the triumph at having checkmated the King with a single move.
He was Marsilio, descendant of Marsilio Ficino, mage and astrologer. He was a Magician and assassin of the Hero Faction, Georg's trusted hidden dagger.
… A blur of crimson took him off his feet, and though the impact should have been thunderous, the wall cracked beneath his back without a sound.
Soft hands gripped his cheeks with crushing force, beautiful azure eyes inches from his own.
Eyes luminous in color, and absolutely burning with imperious rage.
"My Knight is proving his way of life, and every second I fail to witness is worth a lifetime of yours," the Devil hissed. "Now begone."
Before the 'Hero' could reply, Rias muttered a single curse-like phrase- [Cast-Out], and Marsilio was gone as if he had never been there.
[Cast-Out] was the technique she'd devised in order to utilize her Garden for a more straightforward offense. There were many flaws, and she could feel it burning away her mana, but all it took was physical contact, and she could 'banish' a single target with less magical power than her, shunting them away to her Garden.
Rias had a mana pool inching into Ultimate-Class territory- putting the supernatural beings with less mana than her firmly into the majority, and making [Cast-Out] a crude but unfairly effective method of execution.
Rossweisse caught up with her in the time it took three seconds to become four, blinking in confusion at the inexplicable confusion.
"Don't worry Rossweisse," Rias hastily reassured, already turning on her heel. "Our unwanted guest is…"
'Clawing at the burning soil as he chokes to death on the burning crimson air.'
"... Dealt with." Rias settled on. "He's… dealt with."
Far more important than any hindrances, Rias had managed not to miss a thing, as six swords crossed to lock blades with one, and six swords lost that clash, badly.
The distance between Kiba and Siegfried had evaporated as if it was never there, the Devil taking a measured half-step forwards for a textbook overhead cleave.
A chill raced up Siegfried's spine, and he crossed all six of his swords to block the casual blow.
… It proved warranted a second later when the blow landed with the weight of a falling star, and his knee cracked against the stone floor rupturing beneath them.
Kiba swung his foot right under the crossed blades, burying the toe of his leather loafer in Siegfried's ribs and sending him flying.
Shifting his stance to that of a fencer, Kiba lashed out with a series of probing stabs, his sword tip lancing out like beams of darkness and forcing Siegfried to parry like mad in a midair flurry of strikes.
When Siegfried hit the ground with a nimbleness he was struggling to maintain, Kiba stabbed his sword through his own shadow… and up through the bottom of his distant opponent's foot.
Then the lifted ends of the blade shattered into pieces, leaving just gleaming ciphers in the air that turned into sharp slivers and swirled about in a tiny whirlwind of edged divinity.
A burst of wind from Balmung scattered the ciphers, blasting Siegfried out of harm's way.
A quick cleave of Nothung, a blade made legendary for its sheer sharpness, split another attack from below in two- or rather, cut nothing at all as the inky blade divided in two and plunged back in in a looping arc, each point looking to meet up once more with Siegfried's neck in the way.
A pillar of barbed ice from Dainsleif arrested Kiba's low and sudden rush, but the golden ciphers of Rakshasa Divine lit themselves ablaze, and he lost no more than a half step as he slipped through the melting ice cubes he left in his wake.
Then they were within arm's length once more, six arms worked furiously to match a single current that seemed to flow everywhere at once.
Eyes wild and wide, Siegfried laughed as that impossible sword snuck past his guard once, twice, then a third time.
"I can't tell which one of us has more swords hahahaha!"
"At the risk of sounding cryptic," Kiba grinned back as his unmarred cheek received a wound to match the other cheek, "It's only ever been one sword. One sword, that can be anything I need it to be."
Siegfried's expression softened, even as their blades worked furiously and they darted to and fro, in constant motion.
How calm he felt, for the crescendo of his lifetime.
"Is that what your sword means to you, Kiba Yuuto?"
"That's what my sword means to me, and that's what my sword needs to be." Kiba replied. "Thank you for helping me get where I needed to go."
A smile of respect and gratitude from a swordsman he acknowledged wasn't a bad final vision for the Hero of the Sword.
"Don't stop here then, Kiba Yuuto. Do your duty as the victor." Those were Siegfried's final words as Rakshasa Divine pierced his every vital organ at once.
Kiba raised his blade in a swordsman's salute as his opponent slumped to his knees, never to rise again.
Reluctant though he was to ruin the moment, Kiba kept his solemn expression in place, even as the swords in his veins started looking for an escape.
From somewhere far away, familiar voices began to scream his name, and though he struggled to hear those words, another, slowly approaching sound resounded over them all, even though it should have been much quieter.
It was the measured clack of wooden high heels upon a stone floor, and the resonant hiss of a blade being drawn.
As his vision began to blur, Kiba caught a glimpse of multi-hued petals, dancing on the wind.
"Don't go whipping out cool new sword skills and then die before you can fight me with them, dummy."
Kiba closed his eyes with a smile and entrusted Paradox to the edge of Infinity.
The metal maiden was like a whirlwind of blades, pirouetting around the battlefield with speed that belied her size, and lashing out at strange angles with the swords at the end of any five of her limbs.
She was powerful, dangerous, but…
"Not a swordsman after all," Xenovia sighed, even as blocking with Durandal sent her skidding back a good ten feet.
The metal maiden was a beast made of iron. A cat playing with its food.
… Wait, was it rude to make that comparison in the present company?
… No, Kuroka eyed her up like she was a meal sometimes, so it wasn't really an unfair comparison to make.
Point was, there was more to being a swordsman than just swinging something sharp around.
The metal maiden's strikes were heavy in terms of power, but light in terms of intent. A whimsical sort of cruelty far too fleeting to call resolve.
You were not a swordsman without resolve.
Though she was taking the fight just as seriously as before, Xenovia found her interest in who they were fighting rapidly dwindling away, devolving the task into mere work.
And somehow, the metal maiden sensed that, and took it personally.
Strange.
Weird.
Bizarre.
These artificial Dragons weren't any different from all the other ones they'd fought, so why was smashing them up so much fun?
Koneko couldn't really make sense of it, but she was having too much fun to really dwell on the matter.
… From out of the corner of her eye, she watched a slim white leg come down, driving a sandalled foot through a metal skull and shattering it like glass.
Nee-sama smiled fiercely her way, the savage golden light in her eyes a mirror of Koneko's own joy.
A rush of air brought a dark mass fluttering past her, swarming another Dragon and ripping it to part before carrying the pieces up in the air to carelessly discard.
The swarm of bats flowed back together to become a giggling Ga-kun in free fall, and something clicked in her head as Koneko let out of her own quiet little huff of mirth.
… Of course playtime was fun.
Cats were cruel, and there was no denying that.
Ga-kun had his own little wicked streak too, and was slowly gaining the confidence to indulge it.
… No, not slowly at all, was he really gonna-
Leaping up onto the shoulders of a Dragon whose time has stopped, a giggling Gasper gripped firmly onto its head, and wrenched it from its neck.
… So cool.
Determined not to lose, Koneko redoubled her efforts to tear apart every metal thing in sight, unaware of how wide her smile was, nor how darkly her stripes shone.
Xenovia and Irina were keeping the metal maiden well in hand, and the cats and one bat were ripping their way through waves of metallic Dragons whose reinforcements had finally started to dwindle.
And so Akeno hung back, offering subtle support both magical and verbal where appropriate, but otherwise letting them have their fun. She didn't need to be in the spotlight, didn't want to risk getting tunnel vision because she was indulging her own interests.
She was fairly certain that this wasn't going to be the 'last obstacle' between themselves and Kazuki, and Kuroka had probably had the same thought. Explained why the typically lazy Nekoshou had been largely using Touki to fight with physical attacks for a while now.
The metal maiden leapt, suddenly, giggling gratingly as she cleared a roaring blast of light from Durandal, before parrying a merrily crackling wheel of fire while still in mid air.
That wheel of fire flew away in an arc, looping back, and…
Akeno rubbed her eyes as the wheel of fire settled above Irina's head, shrinking back into an Angelic halo as it did.
Adding to the chaos, the metal maiden's body split apart, twisting, shifting-
"... Neh, Shirone, I think I saw something like that in one of those shows you like."
… To Akeno, the monster had reformed itself into what seemed to be a bizarre hybrid between airplane and sword.
And then it began to plummet, swooping down bladepoint first towards Xenovia and Irina.
Somewhat anticlimactically, its shimmering charge lasted all of thirty feet before the sky lurched, and the strange aircraft stopped completely dead.
Even cute pink eyes could look menacing when they gleamed with predatory malevolence, and the Eyes of Balor were certainly burning bright.
"Better… hurry," Gasper managed to grunt, standing firm but clearly struggling.
The strain evaporated from his thin features when Koneko gently placed a misty palm on the small of his back.
"Well, I'd be a bad senpai if I didn't follow up properly," Xenovia said, looking over her shoulder with an approving smile.
Setting her stance, she lifted Durandal high, and the air around her began to sharply distort, like overlapping waves of static.
And then Irina hopped right through that distortion with a beaming smile, and patted Xenovia on the shoulder.
"Bless you!"
"Is blessing a Devil going to be a problem?" Xenovia asked, raising an eyebrow but not lowering her sword
"... No…. Probably?"
Their banter ended when dancing tongues of brilliant orange flame began to loop around Durandal's savage aura and press in, as if playfully herding it.
The result was Xenovia holding a single beam of condensed golden light around the edges of which tongues of flame rotated like saw blades.
The sight of Xenovia holding a celestial chainsaw almost a kilometer long was more than enough to break Gasper's concentration, and Balor's hold on the metal maiden.
She plummeted another five feet before being sawed in half, and the shattered Holy Swords that comprised what was left of her body burned away to ash.
Torn between the urge to sigh and giggle, Akeno shook her head, smiling wryly.
But Yuuji had taught her well.
Even when all the enemies were gone, Akeno didn't fully drop her guard, and it was the only reason she made it in time.
Thus, the first sword launched from behind them buried its length in her chest instead of Gasper's back.
As did the half a dozen swords that followed.
"Oops~!" A cute but cruel voice chirped from somewhere nearby, as Akeno's upper body slumped forward, the pommels of the swords forcing her body to remain standing.
His Sacred Gear fizzled out so quickly that its usage had gone unnoticed by all as the beginnings of a scream died awkwardly in Gasper's throat.
With a laid back smile, a beautiful young woman with long, swept back blonde hair hopped down onto the edge of the arena, Holy Swords fanning out behind her like wings.
"And that's one down, Jeanne-chan for the win!" She cheered.
Her tone vaguely resembled Irina's, if Irina's cheer was a thin veil for venomous ill-intent.
Her playful mocking drowned out Koneko's sharp intake of breath, her pupils dilating into slits. But Kuroka hugged her from behind, and the smaller Nekoshou's hostility faltered.
The blonde- Jeanne, lost her smile when she realized that no one was looking at her.
… Despite the fact that there should have been several feet of steel shoved through Akeno's torso, not even an inch of it had pierced through her back.
As if just waiting for the audience to catch up, what instead burst free from milky white skin exposed by her shrine maiden's outfit, recently modified to be backless, were dark, mismatched wings.
Mismatched wings of iron stained black.
And just as those sharp wings spread themselves wide, Akeno's body began to quiver, and the swords vanished into her chest as if sucked in.
"Ufufu~" familiar laughter was heard as dark iron crept across both flesh and cloth like an inkblot. And as the echoing laughter grew louder and more sensual, it slowly gained a deep, grating undertone.
"~Ahahahaha~!"
Elemental magic was straightforward at the surface level, but possessed a great deal of depth- fire could sear flesh from bone but could also cauterize a wound to prevent bleeding out.
Add in the chaotic nature of Devil magic influenced by creativity, and the combinations of characteristics was virtually limitless.
… And even still, the Affinity developed by Himejima Akeno was rather unique.
A borderline tantric ritual to keep the crippling aftereffects of her loved one's Sacred Gear at bay. A deeply held desire to not just alleviate his suffering, but share and understand it.
A ritualistic medium of iron and intimacy birthed an elemental affinity for metal with the dominant characteristic of absorbing both power and pain.
And the unique magic that was the result of it was an echo of the terror and longing that iron mask of his engendered within her.
The eerily bewitching appearance of a shrine maiden robed and masked in iron, would serve as both the name of the invocation, and the second title she would be known as across worlds and pantheons.
Tetsujinja no Miko (Priestess of the Iron Shrine)
She looked no different in silhouette, and only in silhouette.
But every visible inch of Akeno's body was covered in sleek dark iron that molded to her figure in such a way that it was hard to tell if Akeno's body was covered in iron or had become iron.
A bizarrely flexible and life-like iron, because her ample chest still jiggled with her ragged, muffled breathing. Even her ponytail with its metallic sheen whipped to and fro in the winds of power, just as freely as it had before.
The daringly cut iron haori and the hakama that had shifted from pants to a skirt still shifted and rustled like fabric, even if the sound of those motions were harsher than they had been when the garments were made of cloth.
The mask was uncanny for a wholly different reason.
It was polished to a mirror-like sheen and featureless in the truest sense of the term, completely covering not just Akeno's mouth and nose, but her eyes as well.
… But while the swordsman of the Hero Faction known as Jeanne was trying not to dwell on the sounds the metal miko was making under that mask of hers, she was eminently more concerned with why a Devil had just absorbed half a dozen Holy Swords and liked it.
And then a single beat of those mismatched wings made the distance between them vanish, and then Jeanne was a lot more focused on the smooth metal palm buried in her gut and caving in her armor.
"Ufufu~!" The world caught up, and Jeanne was blasted away, bouncing once off the harsh stone and managing to twist in mid air, skidding on all fours and gagging from the impact, even as her Sacred Gear responded to vicious instinct and launched a volley of swords at Akeno.
Somehow, it was blatantly obvious that Akeno was smiling as she welcomed the descending swords with open arms.
Her body shook and jerked back with each impact, and the unmarred armor swallowed each and every one of them.
Jeanne had seen many reactions to being struck with her swords, but the target hugging herself and moaning was not one of them.
"Don't think you can satisfy me with just that," the resonant undertone of her voice called to mind the chiming of a bell, somewhere off in the distance.
"... I'm not done yet, you freak!" a blushing Jeanne shouted. "That weird armor of yours can only handle so much at once!"
In sheer volume of fire, Jeanne d'Arc's Blade Blacksmith surpassed Kiba's Sword Birth by several orders of magnitude.
Two dozen swords became four dozen, then six dozen, seething above Jeanne's head like a metallic stormcloud.
Akeno just slowly lifted one hand and beckoned with the crook of a finger, her other arm beneath her breasts and teasingly emphasizing her much larger chest even further.
It was true, she wasn't entirely sure she could take something that big without breaking.
It was probably going to hurt if she got hit with all of those.
In fact, if she was a proper Devil she would probably die from the pain, Iron Miko's protection or not. But she had never been as vulnerable to Holy magic as other Devils, and embracing her lineage had widened that gap even further.
And as she was now, any and all pain simply became more pleasure.
It was going to hurt so good, and she was going to return the favor with interest.
As the swords fell like rain, Akeno's laughter rose above the din.
… Somehow, the lack of sound just made it even more kinky.
Akeno had placed a sound barrier, somehow remembering present company, but Kuroka's hands were occupied covering Shirone's eyes.
A furiously blushing Xenovia was doing the same for Gasper, struggling to keep her thighs from rubbing together too loudly and muttering something about not understanding why she was enjoying the show.
… She empathized, she really did.
The Angel-chan had turned her back entirely, which didn't conceal the redness of her ears, but Kuroka couldn't even tease her for it, because she was kind of feeling like she needed an adult herself.
… Also that if her little sister wasn't present, she'd have dragged Xenovia off to a dark corner to get properly acquainted with how bi-curious the Knight really was. She hadn't realized that Koneko's fidgeting was because she could feel the rising warmth of Kuroka's body through the palms pressed over her face.
Kuroka's emotions cooled and her eyes bulged in their sockets when the result of the naughty Queen taking seventy odd Holy Swords to the tits was her mana spiking to the point where even Kuroka's reserves were outmatched.
That strangely lewd armor of hers was devouring all the magic that touched it, breaking down the conjured swords into their mystical components.
A Devil shouldn't have been able to do that to Holy Magic, former Fallen Angel or not. So Akeno's Fallen heritage must have been absurdly potent, well above that of the actual Fallen Angels in their little band.
Nyaa… none of her business though.
Jeanne was panicking.
The bitch had just eaten all her swords!
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she shouldn't have let her Balance Breaker fight first, if they'd teamed up then maybe-
"As expected, you finished too soon for me to really enjoy myself," the metal miko clicked her tongue. "I guess it's my turn then, isn't it Ojou-chan?"
Akeno dipped her hand between her breasts, and it came out gleaming a menacing gold as if she'd been hiding a miniature sun in her cleavage.
"W-what the hell, why does a Devil like you have pure Holy Energy!?"
"I don't, that's Yuuto-kun's thing," Akeno shook her head. "This icky little bundle of light is all yours… and you can have it back~"
The miniature sun elongated and began to crackle and buzz violently, dancing with violet sparks.
A Holy Lightning Spear that a proper Devil couldn't even look at without pain, but even a pain that threatened half her soul just felt like a welcome friend right at that moment.
But it didn't feel nearly as good as she did when she listened to the sounds Jeanne made when all the power and pain she'd pumped into Akeno was returned with interest.
"Ara? I guess she couldn't take something that big after all~"
Oh dear, her uniform was in tatters, it was hardly proper for a maid to be fluttering around exposing so much thigh. Above the knee skirts may have been acceptable uniform attire for the younger maids, but she was a woman, not a girl.
Speaking of maids, Grayfia supposed the lack of hospitality offered to guests could be attributed to the seeming lack of them in the castle.
A dreadful thought really, who did the dusting?
Certainly not the rude Dragon-san before her.
Or rather, beneath her- Apophis burst from the ocean of tar below her with jaws agape, and even though a beat of her wings brought her clear of the snapping jaws, the droplets of Stygian Waters flying too and fro forced her to retreat further still, preventing her from counterattacking as she wished.
She made due, though, a wave of her hand sending half a dozen icicles lancing through the air, which Apophis dodged by rapidly shifting to human form, shrinking the target area to a fraction of what it was.
Wings unnecessary for the Evil Dragon in either form, Aphopis jetted towards her and threw a powerful punch, which Grayfia met with a paw thrust of her own.
A sonic boom briefly parted the waters below, and Grayfia kept her expression stoic even as she felt something give in her wrist.
There was a flash of milky white thigh as Grayfia twirled sharply and drove her heel into Apophis' chest, sending the Dragon in human form bouncing off the surface of the water, to slam into the dark walls of his sealed-in Domain.
But even as she'd struck, he'd struck back with sharp claws, and Grayfia clicked her tongue as she looked down at herself to find her bosom both magnificently exposed, and bleeding lightly.
Isolated from any onlookers and facing a foe with little interest in her body, Grayfia without shame decided to appreciate the extra ventilation for what it was. Being buxom and sweaty was something that generally only appealed to those who weren't buxom and sweaty.
As the coils of the Evil Dragon stirred the waves, Grayfia made to fetch her pocket watch from her apron, only to find that she no longer had a watch, nor pockets.
Well, it mattered little, carrying a watch to begin with was a matter of image and not necessity, and it should almost be time now.
"I admit you're worthy to face me D-Devil-" whatever tripe the Dragon was about to utter was cut short as three eyes opened wide.
Grayfia allowed herself a brief, tiny smile as the Dragon realized the implications of something as mundane as a stutter.
A stutter born from a shiver.
A Dragon that could roam the frozen wastelands of Cocytus unprotected and not feel the cold had just shivered.
"... What have you done to me, Devil?" She could hear the strain from the Dragon forcing its voice to keep even.
Ah, and there it was.
Grayfia did not consider herself a sadist, but there was something simply delightful about causing just a glimmer of fear to appear in the eyes of so terrible a foe.
"Oh my, do my eyes deceive, or have your movements grown sluggish, Apophis-san?" In seeming response to her words, the looping coils visibly slowed their churning of the waves.
… Just as the waves themselves slowed their cresting.
The 'breakpoint' had been reached, the onset would be rapid from this point on.
"... C-cold… everything is so cold… why have I… I have never…" The words came out thickly, understandable when she could see the frost creeping up his black forked tongue from here.
The dying Evil Dragon began to thrash, but it was like watching it occur in slow motion.
Grayifa idly closed the distance, ignoring the sluggish churning of the cold water below while not lowering her guard. That she had taken the fight more seriously from the onset was perhaps the main reason that the one currently dying was the Dragon and not her.
"Of the two most eminent wielders of ice magic among Devilkind, the signature spell of one is famous among groups of all ages," as Levia-tan's 'sparkles' were inspired by snowflakes, "and the signature magic of the other is virtually unknown to all." Grayfia calmly expounded. "Don't you wonder why that is?"
"I regret… not having… done so…" Apophis ground out past his stiffening jaws, a note of humor faint in his voice.
"It is because my magic is far more indiscriminate than Lady Leviathan's," Grayfia admitted. "And far less of a spectacle."
A flicker of shock registered, and with good reason.
It must have been hard for a mind crawling to a halt to imagine an attack more indiscriminate yet less of a spectacle than the Glacial Star.
But in Serafall's own words, Grayfia's signature magic, compared to hers, was 'way way gentler and like a hundred times scarier'.
By the time you could feel its effects, it was too late.
A quiet death that consigned even magic itself to the permafrost and left Grayfia all alone in a world of stillness and silence, where even her words would die the moment they passed her lips.
… Even to this day, the former territory of the Lucifuge Family, and its heir, Euclid Lucifuge remained preserved precisely in the moment that a Funeral in Frost had been held to mark the bitter end of their legacy.
And though this time no tears were shed, when Grayfia Lucifuge turned her back on a corpse too frozen to know it was dead, she left without looking back even once.
Their fireteam having been reduced to just a boy and his dog, they fell quickly back into old habits.
The Soldier spoke in gunshots and the Hound spoke in snarls, emptying room after room like a fierce wind sweeps the clouds from the sky.
They counted every kill and spared not a passing glance for the lives they ended.
It was just work.
Even when they found themselves in a grand hall way too big to be at the heart of the castle, and came face to face with a Dragon on a throne and a Wolf in chains, it was just work.
Even to the very end, the name 'Nidhoggr' never truly registered in either of their minds.
They weren't there for him, after all, and both the boy and his dog had a terrible memory for the things that didn't matter.
"Guarding a prisoner would usually be beneath me," the Dragon in the shape of a man explained, still lounging on the fancy chair. "But ensuring my old rival's sibling remains in chains is somewhat amusing."
The Evil Dragon hopped off from his seat just then, rolling his brawny shoulder with a loud pop.
"But I've been patient long enough, I think," he said. "After I trample you insects, I think it's high time I tore the throat from this mutt." His expressionless face twisted into a malevolent grin that could stop the hearts of lesser beings. "Imagine his rage when I sally fortj to slay the World Serpent with his brother's blood still wet on my muzzle! The sagas they write of our battle will outlast any who could give them voice!"
A muffled snarl and a rattle of chains sounded from behind the throne, where an ashen-furred wolf, the size of a horse, was firmly bound in pale light that called to mind the tired rays of the winter sun.
"Ahaha, glorious, how glorious!" The Dragon carried on. "You there, boy and beast! My mood has taken a turn for the better, and I will allow you to name yourselves. Be honored that you may take up but a single line in the most glorious tale of my legend."
… Having finished making their game plan to deal with the last obstacle, Ruth sunk into Yuuji's shadow, and Yuuji shot the terrorist in the face.
Admittedly, Yuuji was actually feeling a tiny bit awkward for not having asked the Dragon's name, but the gleeful Norse berserkers making noise in his head clearly knew so it was probably fine.
He didn't actually care what the Dragon's name was, but it was the true debut of his Sacred Gear, so getting the details right was important for commemorations sake.
Outwardly, the armor of the Unknown Soldier didn't look all that different, even if it had shifted a few pieces to properly embody the Operative that suited Yuuji best. The armor was sleeker now, fitting comfortably under his clothes like a second skin, the only 'outer layer' being the mantle Hela had bestowed upon him, and the almost featureless mask that covered his face.
One had to look a little closer to take note of those changes that meant everything.
To Yuuji's eyes they appeared as kanji, but, much like the Devil's Gift of Tongues, the letters were always perfectly legible to any who attempted to read them.
They covered every single inch of metal, shifting as they cycled through the list that would always be too long to fit on the given space.
… And as was often the case, the names 'Carter' and 'Eumene' ended up on the back of his right hand, before playfully swapping out with 'Juno' and 'Lamb', the nicknames they'd come to cherish just as much as the names they were born with.
The names of the deceased now covered every inch of the armor of the Unknown Soldier.
That was the true nature of Yuuji's Balance Breaker- a walking monument ensuring that as long as the Arsenal Memoir had a wielder, no Soldier would ever go Unknown.
The true nature of God's Last Creation was a refusal to allow even a single soul lost to the battlefield to go unmourned.
But there was more to their memories than just names.
And as the current host of the Arsenal Memoir, it was Yuuji's duty to give voice to the Elegy of Iron written just for them, and he chose to begin by paying homage to those first two who had reached out to him from the blackness of the Memoir, and watched over him ever since.
Eumene had always played the role, but what they learned as scraps of his memory were reclaimed was that Carter had played it once as well- it hadn't been his sergeant that taught him to fire a rifle.
And thus…
"First Verse, the Hunter."
An embodiment of relentless patience.
Pitting wit and will against the endless dangers of the wild.
Not a tremor in its heart as it took careful aim at the mighty beast rampaging before it, not a sliver of doubt in its mind as it devoted the entirety of its being to becoming the jaws of a trap waiting to be sprung.
The perfect chance was seized without hurry, the perfect shot made as if it were the only shot that could be made.
An arrow hissed through the air, and a Dragon screamed in fury and pain as an arrow from behind pierced its way beneath a massive scale like a great sliver of iron.
The Dragon rounded on the Hunter with a furious roar, but a Hunter always knew when it was time to rest and not work.
"Second Verse, the Guardian."
The vanguard, the absolute frontline that would never yield as long as there was just one thing at its back.
The whip of a mighty tail resounded like a gong as it struck a shield of pure iron, and though the bearer of the shield was sent skidding back, the Guardian remained unbowed and unbroken.
And though the Guardian was far from finished, it ceded the path to one better suited to building the ire of the Dragon.
"Third Verse, the Berserker."
Savagery that made even the most rabid of beasts look meek.
Madness given steel and purpose.
Slipping past a crushing paw, a maelstrom of slashing blades hacked free a curved claw and sent it spinning away.
A trusted comrade pulled the Berserker into the shadows and away from the enraged thrashing as pure corrosion flooded from the Dragon's jaws, and as the Grim took in the shadows and swelled larger still, another Echo laughed and took the reins, aiding its Host in 'something he'd always wanted to try'.
"Fourth Verse, the Cavalier."
With the cheers of its comrades spurring it on, the Cavalier sallied forth, thundering out from the shadows with lance in its hand as mount and rider moved as one.
The Dragon turned upon them and drew in its breath for another scouring blast of decay, yet challenging the swiftness of the Cavalier and his mount was foolishness itself.
The Cavalier plunged its lance right between two flaring nostrils, and laughingly left the Dragon with another horn.
Ever the good sport, the Cavalier hopped from the back of the Hound that was its most trusted comrade, and ceded the field to one who was getting rather impatient. But it was a fitting replacement- the Verse that reminded most of all that even though elegies were sung for the dead, they were sung for the living most of all.
"Fifth Verse, the Mentor."
Muzzled though he was, snarls that rumbled like an earthquake spilled endlessly from his clenched jaws, and his claws furrowed the stone as easily as a fin parted water.
He was ready to bring about Ragnarok that very moment, and perfectly willing to bring it about entirely by himself.
He could smell his brother's blood and his sister's worries upon the wind, and here he was, powerless to right what was wrong.
Ymir's beard, where had Father gotten off to this time!?
Unwilling to bide his time any longer, Fenrir strained against the impossible gleam of those blasted chains, struggling to call upon his heritage and outgrow his bindings, all while swearing upon all Nine Realms that he would eat the guts of the ones who had bound him.
And his brother would never get a chance to see his old grudge ended, because Fenrir had every intention of eating the worm first.
… And it was only that which kept Fenrir from being driven near the point of insanity by his own boundless rage.
The spiteful pleasure of watching a trio of brats bloody the worm's nose was too good to pass up on.
Surpassing even the fury of the Wolf, Nidhoggr was wholly consumed by the madness of his rage.
Evil Dragons were unstable existences by their very nature, and the biting flies had exploited that to its fullest extent, making the Dragon forget anything beyond their erasure.
The triumphant roar of Nidhoggr shook the mountains themselves as his claws caged and pinned the iron gnat against the wall, avoiding crushing it simply for no other reason than to make its death as excruciatingly slow as possible.
Eager to savor things further, Nidhoggr shrunk himself down to human form, the caging claws shifting to an inescapable grip on a slim throat.
"This is as far as I go, huh? Shit I'm rusty," the iron gnat complained in a brash but decidedly feminine tone, drawing a slow blink from reptilian eyes. "How do guys get anything done without tripping over themselves anyways? Their center of gravity is way too fucking high."
With his free hand, Nidhoggr ripped away the metal mask.
As if it were a shift, the moment the face of a woman was exposed, the iron body shifted to match, slimming down in some places while ripening bombastically in others, revealing the figure of a fit and sturdy woman in her prime.
Barely minding the hand crushing her throat, Kusakabe Asako let a belligerent smile spread across her lips.
"... You're not the Devil brat, where is he!?" Nidhoggr roared in her face, making Asako grimace just a little.
"Bleh, your breath stinks like shit-"
"ANSWER ME, WOMAN, OR I'LL MAKE YOUR AGONY LEGEND!"
"Eh, he's just letting the dog off the leash." Asako shrugged.
"That pun is bad, and you should feel bad," a dry voice came from the other end of the hall, earning a sharp bark of laughter from Asako.
The illusion shattered in time with an almost absurdly deep clank as chainlinks of light crashed to the ground.
Yuuji couldn't make an illusion potent enough to fool the senses of a Dragon, not by a longshot.
But Yuuji could absolutely piss off a Dragon enough that it wouldn't care about anything but him.
The woman in his grasp all but forgotten, even before she dissolved into gunsmoke, Nidhoggr registered too late that just enough chains had been removed, his human shell shed like a snake's scales as the fighting instincts of one of the mightiest races alive thundered pure adrenaline through his veins.
Half a heartbeat later, and Nidhoggr was forced to blink as his curiously blurry field of vision flipped on its side and dropped almost to the floor.
He found himself gazing up at a great serpentine form propped up by powerful bent legs ending in mighty talons, all agleam with burnished golden scales.
The majestic body of a Dragon worthy of legend… swaying on thick limbs as dark blood spurted violently from the stump of its neck.
The Wolf howled as the vision of the Dragon cut out.
Bad, this was bad, it sounded like the entire globe was howling all at once!
Acting quickly, Georg called upon the power of Dimension Lost, reaching out through the links he'd set and connecting with the other executives stationed throughout the building, immediately accepting the Grail as lost as he prepared to evacuate everyone he could.
Georg registered the 'connections' he'd set going one direction only and cursed aloud.
They must still be fighting, so he would have to go get them himself- dammit, he'd used way too much power keeping the Grail secured, he'd completely lost sight of the bigger picture-
She was heart-stoppingly beautiful, even with her lips scarred and a blindfold concealing her eyes from sight.
Her hands were entirely made of metal, yet somehow the hands on his cheeks felt soft.
Mutilated wings shedding feathers of iron at her back, the iron angel gave a soft sigh of sympathy as Georg calmly processed why his field of vision had rotated a perfect 180 degrees and he couldn't feel his body.
Seeing the glimmer of understanding in his eyes, First brought the hands on his cheeks clapping wetly together, and Georg's vision cut out in an instant.
First's mercy did not end with a quick death, however- Georg died without knowing that the Hero Faction Cao Cao had bequeathed to him was dying with him, all across the globe at the hands of the iron dead.
The Hero Faction, once of the Khaos Brigade before throwing in its lot with Qlippoth, was ultimately erased from the world in just under two hours.
It was a nondescript little house in a homey residential section of a Japanese town she couldn't seem to find the name of.
The front door was unlocked, so she let herself in, tamping down on that flutter of nerves in her heart.
She needed to make a good first impression, and that sharp gaze ran in the family but Yuuji's sister had red eyes.
Kazami Kazuki placed her teacup on the table and cast a clinical eye over her.
"Are you the one who killed all my dragons?" Kazuki tonelessly inquired. "Well? Are you going to stand there like an excessively curvy statue, or are you going to introduce yourself?"
Caught off guard more than expected by all the uncanny similarities and suddenly missing Yuuji so much it hurt, Akeno did the worst thing she could possibly do.
… Spoke without thinking.
"Himejima Akeno, Yuuji's first girlfriend and hopefully first fiance," she said with a formal but reflexive bow as Kazuki lifted her teacup to take another slow sip.
The cup froze in mid air as a moment of utter silence passed.
With strength she didn't know she had, Kazuki flipped the table and summoned Ladon in the blink of an eye.
Let's slow down the hype-train with a bit of comedy, huh?
Apologies it took a while, but all the chapters in this arc just take so much work to get onto the page because of how dense they are.
Many characters had their breakthroughs, and they'll be stronger than ever for it. I think it would be a little silly if every character had a breakthrough, but I tried to share the shine of the spotlight around when possible.
This chapter was also the biggest chapter in the whole damn story for named character deaths, so that was pretty fun too.
Some of this stuff I'll explain more in later chapters, but I'll at least address our protagonist briefly here.
Yuuji's Elegy of Iron represents the fullest expression of what the Arsenal Memoir is meant to be- each Verse is an archetype, a way of categorizing and compounding the talents and legacies of every Echo and Shout within the Memoir.
Or, you could think of it this way- each Verse corresponds to a Chapter contained within the Book of the Dead.