The shadow on the horizon grew sharper, until finally, the intruder revealed himself—a man hovering in midair, five pairs of jet-black wings unfurled behind him, crimson eyes burning with predatory glee. His hawk-like features and chilling aura left no doubt: Kokabiel, the Fallen Angel general.
He conjured a throne from thin air, settling onto it with theatrical ease. His gaze swept over the assembled group—Devils, Holy Sword wielders, and exorcists—with wicked amusement.
"Well, well. Looks like you were expecting me. Deliberately broadcasting your location, waiting for the big bad wolf to show up?" His voice was silk over steel.
His eyes landed on Xenovia and Irina. "Holy Sword wielders, consorting with Devils? Don't think that saves you. Death comes for traitors, no matter their company."
Though Kokabiel's tone was almost casual, every word dripped with cruelty.
Irina and Xenovia exchanged uneasy glances, the sheer weight of Kokabiel's power pressing down on them. The gap between their strength and his was a chasm—they knew it, and so did he.
In Shuo's mind, the system pinged:
Sign-in target detected: Kokabiel. Mission Grade: Black. Objective: Defeat.
Shuo's lips twitched. So Kokabiel was only "black grade"—barely a peak pseudo-Satan-level. All that bluster, and he wasn't even true Devil King class. Shuo nearly laughed; for all Kokabiel's talk of surviving wars with gods and kings, he was just another overconfident small fry.
Rias stepped forward, her posture regal, eyes icy. "Welcome, Fallen Angel general. I am Rias Gremory. Shall we skip the pleasantries?"
Kokabiel's gaze flicked to her, sneering. "Red hair, just like your brother. Sirzechs always made me nauseous—seems it runs in the family."
Rias didn't flinch. "You've crossed into my territory. State your purpose."
Kokabiel's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Since you're all about to die, why not? I plan to turn Kuoh Academy into ground zero for my little war."
Rias's eyes narrowed. "If you do, you'll reignite the ancient conflict. Is that really your goal?"
Kokabiel laughed, the sound echoing with madness. "After stealing the Church's King's Sword, I expected Michael himself to come hunting me. Instead, they sent a handful of exorcists and two Holy Sword wielders. Boring! So I'll start my own war."
The group bristled, every member keenly aware of the danger—and of Kokabiel's insanity.
Irina and Xenovia looked to Shuo, silent questions in their eyes. He'd been right: they were expendable, abandoned by the Church.
Kokabiel's voice cut through the tension. "The Church only sent you two? Haven't you figured it out? You're just pawns. Discarded. The Church is as rotten as ever."
A new voice rang out from the trees—old, gravelly, and unmistakably smug. An elderly priest stepped into view, glasses glinting, robes pristine.
"Balpa Galilei! You traitor!" Xenovia spat, fury blazing. "You helped Kokabiel steal the Holy Swords, didn't you?"
Irina echoed, voice trembling with rage. "How dare you show your face here?"
Kiba's eyes locked onto Balpa, hatred boiling over. "Balpa Galilei… you bastard!"
Balpa peered at Kiba, puzzled. "And who might you be? I don't recall meeting you."
Kiba stepped forward, voice taut with barely restrained fury. "You remember the Holy Sword Project? I'm the only one who survived. I've waited years for this moment—I'll never forgive you."
Recognition dawned on Balpa, followed by a sneer. "Ah, the escaped failure. You're just like the rest—useless, broken, destined for the trash heap."
Balpa's casual cruelty sent Kiba trembling with rage, hand tightening around his sword.
Shuo intervened, grabbing Kiba's arm. "Not yet. I promised you'd have your shot. Stay focused."
Kiba nodded, jaw clenched, but didn't take his eyes off Balpa.
Above them, Kokabiel's voice thundered once more. "No point hiding anything now. The three-way war ended, and I've been bored ever since. Azazel and Shemhaza want peace—pathetic! Azazel buries himself in Sacred Gear research. I couldn't care less."
He spread his wings, radiating power. "Fallen Angels, Angels, Devils—all locked in a fragile balance. I'll be the one to shatter it!"
His laughter was wild, unhinged.
"So let's start with you Devils—Rias Gremory, sister of Lucifer Sirzechs, and Sona Sitri, sister of Leviathan Serafall. If you fall, war is inevitable!"
His eyes gleamed with bloodlust. "Time for your baptism."
With a flick of his wrist, Kokabiel summoned a storm of magic. Spears of light coalesced above him, hundreds—thousands—raining down like a golden monsoon.
"Shield up!" Rias shouted. She and Sona raised magical barriers, catching the brunt of the assault. The air crackled, the shields shimmering with strain, but they held.
Kokabiel smirked. "Not bad, little sisters of the Devil Kings. Looks like this will be fun."
He traced a sigil in the sky, conjuring a massive magic circle. From its depths, monstrous three-headed hellhounds burst forth, snarling as they encircled the group, jaws dripping with venom.
The battlefield was set. The chaos had begun.
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