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The Fallen Angel glanced at the piles of unmoving plate in amusement.
"The problem with zealots is that they are all so very predictable. They can only do one thing. Charge. Charge. Charge. No tactics involved. No subtlety. There's no fun to it," the Grigori's eyes flickered to the man that was still impaled on his hand, "Wouldn't you agree?"
"God will… smite you down… heathen…" blood leaked from the slits in the knight's helm.
"God?" Kokabiel studied the dying man with insulting politeness, "God is dead. I killed him," the expression flickered, and the true face showed itself, a demented, bloodthirsty leer, "It was I who stabbed the blade into his back! It was I who bathed my sword with his blood! All the others dared not do what I accomplished! Azazel? Baraqiel? They stood and watched as the being that cast them out of Heaven was on his knees in front of them! Cowardice stayed their hand! Weakness prevented them from doing the deed! They feared the consequences of their action when the dice has already been cast! So I did it for them! I killed God to usher in a new age where Fallen Angels would rightfully rule! And had his body not been immolated by his filthy servants, his skull would be hanging around my neck!"
Dreadful, disturbed silence fell. Kokabiel grinned at them. The calm façade returned, and the Fallen Angel swiveled his head once more to smile into the face of his victim.
"God is dead. I killed him. Just as I have killed you."
The fingers flexed. The Templar came raggedly apart in a shower of gore. Shredded from within. Turned inside out by lacerating claws. Blood, limbs, chunks of diced meat fell from the sky like rain.
Amid the crimson downpour, a vampiric grin lit up with inhuman malice.
"Now. Where were we?"
After that, all the fight seemed to leave the defenders. The humans among them were affected the most. Irina and Xenovia. The two exorcists still fought but they were a shadow of their former selves. Their sword arms faltered and their form wavered. Blades fit for kings became listless in their hands. The Knights Templar too. Where once they had surged into battle, indomitable in their plate, resolute in their courage, shouting litanies and singing catechisms, they now huddled in a defensive formation, fighting in defeated silence, their polearms prodding half-heartedly at the foe that assailed them from every side. The only reason they still lasted was because of Asia, standing behind them in the semi-circle, healing them, urging them on. But her pleas fell on deaf ears. The Grigori's words had shaken them to the very core, and sapped them of their will. Resolve was needed to wage war, and it was gone now, torn abruptly and suddenly from their grasp.
Half of their fighting force had been reduced to mere bodies going through the motions with a single confession. The other half continued to resist with the same ferocity, but their allies' despair affected them too. Morale plummeted. Gaps appeared. Communication broke down between peerage members. Desperation reared its ugly head. These factors alone was enough to push them to the brink. These same factors allowed Kokabiel to waltz effortlessly in and pluck the very prizes he had been after from their disorganized ranks.
He held one such prize now, the Fallen Angel, perched on one of the buildings that still remained standing, dangling her above the ground, fingers wrapped tight around her neck.
"I will admit that you put up a good fight," the pale face danced with cruel mirth, "But this is my victory, as it always has been."
Rias struggled in his grip, kicked out in futile anger. A few feet away, Sona lay helpless on the roof, Fallen knees on her back and light spears at her throat.
"You are a delectable thing. I can see why Sirzechs would protect you. The love of a brother is heartwarming indeed."
Rias continued to struggle. Continued to kick. Down below, her peerage shed their own blood in a futile attempt to reach her, and was pushed back yet again by waves of Fallen Angels.
"Imagine the despair he will feel when he finds you lying here. Naked. Defiled. The hopelessness that will worm into his soul. Why, the grief would drive him mad. He would lash out at everything and anything. Raise an army of devils to wage a vengeful war. Just as I have planned all along," Kokabiel chuckled into her face, "The Excaliburs were never the true intent. They were a distraction. A diversion. Their theft is a dull ember compared to the raging fire that your death will cause," the Grigori casted a sideways glance at Sona, "Yours as well. Your sister loves you in her own way, and she will join Sirzechs in his crusade when she learns of your end," a blissful sigh escaped the Fallen Angel's lips. It sounded enormously wrong coming from someone like him, "Two of the Great Satans, maddened with grief, clamoring for war. The cards are already falling in place. Now all that remains is for the final hand to be played."
He turned and met Rias's outstretched palm. A bolt of black energy struck him in the face, exploding in a flash of demonic energy. The Power of Destruction unleashed in projectile form. Kokabiel took it like a man would take a light slap to the cheek. The Fallen Angel turned his head and besides a slight singe that marred his features, did not appear outwardly affected.
"Bael's power flows through your blood, girl. That one was a most difficult foe to face in the Great War. Perhaps one day you will arrive at a pinnacle where you will be able to match him in strength," the grin was bared. Pure murder radiated from maddened eyes, "It is a shame you will never get a chance to reach it."
Fingers tightened. The grip closed like a vice. Suspended five stories up in the air, wings beating weakly against the relentless hold, Rias began to choke.
"Do not struggle," the words were said with almost soothing softness. Kokabiel's face was a false mask of pleasantry as he looked up at the one he was about to kill, "Make it easier for yourself. Just die."
Her hands beat futilely against the pale arm, weakening with every passing second. Her vision started to blacken, darkness beginning to form along its edges. Life left her in shuddering, agonized gasps as the monster in front of her continued to hold, continued to squeeze.
A thrown spear saved her. A beam of gleaming light, it streaked through the air and embedded itself into Kokabiel's forearm. The Fallen Angel made a hissing sound. It was not enough to wound him, not even enough to hurt him, but it caused a lapse of concentration. The hold lessened momentarily, and Rias used it to break free, erupting from the Grigori's grasp and darting away.
Two more spears hurtled through the air and thudded into the figures pinning Sona. Her guards fell, clawing at the hafts protruding from their backs. That too was enough to free her, and Sona sprung into the air and followed her fellow devil in escaping.
Kokabiel glared up at the ones who had cost him his prizes, eyebrows raised in bemused anger.
"You."
By then, the three figures were already retreating, but the smallest of them paused, blond ponytails bouncing as she hovered above the ground. Turning, eyes alight with mischievous glee, Mittelt smiled at the Fallen lord before promptly blowing a giant raspberry in his direction.
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