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They rose now, freed from whatever spell that had put them there. His gaze moved from them to the reason he had come.
The figure that had to be Kokabiel was perched on Kuoh Academy's main building, now no more than a ruined tower with crumbling foundations. The way the Grigori presented himself reminded him of a stone gargoyle squatting on a gothic cathedral's roof. At the Fallen Angel's back were dozens of lesser angels, some floating in the air, others perched similarly like their lord. A significant show of force. Part of him wondered if it was because of him. The other part sincerely wished it wasn't so.
It spoke now, this Fallen Angel, and the voice that rasped out was thick with venomous anger.
"Raynare."
The one who had been hiding behind him all this time trembled. The fingers that had grasped his shirt clutched even tighter than before. The grip was almost painful.
"Why have you brought him here, when my express orders for you were to delay him?"
He did not need to look back to know that her eyes were wide with fear.
"I… I…"
"You disappoint me."
Tears spilled down onto his shoulder. He jerked in response, surprised. He had expected that she would be affected, but not this much. The wounds. They ran deep.
"But you can still redeem yourself," Kokabiel's features had turned pleasant, "Kill him. Dispose of this interloper and you will be back in my good graces once again."
He could feel her stiffening behind him. Feel her shaking.
"It would be such a simple thing," a pale hand gestured airily in his direction, "You are already behind him. Kill the Nephilim, and all you have ever wanted from me will be yours."
The claws were at his back a second later, cruel spiked talons pressing into his spine. The others around him reacted with alarm. Rias looked murderous. Akeno as well. Issei was already moving towards him, crimson gauntlet ready to strike. He smiled, not because the claws formed, but because they wavered. The talons pressed into his back but they refused to cut, refused to impale. Bladed fingertips ghosted across his skin, shaking as their owner fought with her will, fought with herself.
"No… Don't want… Not again…"
"Why are you delaying?" the venom in Kokabiel's voice had returned, "Kill him and be done with it."
At first her response was so soft that he almost couldn't hear it. But then she said it again, firmer, louder.
"Shut up."
All pretenses of pleasantry vanished from the Fallen Angel's face.
"What did you say?"
"Shut up," she repeated, drawing strength from the words, "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up."
"Your defiance will be remembered," Kokabiel spat, "You will be punished for this. Heed my order before I choose to make the punishment worse. Kill him!"
"Shut up!"
He felt blood splattering onto his clothing and stiffened. Yet strangely, there was no pain. He turned to see Raynare slowly sinking to her knees, the claws that had been at his back impaled into her own stomach. She looked up at him through a mask of pain. Tried to smile through it.
"I really am worthless, aren't I?"
His method of reply was to reach for her with a welcoming hand.
Something hot and bright and heavy flew past his ear. It struck her dead center in the chest. A shaft of pure light, transfixing her from end to end. It burned her. The heat ate away at her body. Incinerating skin. Cremating flesh. Parts of her disintegrated. Blown away by the wind. The last thing he saw was her face, pained but accepting, and then that too disappeared, crumbling into dust, and there was nothing in front of him but the hand he had extended in her direction.
Her ashes drifted through his fingers. Behind him he could hear them gasp and Asia letting out a sob. The hand clenched into a fist.
"If she will not listen," he could feel Kokabiel's leer burning into his back, "what use is she to me?"
Rage lit up in his mind. Like a white hot knife it cut into his conscience, threatening to overpower reason, threatening to undo the calmness. He struggled with it. Tried to wrestle it back. But it was a living thing, this anger. The Sea of Souls broiled under the strain, the waves writhing in tormented agony. He could feel its power surging in him, the rage giving it strength, swimming in his veins and saturating every inch of his body. It was all he could do to prevent it from leaking through.
What seemed like an eternity passed when it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. The volatile emotion gradually ceased. The anger ebbed away, gone like the tide. He opened the palm that had inadvertently clutched into a fist and looked down. There, raw power coalesced, in the form of a sphere, cackling with barely contained wrath.
Megidolaon.
He smiled at it before forcing the spell to dissipate. That was not him. It was not who he was.
The rush of power that receded back into his mind was like a breath of fresh wind.
Rage subsided and in its place came acceptance. Acceptance at what just happened. Acceptance at her fate. And after acceptance came defiance. And with defiance came purpose.
"Thanatos," he said, "Give her back to me."
There was a moment of silence. A moment of utter stillness.
A long, vengeful howl broke it. It shattered the plane of reality and gutted the foundations of the world.
White gloved hands reached out. Grasped the edges of existence. Pulled.
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