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The battlefield reeked of ozone and blood. Shattered stone, torn earth, and the lingering hum of holy energy gave Kuoh Academy the feel of a graveyard.
And then—Issei moved.
His aura flared, scarlet energy spilling from his body in waves, heat distorting the air around him. His expression was unreadable, his eyes void of hesitation. It wasn't Issei Hyoudou, the perverted boy everyone thought they knew. This was something else. Someone else.
Without words, without warning, he turned his gaze to Valper Galilei.
The old priest's grin faltered, his hand clutching the Fused Excalibur as if it were salvation. "Kukuku, do you truly think—"
He never finished.
Issei appeared before him in an instant, the crimson gauntlet of the Boosted Gear slamming through Valper's chest with a wet crunch. Ribs snapped like twigs. Flesh tore. The priest's eyes bulged in shock as a gout of blood and saliva burst from his mouth.
"You talk too much," Issei said flatly, voice colder than steel.
With a flick of his arm, he ripped Valper's heart free. Blood splattered across the broken ground, steaming in the night air. He tossed the still-beating organ aside like trash, then seized the Fused Excalibur from Valper's twitching hands.
The instant his fingers wrapped around the hilt, fire consumed his skin. Flesh sizzled. The smell of burning meat rose thick in the air. The Excalibur screamed with divine rejection, trying to drive him back.
Issei didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
He raised the sword, flames devouring his hand to the bone. His face remained impassive, as though pain no longer existed.
Valper gurgled once, collapsing in a heap. Forgotten.
The others—Rias, Kiba, Xenovia, Asia—stared in horror. They'd never seen anything like it. Not just the brutality, but the sheer indifference.
"Blasphemous devil filth!" Kokabiel's voice thundered from above, his black wings stretching wide as lightning crackled in his palms. "Do you think wielding a stolen blade will change your fate?"
Issei tilted his head, eyes locking onto the leader of the Fallen Angels. "You speak as if you matter."
The words weren't shouted. They weren't boastful. They were delivered as if Kokabiel were a stain on his boot.
For the first time in centuries, Kokabiel's smile wavered.
Then the storm broke.
Lightning screamed down from the heavens, spears of divine destruction lashing at Issei. The ground exploded, craters tearing through the earth, dust and flame obscuring all sight.
But when the haze cleared, he was still standing.
Half his uniform was gone, burned away. His flesh smoked, blistered. And yet, his grip on the Excalibur was steady.
He raised the blade, its holy aura clashing violently against his demonic energy, creating a chaotic storm of black-red fire and white-blue radiance. The two forces should have annihilated each other. Instead, they fused around him in a corona of death.
"Pathetic," Issei whispered.
Then he moved.
One step, and the ground shattered. He blurred forward, crimson gauntlet and cursed holy sword in unison, cleaving upward in a stroke that split the night sky. Kokabiel barely crossed his arms before the blow connected.
Steel shrieked against bone. Kokabiel was hurled backward, blood spraying as the Excalibur carved across his arm, severing through flesh and sinew. Black feathers scattered like ash.
He snarled, healing already beginning, but not fast enough.
"You dare—!" Kokabiel roared.
"I dare everything," Issei replied, voice calm, prideful. He stepped forward, dragging the tip of Excalibur through the mud, sparks hissing. "And you… you're nothing."
Kokabiel's eyes burned with rage. His aura swelled, ten black wings beating as he unleashed a storm of spears. Hundreds of bolts of light filled the sky, each one screaming down to obliterate the devil standing before him.
Issei did not retreat.
He charged straight in.
The first spear impaled his shoulder, erupting in a fountain of gore. The second tore across his ribs, burning a hole clean through. A third drove into his thigh, shredding muscle.
He didn't stop.
With each wound, he grew faster. Angrier. His lips curled into something between a grin and a snarl. Blood dripped from his chin, mixing with the rain and mud, but his eyes—his eyes glowed with unyielding fire.
When he reached Kokabiel, he swung.
Excalibur screamed, divine aura clashing with Kokabiel's wings in a shower of blood and feathers. Kokabiel countered with his claws, blackened talons tearing through Issei's flesh, ripping strips of meat from his arm. The ground quaked beneath their blows, shockwaves tearing the battlefield apart.
They became a blur of violence—blade against wing, gauntlet against claw, blood against blood.
Kokabiel roared in fury. Issei did not. His silence was more terrifying than any battle cry.
"You… devil whelp!" Kokabiel spat, black ichor dripping from his wounds. "Do you think yourself my equal? You're a child playing at war!"
Issei's gauntlet slammed into Kokabiel's face with a crunch, caving in bone and tearing teeth free in a spray of gore. "No," he said, calm as death itself. "I think you're already finished."
The battle raged on. Kokabiel unleashed torrents of light, enough to blind the world. Issei answered with strikes so brutal that flesh and blood decorated the ground in grisly mosaics. They tore into each other with primal violence, each wound more savage than the last.
And yet—Kokabiel still stood. Stronger, older, his power burned hotter than the Red Dragon's host could yet match.
Finally, Kokabiel gathered his strength into one titanic blast. His wings spread wide, his entire body glowing with condensed energy. "Die, Sekiryuutei!"
The blast engulfed everything.
When the light cleared, Issei was on one knee, his hand buried in the mud. His flesh smoked, his body torn open in half a dozen places. Blood ran freely, dripping from his mouth in thick streams.
Rias screamed his name, but he did not respond.
Slowly, he stood.
Silent. Unflinching.
His eyes locked on Kokabiel—not with rage, not with fear. With finality. As if he were already looking at a corpse.
He spat a tooth out along with mouthful of blood onto the ground. The crimson stain hissed against the mud.
Then, voice low, almost a whisper, he murmured:
"…Balance Breaker."
~~~
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