Dxd: A demon Among Devils

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The halberds burned demon flesh. He learned that the hard way. A particularly accurate blow had threatened to amputate his left arm at the shoulder. He had thrown the limb away from the falling blade's path at the last second, and instead of biting deep into flesh, the polearm merely grazed his arm. It had still been enough to fuse the fabric of his shirt with his skin. Pain had lanced into his mind, made all the more acute due to the presence that resided in his head. Belial's rage was a physical thing, and it translated into a gout of flame he had flung in the offending Templar's way. Not enough to kill but enough to make them hesitate.

At least he could do that. All around him his allies fought the same foes and suffered far worse.

Irina exchanged blows with a squad of knights, her sword of light dancing in elegant patterns. They might as well been pinpricks against her foes' enchanted warplate. In return, halberds cleaved down at her in every direction and forced her to constantly retreat. Freed had long since joined the fighting and had chosen Xenovia as his opponent. It had been clear from the first clash that the wielder of Durandal was the superior swordsman, but Xenovia had no bodyguard of Templars to call her own, and that made all the difference. The enemy exorcist would constantly withdraw behind the wall of halberd points when his opponent gained the upper hand and dart out again when his minions had worn Xenovia down for another try. For all its simplicity, the tactic was working. The girl was visibly tiring, and the immaculate form she had displayed when the battle began had been reduced to the most basic blocks and parries. Durandal, a sword worthy of kings, became nothing more than a piece of metal draped in lethal energy in her hands.

Here was a lesson that both he and the other members of SEES had learned when exploring the depths of Tartarus. A weapon was only as strong as its wielder. No matter how fabled the weapon was, it was still dependent on its user's skill. And once exhaustion set in, once weariness bit into bone, the prominence of a weapon mattered little. The same applied here, but instead of Shadows they were fighting humans, who were much more capable when it came to tactics.

That much had been apparent when he had tried to link up with his allies on three separate occasions, and been rebuffed each time. His enemies gave him no time to rest, no time to recover, constantly attacking, constantly probing at his flanks, threatening to overwhelm him at the slightest hesitation he showed. He couldn't even summon Belial if he wanted to, such was the nature of this combat, where a moment of indecision could invite the fall of a blade onto his unprotected body.

Human discipline. When it was married to determination, even if it was as zealous as this, could become a very fearsome thing.

The only good he could think of about this situation was that they still refrained from chanting. They had deduced that he was the least affected by their words, which was only partially true, and thus abstained from saying them. Instead, they fought in absolute silence, ironclad warriors whose uniform, meticulous motions made them seem more machine than man.

That same silence could not be said for those Templars that assailed his allies on the opposite end of the chamber. Koneko, Issei, and Asia had long since moved down from the balcony, breaking free of the trap, only to fall into another one. A squad of knights had broken ranks from the ones challenging him and marched rapidly to counter. Together, they formed a pincer with those that were descending down the stairwell in pursuit and crushed the three devils against the wall leading to the gate.

He could only chance an occasional gaze in their direction, such was the ferocity of the foes that pressed him. What few images he saw worried him. The Templars were closing in all around the trio, and with their backs to the wall, that left them with little room to maneuver. Already he could sense the desperation in their movements as they strove in vain to break free from the ring of advancing enemies.

That was all he got to see before plated forms blocked his vision and he was forced to defend against their relentless onslaught. When he had the opportunity to look again it was to discover that the knights had separated Issei and Asia away from Koneko. He gritted his teeth and began to try and forge a path to them. The Templars that were in front of him immediately changed tactics. Their halberds bit into the air in vicious strokes, and he had to do his best to avoid them all the while trying to push his way through to his beleaguered allies. They were waiting for him to make a mistake. This he knew. And while so far he hadn't committed any, this sudden change in the flow of battle threatened that record.

In the distance he saw Issei ducking a heavy swing. The boy was too quick in getting up, and the return sweep caught him unawares. The thick wooden haft crashed against his temple, temporarily stunning him. He went down wordlessly. Asia was the boy's side in an instant, but her presence was callously disregarded. Their enemies were not fools, and they had seen enough of their abilities to recognize the priestess's lack of fighting ability.

He quickened his pace, striving to reach them, and nearly ate a thrust to his face for his trouble. The Templars that surrounded him would not let him go that easily. He crushed the rising sense of frustration inside him. Taking unnecessary risks would do them no good.

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