Dxd: A demon Among Devils

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"No," Kiba glanced down in surprise at the hand that had been placed on his shoulder, "Not your penitence. Your penitence," he nodded to the doors where the rest had disappeared through, "is through there. This fate," the fingers squeezed firmly around the devil's shoulder, "Let it be mine."

The sword-user's eyes widened. He could see the words that were beginning to form on his lips. He smiled and pushed, the Archdemon's strength becoming his own for another brief second.

Kiba shot through the entranceway in a blur, propelled by immense force. The gates shut behind him with a clang. No one would be getting through them now.

He turned to see a phalanx of halberd tips pointing at his chest.

"That was very touching of you," Freed cocked his head to one side, "Very moving. Sacrificing yourself so the rest of your friends could get away. The stoic hero, silent as he stares down the encroaching foe," the crowd of Knights Templar advanced, and the deadly tips of their weapons inched closer, "I wonder how silent you will be when I'm carving you apart piece by piece and flaying the skin from your bones."

He ignored the sadistic leer that had formed over the man's face. Ignored the almost orgasmic tone in his opponent's voice. His gaze was centered on the bodies that lay still and unmoving behind the wall of knights. Plated forms split and sundered, leaking cooling blood on the tiled floor. Enemies. Foes. Humans. People. That was what they were in the end. Take away all the titles, all the names, and that was all they were. People. Lives. Potential. Potential that would never be used again.

He did not regret their deaths. He regretted that there was a need for their deaths in the first place.

His gaze flickered back to the one that had started it all, the man in the white cloak who stood behind the ironclad warriors, not leading them as he should have, but hiding behind them. Cruelty. Malice. Cowardice. These were human traits, and as much as he wished to deny them, he could not. It would be hypocritical of him to do so. He did not judge. He merely accepted.

He sighed.

"I accept you, Freed Sellzen, for who you are."

The man cackled. The sneer on his face made it clear just how contemptuous he was of that statement.

"Is that supposed to make me want to redeem myself?"

He cocked his head to one side. The very idea.

"No. I am going to kill you. I just wanted you to know that I accept you before I kill you."

His opponent seemed taken aback at those words, then the sadistic expression resurfaced, and he licked his lips hungrily.

"Brave words for a devil about to die."

He did not deign him worthy of a rebuttal and instead turned to the throng of knights that surrounded him.

"The rest of you need not die with him. If you leave, I will spare your lives."

They laughed at him. Thick and mocking, the sound that came from their sneering helms was tinged with metallic disdain. He could not blame them. They were veterans of their craft, exorcists without peer, and here he was, a single devil, alone and telling them to run. In their view, at least. It was the wrong view, but they would find out all the same.

"While we thank you for this generous offer," Freed gestured airily, "I believe we would rather stay. It would be far more fun to kill you and your friends. Don't worry," the exorcist shrugged nonchalantly, "We'll catch up to them, and then we'll violate their corpses, just for good measure. Gregor," one of the knights turned, his armor more ornate than the others, an officer or leader without a doubt, "If you would do the honors?"

The Templar heaved his massive halberd over his shoulder and stepped purposefully for him.

"It shall be done," he boomed, the weapon rising in his gauntlets in a two-handed grip, "Die demon, and sup with your foul minions in the depths of Hell."

The polearm swung for his head, the blade of silver singing its devastating song as it arced down. By then, the power was already there, coalescing in his mind, replacing Belial's essence with its own unique presence. The halberd halted centimeters from his face, the blade trembling as it was stopped by sudden, immense force.

"What?" his foe had time to snarl.

And then it exploded in his hands, the weapon, detonating in a flash of brilliant light. Its wielder howled in pain and fell to his knees. The knight held up his hands and all could see the smoking stumps that were once fingers jutting from his gauntlets.

His own hands were on the Templar's plated helm a second later, a palm placed at each side, and for a split second their eyes met.

The man screamed.

Steam erupted from the visors in his helm, exploded outwards from the joints in his armor, blasting out from every vulnerable slit in his plated form. The Templar thrashed in his grip, clawing at him, beating futilely against his body, but he refused to relent and held him there, all the while as the stink of burning flesh drifted up his nose and the screams became indistinguishable from the hiss of venting steam.

Finally it ended. The knight's armored frame collapsed in on itself, folding in like a stack of cards, and all he was left with was the helm in his hands. Steam still emitted from the menacing eyeslits.

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