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~ I’m planning to increase the number of advanced Chapters to +50 this weekend!
~ I’ve edited some of the previous Chapters to remove anything you might consider "cringe" or "unnecessary." I’ll continue reviewing them from time to time!
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Xenovia stared in shock at the sight of Durandal embedded up to its hilt in the Fallen Angel’s body. Stared then reared back as the leering face smashed into her own. Nose broken, vision a bloody haze, she staggered away, disoriented and helpless to respond. Kokabiel lifted a leisurely arm and opened her up from shoulder to groin with a single downward swipe. Thick arterial spray arched into the air. The exorcist sagged to her knees and slumped forward. Blood pooled beneath her prone form, cascading out in rivers.
In the same motion, a casual backhand lifted Tsubaki off her feet and sent her hurtling back. She broke two wooden beams in her path before the wall arrested her momentum. The girl’s head slammed painfully against the cement and her eyes immediately became dull and senseless. Her body left a trail of crimson as it slid down.
And all this had happened in the time it took for them to blink.
Irina managed to drag both of her weapons free before the hand came back and grasped her by the throat. In one fluid movement, Kokabiel hurled her over his shoulder and smashed her into the floor. The impact drove the breath out of her lungs and the girl started coughing, fighting for air. The foot crushed into her sternum a second later, and the coughing turned into gurgling as the exorcist began choking on her own blood.
Kiba tried to leap back. Tried to get away. The Fallen Angel lashed out, impossibly quick, and snaked his fingers around the boy’s wrist. The sword-user was jerked back before he could escape and lifted into the air by one arm. Cursing, Kiba formed a demon sword in his free hand and rammed it up towards his tormentor’s face. Again the blade was caught, and though it had been forged with the purpose of burning in mind, the fire that wreathed its edges did little to the palm that grasped it. Kokabiel flexed his wrist and the weapon broke, snapped in half like a twig.
"This is the arm that threw the sword," cruel, red eyes flickered to the limb being held, "It’s not yours any longer."
Kiba screamed. Screamed as his arm began dissolving, began disintegrating. Kokabiel’s vice-like grip burned with wrathful heat, searing away skin and flesh alike with sickening ease. Without anything to hold him up, the boy fell heavily to the floor and clutched at the stump that ended at his shoulder.
The Fallen Angel picked him back up by scruff of the neck like a man would a beaten dog.
"Yuuto!" Tsubaki had regained consciousness. She struggled back up, eyes still dazed.
"You want him?" the Grigori cocked his head to one side, "You may have him."
A contemptuous flick from the Fallen Angel’s hand flung the boy in Tsubaki’s direction. The two crashed together amid a jumble of tangled limbs.
The other hand reached down and pulled Durandal out. Kokabiel brought it up to his face, studied it with scorn, before dropping it disdainfully by the prone form of Xenovia. The holy sword clattered to the floor and stained itself crimson with the blood of its own wielder. The fingers returned and pried the naginata loose.
"You may have this as well."
Kiba had managed to stand with Tsubaki’s aid. He went back down again, the polearm sticking out of his back like a mast. The girl at his side cried out in anguish.
"The sound of your voice suggests you have feelings for him," Kokabiel advanced on the two, "Good. I will wait before killing you then. I will allow you the pleasure of watching him die. That way, the last thing engraved into your minds will be this bloodstained memory," the Grigori smiled, "It is the least I can do for two young people in love."
Yet Kiba did not die. Somehow, he seemed to be recovering his strength. The polearm was pulled out of him by Tsubaki. The gaping wound that was left mended itself. His arm too. In place of the stump a healthy new limb was growing, extending, and the boy used it to push himself back up, wary and alert.
Kokabiel frowned and turned to see the two exorcists being similarly affected. Their wounds closed, their flesh reknit. Irina retrieved both her fallen Excaliburs before retreating. Xenovia did the same, grasping Durandal with both hands before leaping away. The only sign that showed she had nearly died was three jagged tears over her combat suit. Both of them withdrew, landing at the side of their allies.
"Ah," the Grigori’s features brightened in understanding, "So you’ve brought support. Commendable. And where are you, cleric? Where have you hidden yourself? Did you think I would not recognize your power for what it is?" blood-red eyes scanned their surroundings like searchlights. They narrowed at an area hidden by shadows, "There you are."
A mere glance sent rubble and debris blasting backwards, revealing the one who had used them for cover. Asia took a step back in fear as the Fallen Angel’s cruel gaze fixated on her like a cat would a caught mouse. Immediately, her allies went to her aid, placing themselves in front of her, shielding her with their own bodies. Kokabiel ignored them and remained focused on the former priestess.
"Twilight Healing. Such a useful tool. Had things gone my way, it would have been mine long ago."
Asia’s eyes widened. The Grigori leered at her expression.
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