The Weapon of the Gods stood before them, summoning dozens of golden chains that emerged from ripples in the air, crushing anyone who approached.
Those who miraculously passed the three still faced Gilgamesh's comrades further back, who began their attack.
Le Fay and Valerie raised their hands, casting wave after wave of high-level magic that annihilated the approaching Fallen Angels.
Valerie increased her power even further when a massive cross of purple flames appeared behind them.
It was the Longinus [Incinerate Anthem], one of the Sacred Relics, which, with a wave of Valerie's hands, unleashed gigantic pillars of purple flames that incinerated the Fallen Angels, who couldn't withstand the sacred power.
The members of the Arthurian legends advanced against their enemies without fear.
Arturia swung Excalibur while using her Mana Burst to unleash torrents of sacred energy that incinerated everything it touched.
While Arturia fought with technique and mastery on the battlefield, Mordred was the complete opposite.
She fought like a beast, using every possible strike thanks to her instincts, cutting down all who approached her with Clarent while unleashing her Mana Burst, firing massive red beams that annihilated dozens of enemies.
Arthur advanced behind them, eliminating all the Fallen Angels who managed to pass, swinging Caliburn and releasing waves of sacred energy several times stronger than in his fight with Gilgamesh, power he had learned to control through intense training.
Fenrir advanced behind them, annihilating all the Fallen Angels who approached with his fangs and claws, capable of killing even the most powerful gods.
Sebas, further back, released dozens of orbs of destructive energy that simply erased anyone from existence.
Slowly, the army fell. The once mighty and vast army of Kokabiel, which fought by his side in the Great War, was being annihilated.
From thousands, it dwindled to a few hundred, then to a few dozen, before being completely destroyed by Gilgamesh's group, not a single Fallen Angel left.
**With Gilgamesh.**
Gilgamesh faced Kokabiel and his army, which easily numbered over a thousand soldiers, without showing any hint of hesitation or fear in his eyes.
It was as if Kokabiel's army was insignificant to him.
Then Kokabiel smiled.
"Brothers," Kokabiel roared for all his soldiers to hear. Like all Fallen Angels, Kokabiel considered every Fallen Angel his family.
He didn't desire war just to fight as much as he wanted but also to prove that the Fallen Angels, he and his brothers, were the strongest.
"Listen closely; this may be our last battle or the beginning of many. In the time beyond counting that we've known each other, we've fought for one another, faced many enemies. From the damned Demons to the Angels in the Great War, and even the servants of other pantheons in times past. But the enemy before us is the most powerful and formidable I've ever seen in my life."
"I won't force you to fight, for even I once fled from him to survive, but I will fight. He is the descendant of a man even our mighty father feared, and for that reason, this time I won't retreat. If we win, we'll be one step closer to proving that the Fallen Angels are superior."
"So I'll ask just one question: Will you fight by my side?" Kokabiel asked as his power surged.
A thousand and more spears of light appeared in the hands of the Fallen. That was the answer.
Even from so far away, Gilgamesh could still see the expressions on the faces of the Fallen as they were illuminated by the light of their spears. None of them wavered as they looked resolutely at him; they were committed to the end.
They outshone the light of distant suns and took their rightful place as the true stars of the night. They shone in their darkness, hundreds and hundreds of sparkling jewels against a black backdrop. From horizon to horizon, they stretched, filling the entire sky, a painting of twinkling lights with the sky itself as the canvas.
A thousand and more spears made of light hovered over the skies of Kuoh Academy. So bright they illuminated the world below with their light.
They wouldn't fight Gilgamesh head-on, for even their leader had been defeated in the past.
Instead, they would attack their enemy from afar, raining death and destruction, burning the very earth if they needed to bring down their foe.
This was the most basic attack for all Angels, Fallen or not. A tested and proven method that had never been replaced or abandoned since its creation at the dawn of time. It worked, overwhelming enemies by pouring destruction from the Heavens until nothing but ruin remained.
Even Kokabiel manifested his power.
Then he raised his hand.
The world lit up with all the brilliance of day. Not a single fragment of shadow marked the world up to the white sky.
It was as if dawn had risen and passed, and a new day was on its way. The light filling the sky was so bright it reflected off the floating clouds, painting them a pure white as if they hovered in the daytime sky and not the night.
Or, at least, the bits of clouds that could be seen beyond the spears.
There were countless of them. They filled the entire sky by the tens of thousands, each shining like a sun. They painted the whole sky a shimmering white, as if a sparkling lake of liquid light hovered in the heavens, flooding it from horizon to horizon.
The night turned to day as the entire city became brighter than the light of a single sun.
And in the face of all this, Gilgamesh only stared without visible emotion in his eyes.
If all those Fallen Angels were willing to throw their lives away for their leader, if they were willing to face the descendant of the man their creator feared, why would Gilgamesh object?
He would give them what they wanted.
Kokabiel stared at Gilgamesh while further increasing his power. Kokabiel respected Gilgamesh; like all supernatural beings, he respected power and thus respected Gilgamesh.
He knew there was no shame in falling before that man; in fact, he should feel proud to face someone with such power head-on.
That's what Kokabiel discovered when he fought Gilgamesh the first time. The King of Heroes was a man Kokabiel came to fear and even respect.
Gilgamesh only looked as his [Gate of Babylon] and [Unlimited Weapons Works] manifested around him.
The silence that fell over the courtyard was almost deafening in its intensity, as all eyes there looked in awe at what they saw.
The space around Gilgamesh unraveled into golden ripples as the most varied weapons emerged. If that weren't enough, the most diverse weapons materialized in blue flames.
They hovered in the air, held by invisible hands, by the hundreds, by the thousands. Enough to match each spear and more. They lined up row after row, spanning the width of the courtyard, and still more kept appearing, conjured from nothing. Even the smallest among them radiated so much power it could almost be felt warming their skin like the heat of a bonfire.
Swords with powers that could rival Excaliburs became mundane, as they hung beside swords so beautiful anyone could gaze at them day and night and still not tire of their sight. Swords purer than a mother's love hung beside blades so horrific that merely knowing of their existence would stain one's soul.
And still more came, filling the air with each passing heartbeat, all pointed upward toward the Fallen Angels.
Now, those swords from legend, wielded by villains and heroes, weapons warriors spent their entire lives longing to wield, empires and entire countries fell before these weapons, holy weapons that have killed Demons and Satan himself since the beginning, and demonic weapons that have slain Seraphim and Gods.
To any citizen of the city who looked at the sky that night, they would have seen the very stars falling from the heavens.
They were like shooting stars, those spears of light, descending from the sky to the earth. More numerous than drops in the rain, more captivating than any flame, and far more deadly.
It was the weapon Heaven sent to those who dared defy it. With a hundred of its angels, it brought down the Tower of Babel in a single wave. Now, once again, it fell upon the earth, this time ten times that number, and it was as if a waterfall of white light had fallen from the gates of heaven.
It was a force so powerful that not even the strength of mountains could withstand its weight. What could the power of a single human do against such a thing? It should have crushed him, pushed him aside with ease before tearing the earth's crust where he stood.
It didn't.
It was stopped by steel.
The tip of the spear met the edge of the sword and broke. The blazing light fought against cold metal and was extinguished. They were the weapons of Heaven, a power God granted to His Angels, but they were surpassed by the power of a single man.
Blades of the finest steel shot from the ground to the sky, launched upward by invisible hands. And they met the spears of their enemies in an explosion of light. It filled the sky in an endless stream of fireworks, sending shockwaves of noise echoing through the city.
Yet, through the hundreds and hundreds of clashes exchanged, not a single blade was destroyed. It was always the spear that shattered, cracked, and fragmented on the unyielding edge of the blade.
Like the water of a waterfall breaking on the earth's surface, so too did the spears of light break against the curtain of steel swords that rose to challenge them. They couldn't harm it, couldn't defy it, couldn't do anything but fall before it.
The light was stopped by steel.
It was then pushed back.
They launched wave after desperate wave of spears, but for each spear they threw, another blade rose to match it. Yet, while a single sword was more than a match for any spear, the same couldn't be said in reverse. The price of two or more was needed to deflect even the smallest among the blades, and it was a price the Fallen couldn't afford.
And it began to take its toll.
It started slowly, almost imperceptible even to the sharpest eyes, but moment by moment, it gained speed, and soon everyone watched in disbelief as the great waterfall of light was pushed back, slowly reversing its course and being sent back to the heavens from whence it came, rejected by the earth itself.
The Fallen Angels could do nothing but watch with uncomprehending eyes as their end approached. Even as they continued to conjure and desperately throw more spears to fight against the tide of steel rising from the ground to drown them, they could no longer hold it back.
Then the swords advanced.
And then they died.
They advanced upon them in numbers beyond counting, beyond numbering, an unlimited rain of sword and steel. So many that they matched all the treasures stored in the [Gates of Babylon] and more. So powerful they could bring down even the mightiest of Servants.
This could destroy the vastest of armies, this rain of swords and steel. Numbers meant nothing against it. Be it one or a thousand, before the unlimited, all become equal.
And in the face of such an attack, not a single one fled.
Even as their spears broke in their hands as they clashed with the torrent of steel, they fought. Conjuring another spear when they could or fighting with their bare hands when they couldn't. A dozen or more swords would pierce their bodies, but they would still continue throwing their spears forward, trying to fight against the endless tide of swords.
Some laughed in admiration and joy at the power of the enemy they faced, while others shouted in anger and unyielding defiance as they swung their spears, but until the last moment, they fought, never surrendering.
And when they were forced to the ground, dragged down by the weight of the steel clinging to their flesh, they still fought. Dragging their broken bodies across the ground, staining the grass with their blood and forcing themselves to stand, only stopping when another barrage of swords tore through their bodies, and even then, they only stopped when the hearts in their chests ceased to beat.
From the thousand they started with, their numbers quickly fell to hundreds, then dozens. The corpses of the defeated rained around the still-defiant living, and yet they did not waver.
But defiance and spirit meant nothing against the cold, unforgiving blade of steel. And so they continued to die until only a handful remained, barely clinging to life as the swords continued to fall in endless numbers.
And at the center was Kokabiel.
It was like a form given by grace, talent personified. Though it was like watching a hurricane, there was no chaos or disorder. Every movement had a purpose, every action a goal, not a single motion wasted.
He surpassed the skill of the greatest warriors who trained their entire lives, for a simple reason.
They were mortal.
Even an Assassin, who spent their entire life honing their skills, had only trained for a fraction of the time this angel had. This was a being who lived for eons and dedicated the last millennium to perfecting his skill with weapons, and it showed.
The spear in his hands blurred, leaving trails of shimmering white afterimages. It was like a perfect dance, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next as all the steel around him continued to clash with the light.
Spears of light formed in the air by the thousands, launched forward by invisible hands and clashing against the swords that threatened to drown them. They created a sphere around him, where swords and spears collided, as he fought at the center of it all.
And despite it all, he laughed.
The spears could only hold back the tide for a moment before failing, but a moment was all he needed. When the swords broke through, as they inevitably did, he was ready for them. He danced and weaved around them while shouting in joy, his laughter filling the air even as he narrowly avoided death only to face it again.
Dodging under high strikes and soaring over low ones, spinning and evading those coming from the side, he avoided the swords that breached his barrage. When a strike couldn't be dodged, even by someone of his skill, he would deflect it with the spear in his hands.
Against the swords of legend, a Noble Phantasm in its perfect form, even his spears were no match. They shattered in his hands, but even in their destruction, their purpose was fulfilled, and the sword would be deflected, flying harmlessly. He would then promptly conjure another spear to prepare for the next sword.
And still, it wasn't enough.
Skill could do little in the face of infinite steel. Around him, the rain of steel continued to fall, relentlessly pushing forward even as his spears tried in vain to stop them. They kept closing in around him, shrinking the space he had at the center of his formation, while the number of swords piercing through his spears steadily increased.
Then the inevitable happened. He slipped.
He had mispositioned himself, placing himself in the line of fire of two different swords that broke through his spears. They came at him one after the other, blocking his escape route, and did so at his most vulnerable moment. He was unarmed, having lost his previous spear deflecting a sword and not having enough time to conjure another before they were upon him.
He could have dodged one sword, but not the other. Not without throwing himself into the swords and spears clashing around him. He couldn't evade them or deflect them.
Instead, he intercepted them.
It was one of the most remarkable displays of swordsmanship Gilgamesh had ever seen. He spun in place counterclockwise, letting the first sword fly past where his left shoulder would have been as he turned. But before the sword could fly out of his reach, his hand reached out and grabbed the sword in the air.
Using the momentum of his spin to carry the sword with him, he pulled it upward and swung it down onto the second approaching sword, intending to deflect it with the first.
It was a brilliant maneuver that would have impressed even the most seasoned fighters. It should have been impossible to pull off in the chaos of live combat, but he executed it perfectly. It was something Gilgamesh had never seen before and might never see again.
It was a pity he couldn't let him complete it.
Just before the two swords clashed, Gilgamesh withdrew the first from his hands. And it obeyed immediately, eager to comply, vanishing from his hands as if it had never existed. That should have ended him right then, but once again, Kokabiel's inhuman reflexes came into play.
The slight widening of his eyes was the only sign that betrayed his surprise as he twisted his body out of the way, bending almost painfully to avoid the sword, and what should have been a fatal blow to his chest turned into a deep cut on his side.
But that was another slip.
Dozens of swords advanced on the Fallen Angel at such speed that he couldn't react.
They pierced his legs and arms, tearing his body and cutting near his heart.
Kokabiel laughed as if his blood weren't spilling and staining the ground below him, as if he didn't care about his wounds.
"You've become an even greater monster than last time," Kokabiel said with a huge smile at such a battle.
Gilgamesh smiled.
"And you impress me, Kokabiel. As far as I can remember, no enemy has ever managed to deflect and survive my weapons," Gilgamesh said, looking at Kokabiel, impressed.
"Then let's end this," Kokabiel said, as if he didn't care about his state and still had a chance of victory.
"Yes, let's. And for managing to impress me, you'll have the honor of dying by my hands," Gilgamesh said.
The King of Heroes extended his hand toward Xenovia, and suddenly an immense holy aura surged from Durandal.
The sword itself unleashed its power, forcing Xenovia to release it as it shot toward Gilgamesh's hands.
The moment Gilgamesh grasped Durandal, an immense holy aura, far greater than anything Xenovia had ever produced, emanated from the sword.
Kokabiel looked for a few seconds before speaking.
"Seeing you like this reminds me of Vasco Strada," Kokabiel said, witnessing the aura released by Durandal.
Kokabiel advanced, creating the most powerful spear of light he could muster, with enough power to destroy an entire city.
But it was too late.
Gilgamesh raised the sword above his head.
"Grant me a miracle, Durandal," Gilgamesh said, and the Sword responded to its wielder's desire.
It pierced the heavens, clearing the sky of clouds. The light that emanated from the blade was unparalleled compared to before, unmatched by anything the Fallen had ever seen, as it brushed the edge of the sky with its light.
And when Kokabiel looked at it, the nostalgic light reminded him so much of his father, an old memory from long ago.
The sword descended, sending a colossal beam of light straight toward him.
Kokabiel, even knowing he could do nothing, roared and attacked, but it was futile as the sword's power fell upon him.
In a single strike, Kokabiel, one of God's most powerful children, a former general of Heaven, one of the Lords of Grigori, and the Lord of the Stars with power to rival Archangels and Maou, was vaporized by the power of the holy sword.
When the sword was lowered, the holy aura was still there, not harming the demons because Gilgamesh didn't want it to.
When Gilgamesh touched the tip of Durandal to the ground, a miracle happened.
The entire battlefield, destroyed by Gilgamesh's power, along with all the bodies and blood, returned to normal.
Durandal was a sword capable of granting miracles, and that's what it did.
All this happened before the astonished eyes of the demons.
That day would forever be etched in the minds of the demons.
The day a human defeated one of God's most powerful children and thus prevented the Great War from restarting.
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