"For me and Sona...?"

Rias's voice trembled slightly, her crimson eyes wide in disbelief. The thought alone was absurd. She couldn't understand why she—or Sona—would become a target in a holy war.

"You still don't get it?" Akira asked quietly, but not unkindly.

"I... I can't wrap my head around it."

"That's because you and Sona are both the younger sisters of the current Devil Kings."

The moment Akira said it, the air shifted. Rias's expression froze—her eyes darted sharply toward him, realization dawning all at once.

She was quick-witted. She didn't need a full explanation to piece it together.

"He's planning to use us... as bait?" Her voice lowered. "He wants to use me and Sona to trigger a war between Devils and the Fallen Angels?"

"Exactly," Akira replied, his tone like cold steel. "Kokabiel's always been a warmonger. He doesn't care about peace, or balance. He stole three Excalibur fragments from the Vatican not to use them—but to ignite a conflict. One that drags in Devils, Fallen Angels... and even the Angels themselves."

"Then that means... Azazel's presence in Kuoh City—"

"—is part of the countermeasure," Akira cut in, finishing her sentence. "This whole thing is a high-stakes chess game. Azazel's here to keep Kokabiel in check. He's trying to eliminate the threat from within Grigori before it burns the world."

Rias stood still, lips parted, eyes staring into the middle distance. Her thoughts were racing.

What started as a simple incident—just a few Holy Sword users showing up—was actually a fragment of something far more dangerous. She and Sona weren't just student council presidents or young heiresses anymore. They were the pieces Kokabiel needed to light the fuse of another Great War.

"Then I have to warn Sona. She needs to prepare for this," she said, spinning on her heel.

Akira nodded. "Go."

Without another word, Rias hurried out of the Occult Research Club room, the sound of her footsteps echoing behind her. Her usual composed elegance was replaced by urgency. She knew Kokabiel wasn't just another Fallen Angel.

He was a Cadre—a surviving executive from the original Three Faction War. Someone who'd stood on the frontlines of hellish battlefields and lived to tell the tale.

You didn't earn a place like that by being weak.

The rest of the room remained silent, each of them processing what they'd just learned. Akira had dropped a bomb—and none of them could ignore it.

Time passed.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and night fell slowly, like a velvet curtain descending on an empty stage. Shadows stretched across Kuoh City, and silence cloaked the outer districts where humans rarely ventured.

Places like these were often infested with Stray Devils. But for those with dark intentions, it was also the perfect place to vanish from the public eye.

The last sliver of twilight disappeared. The moon hung high and full, casting pale silver light over the rooftops. It felt less like a light of hope, and more like the cold, indifferent gaze of a distant god.

Two shadows moved quickly through the empty streets, swift and soundless—cutting through the darkness like trained predators.

After a full day of searching, Xenovia Quarta and Irina Shidou had finally arrived.

But what greeted them... was nothing.

The trail of the Excommunicated Priest they were tracking had vanished completely. There was no sign of a struggle. No broken mana residue. Nothing.

Even a novice could tell—they'd walked straight into a trap.

Xenovia's hand tightened around the hilt of Durandal. The weight of the sword, once reassuring, now felt heavier than usual. And for some reason, Akira's words from earlier that day echoed in her mind.

A Cadre-class Fallen Angel steals three Excaliburs... and the Church sends just two sword-wielding girls to deal with it.

Something didn't add up. No—everything felt wrong.

She hated it.

She hated how right he was.

Despite her irritation with his blunt attitude, she couldn't deny the truth in his words.

They were here. Alone. Sent on a mission against a Fallen Angel who had lived through the worst war in the history of Heaven and Hell.

It was a suicide mission.

"Where did he go...? He was here just a moment ago," Irina murmured, glancing around nervously.

The unease in her voice was clear. She gripped Excalibur Mimic tightly, her holy aura flaring ever so slightly.

"...Irina," Xenovia said softly. "I think we walked straight into a trap."

"Even if it is... we have to complete the mission," Irina replied firmly, her voice unwavering. "Our orders are clear. We retrieve the three Excalibur fragments. That's our duty."

Xenovia fell silent, staring at her partner.

There was no hesitation in Irina's eyes. Her belief was absolute. Unshakable.

Compared to that... Xenovia couldn't help but feel lacking.

"Honestly... I'd rather live," Xenovia muttered, almost too quietly.

"What?" Irina blinked in confusion.

"I'm serious," Xenovia continued. "That guy—Shin Akira—he was right. Us fighting Kokabiel on our own... there's no way we win. It's just not realistic."

"If I die for the mission, so be it," Irina said, not even flinching. "As long as I fulfill my purpose... I'll return to God's embrace. I have no regrets."

"But this mission is impossible. Just like he said... the Church didn't send us here to win. They sent us to be sacrificed."

"We are children of God," Irina replied calmly. "If we die for Him, that is our honor."

Xenovia smiled weakly. "My faith... isn't as strong as yours."

Irina turned to her, eyes wide. "Xenovia..."

In the eyes of zealots, saying something like that could be heresy. Cowardice. Apostasy.

But Xenovia didn't care.

"I've felt it for a while now," she confessed. "My belief... isn't like yours. I believe in God, yes. But I also want to survive. I want to keep living."

Irina clenched her jaw, struggling to process those words. "I won't judge you... but I don't understand you."

Xenovia looked up at the sky, dark and cold.

"If we die here, it's over. Everything ends. Including our faith. Wouldn't it make more sense to survive—so we can keep serving God another day?"

Irina had no response.

It made sense. Too much sense.

And yet... her heart refused to accept it.

To Irina, faith wasn't about survival. It was about sacrifice. Even if it meant giving up her life, her purpose remained the same.

But before either of them could say more—

—a crushing pressure slammed into them.

A wave of overwhelming magical power filled the air, pressing down on their bodies like an invisible weight.

Without hesitation, both girls raised their swords.

Durandal. Excalibur Mimic.

The air crackled around them as their holy auras flared to life.

Back to back, they stood against the darkness.

Then a voice echoed.

Annoyed. Sharp. Mocking.

"Well, well... Two little lambs from the Church, wandering straight into my den."

They turned sharply toward the voice.

Above them, framed by the moonlight, was a figure cloaked in black. Ten obsidian wings unfurled from his back like the feathers of a fallen seraph.

The air twisted around him. Madness gleamed in his eyes. His grin stretched far too wide to be human.

The sheer pressure rolling off his body was unbearable. The aura of an apex predator, amused by the prey that stumbled into his reach.

"A Cadre-level Fallen Angel... Kokabiel," Xenovia whispered bitterly.

Now that she saw him in person, she understood. His presence alone was enough to crush her lungs.

This wasn't someone they could fight.

He wasn't just a powerful enemy—he was a survivor. One of the last remnants of the Great War. An embodiment of destruction who had cheated death more times than most could count.

He hadn't reached the power level of a Devil King, not yet.

But within the ranks of the Fallen Angels... he was untouchable.

Irina's breathing grew shallow. Xenovia's grip on Durandal tightened.

The target they'd been chasing was now standing right in front of them.

And both of them knew.

This wasn't a battle.

This was the beginning of the end.

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