"Aaaaaargh!"

A furious scream tore through the midnight sky.

Kokabiel's voice—once proud and filled with contempt—now trembled with searing pain and rage. His body throbbed in agony, every nerve alight with the sting of wounds no Fallen Angel of his rank should suffer.

This couldn't be happening.

He was a Cadre of the Grigori—an ancient existence, a being forged in the fires of the Great War.

And yet, he had been wounded... by a mere human?

"Is that rage I hear?"

A calm voice echoed across the battlefield—cool, indifferent, and laced with quiet authority.

"Too bad. Without real strength, it's just the desperate howling of a wounded beast."

Akira's words weren't shouted. They didn't need to be.

Their weight crushed down like the night sky itself.

"Don't get cocky just because you barely managed to hurt me, human!"

With a defiant roar, Kokabiel unleashed a surge of magical power that swept across the area like a divine storm. The air crackled, pressure rippling outward as his aura flared. A massive spear of radiant light formed in his hand—compressed holy energy in its purest, most violent form.

It radiated destruction.

This wasn't some common light spear. It was an apocalyptic strike, capable of leveling cities.

But Akira... merely smirked.

"Centuries of life... and you still don't know your limits?"

"You cling to the title of 'strong'—but you've never even broken past Ultimate-Class."

Those words struck deeper than any weapon.

And then—his power surged.

There was no hesitation. No restraint.

The magical energy erupting from Akira's body crashed into the battlefield like a tidal wave. The sheer density of his aura distorted the air, drowning everything around him in overwhelming pressure.

This wasn't some clever trick.

This was the unmistakable power of a Maou-Class being.

And he wasn't even trying to hide it.

Xenovia, Irina, and even the Excommunicated Priests standing behind Kokabiel were paralyzed—frozen in place like statues under divine judgment. Their bodies wouldn't move, as though reality itself was binding them in place.

"W-What…?! That's impossible... That's Maou-level?!"

Kokabiel's voice cracked. He stared at Akira with disbelief etched across his face.

A human—just a human—was radiating more raw force than some of the most ancient beings in existence?

This wasn't evolution. This was a violation of the natural order.

He had lived for centuries. Fought in a divine war. Delved into the forbidden secrets of Heaven and Hell. And still, he'd never broken past Ultimate-Class.

But this boy—barely a blink in the span of history—had surpassed him with ease.

Everything Kokabiel believed in… shattered.

Xenovia and Irina could only watch in silence.

"T-This can't be real…" Irina whispered.

"A human can't reach that level… there must be some kind of trick!"

Driven by denial, Kokabiel hurled his light spear with everything he had.

The air itself split apart as the weapon rocketed forward. The ground quaked, and the sky exploded into a storm of divine energy.

There was no room to dodge. No way to block it with mortal means.

But Akira didn't flinch.

From behind him, a surge of deep blue lightning flared into existence—an overwhelming aura that spiraled upward like a living storm.

Blue Lightning Light—one of his signature manifestations of divine elemental power.

The two forces collided midair, detonating with a thunderous impact that lit the sky in blinding light. Shockwaves tore through the landscape. Smoke and ash surged outward in every direction.

And yet—

When the dust cleared, Akira was still standing.

Completely untouched.

His eyes narrowed.

His body, enhanced through one of his core abilities—Body Transformation—was now operating at peak efficiency. With the Maou threshold already surpassed, he had elevated his Strength stat to its absolute limit.

It wasn't just overwhelming power.

One of his stats had now broken into Over-Spec—a state that transcended the classification system of this world entirely.

"Perish in the light of my divine spear, you arrogant pest!"

Kokabiel roared with satisfaction, believing for a moment that his attack had landed true.

But before the smug grin could settle on his face—

"...What are you laughing at, mongrel?"

A voice—sharp and low—cut through the air from right behind him.

He spun around on instinct.

Too late.

A single punch, backed by unmeasurable strength and precise control, smashed into Kokabiel's midsection.

The impact cracked through the sky like thunder.

His body flew like a cannonball, hurtling toward the ground in a blur of black wings and blood.

Then—impact.

He slammed into the earth with a force that carved a massive crater into the battlefield, a plume of dust and stone erupting around him.

Chains followed.

Descending from the sky like divine judgment, golden restraints pierced the air—Chains of Heaven: Enkidu.

They didn't bind Kokabiel—yet.

Instead, they lashed out toward the three Excommunicated Priests still clutching forged Excaliburs.

The chains struck with pinpoint precision, disarming the cultists and yanking the swords away like puppets cut from their strings.

"Excalibur...!"

Irina stepped forward instinctively, but Xenovia grabbed her arm.

"Don't be reckless. You rush in now and you'll get yourself killed.

Look—Kokabiel's not a threat anymore. He's nothing but a cornered dog."

The three stolen swords—Excalibur of Ruler, Excalibur of Illusion, and Excalibur of Transparency—floated for a brief moment in the air, shining with divine light.

Then they descended—fast.

Each blade drove itself into Kokabiel's body—two in his arms, one in his back—pinning him to the ground like a broken relic.

Even with his monstrous durability as an Ultimate-Class Fallen Angel, he couldn't move.

His pride was shattered. His body ruined.

"I'll kill you… you damn human…!"

Kokabiel growled through bloodied lips, but the fire in his voice was gone.

All that remained was a powerless beast, howling in defeat.

The Chains of Heaven struck again—this time targeting Durandal and Excalibur Mimic, the swords held by Xenovia and Irina.

The two sacred blades were pulled from their hands and hurled like javelins.

They slammed into Kokabiel's legs, piercing through his thighs and nailing them to the crater floor.

Now, all four limbs—and his back—had been staked to the earth by the very holy weapons he once sought to control.

It was a cruel irony.

The Fallen Angel who dared to steal Excalibur was now crucified by its fragments.

"My sacred sword…!"

Irina clenched her fists, frustration burning in her chest.

But when she looked down at Kokabiel—broken, bleeding, humiliated—her anger faded. The image was pitiful. Not worth her vengeance.

For now, at least.

Xenovia finally let out the breath she'd been holding.

Then—

Footsteps echoed across the battlefield.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Everyone turned toward the sound.

And there they were—Rias Gremory and her peerage, with Sona Shitori and her retainers close behind.

They had arrived just in time... to witness the aftermath.

The scene before them stole their words.

"…Akira… what is this?"

Rias was the first to speak. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but sheer disbelief.

The ten black wings pinned to the ground left no room for confusion.

It was Kokabiel.

One of the Four Great Cadres of the Grigori.

"He caused a problem," Akira replied flatly, turning to face her.

"So I solved it."

Rias blinked.

Then slowly, she nodded.

She didn't need the details. Kokabiel had threatened her—threatened Sona. If Akira had acted, then it was justified.

On the sidelines, Akeno Himejima stared at Kokabiel's defeated form, her violet eyes glowing faintly.

She, too, had the blood of a Fallen Angel. And yet... she felt no kinship.

Only a strange satisfaction.

A tingling urge in her fingertips to punish him further.

Maybe tonight's justice wasn't quite over yet.

Not just yet.

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