To any of the citizens in the city that had looked up at the skies that night, they would have seen the stars themselves fall from the very sky.
They were like shooting stars, those spears of light, streaking down from the heavens and onto earth. More numerous then drops in the rain, more captivating than any flame, and far more deadly.
It was the weapon that Heaven sends upon those that dare to defy it. With a hundred of its Angels, it brought down the Tower of Babel in a single wave. Now once again it came falling down upon the earth, this time by ten times that number and it was as if a waterfall of white light had tumbled down out of Heaven's gates.
It was a force so powerful that even the strength of the mountains themselves could not bear its weight. What can the might of a single Devil do against such a thing? It should have crushed him, swept him aside with the utmost ease before tearing through the crust of the earth that he stood on.
It did not.
It was stopped by steel.
Spear point met sword edge and broke upon it. Burning light fought against cold metal and was extinguished. They were the weapons of Heaven, a power God had bestowed on his Angels but they were surpassed by the power of a single man.
Blade of finest steel shot from the ground to the skies, tossed upward by invisible hands. And they greeted the spears of their enemies in an explosion of light. It filled the sky in endless stream of fireworks, sending shockwaves of noises echoing through the city.
Yet over the hundreds upon hundreds of blows have been exchanged, not a single blade has been destroyed. It was always the spear that shattered, split and fragmented on the unyielding edge of the blade.
Like the water of waterfall breaking upon the surface of the earth, so too did the light spears on the break on the curtain of steel swords that rose up to defy. They could not harm it, could not defy it, could do nothing but knock it away.
Light was stopped by steel.
It was then pushed back.
They tossed wave after desperate waves of spears but for every spear was they threw down another blade rose up to match it.
However while a single sword was more than a match for any spear, the same could not be said for the reverse. The price of two or more was needed to be paid to deflect even the least among the blades, and it was a price the Fallen could not afford pay.
The toll began to tell.
It began slowly, barely notable to even the keenest of eyes, but moment after moment it began to pick up speed and soon all watched in disbelief as the great waterfall of light was pushed back, slowly reversing its course was sent back up into the Heavens where it came from, rejected by the earth itself.
The Fallen could do nothing but watch with uncomprehending eyes as their end approached them. Even as they continued to desperately conjure and cast more spears to fight back the tide of steel that rose up from the ground to drown them in but they could hold it back no longer.
Defeat has come for them at last, with their death following its wake.
After a millennia of fighting undefeated, the Fallen Host have has finally lost.
Then Kokabiel entered the battlefield.
...
He unhurriedly rose out of from his crouch, with all of his usual grace, as if there wasn't a battle going on over head.
He raised his head and revealed his face to the skies above him. The clash of swords and spear overhead released explosions of light, illuminating parts of his face for a moment before casting it back into shadow before repeating again.
Standing on top of the building's roof he gazed at the battlefield above him with empty eyes. No rage, no anger, no excitement, just emotionless pits of ice blue.
He did nothing for a moment, as he watched his troops fight and fail against the human clad in the flesh of a Devil. He watched as the might of their light was broken on the strength of his steel and did could not but feel bitter disappointment in his heart.
The boy was strong, remarkably so but it was not enough. Nowhere near enough.
Humanity could not be saved with this alone.
He then turned his eyes to the ground and looked down at his dead men. These were his friends, not even his Fall, not even after their Father's death did they leave him, such was their loyalty. They were his brothers, even had they not shared the same father he would have proudly called them that as he embraced them as family. And now they lay dead on the field bellow him.
But he did not mourn them.
Why should they be mourned? All of them knew what awaited them at their journey's end was neither heavenly rewards nor eternal Glory but the unforgiving embrace of death. Even he would be no exception. No matter if they win or lose, they would all be dead within the year.
Yet still they did not leave him, did not hesitate to walk down this road knowing what awaited them. They will fulfill their duty to their bitter end, knowing that they will be neither rewarded nor thanked.
So what reason did have to mourn them? He would be joining them all soon enough, just as he promised them he would. They will all be untied in the end once again.
But still, somewhere in his heart he felt pain. Only the knowledge that he would see them soon enough allowed him to carry on.
He shut his eyes as he bowed his head in regret at what must be done. For a long moment of silence, he did nothing but pray. And when he did move, when he finally open his eyes to the world again, they were no longer empty.
They shone with absolute power.
On the battleground beneath him, all but one of the Devils and humans were forced down to their knees. Pushed down by the mere presence he was radiating, crushed as if a hand of some invisible God forced them down. Some were forced flat on the ground, unable to lift their head before his might.
He turned his eyes back up to the skis again and this time raised a single hand up high, fingers stretched open, as if trying to grab the Heavens themselves.
Then he clenched his hand.
The world light up with all the brightness of day. Not a single shred of shadow marked the world until the white skies.
It was as if the morning dawn had come and gone, and a new day was well on its way. The light that filled the sky was so bright that it reflected off the floating clouds, painting them a pure white as if it hung in the day's sky not the night's.
Or at least, what little bits of clouds one could see past 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 entire sky a glimmering white, as if a shimmering lake of liquid light hung in the skies above and flooded it from horizon to horizon.
The night was turned into day as the entire city was illuminated brighter than the light of a single sun ever could.
Kokabiel lowered his hands, and it was as if the sky fell.
They fell by the thousands and pushed back the steel. The blades that shot to the sky, looking to pierce the Heavens, were pushed back to the ground by the might of one of its children.
Though even his spears broke on the swords' edge, they too were shattered in turn. Fragments of metal rained down from the sky, pelting the ground bellow as they met their end on his spears.
And when the swords could not be broken, when their power were too mighty even for him to match, they were pushed aside by sheer number.
For each of the boy's mightiest of sword, he called upon a dozen or more to match it. And when that were not enough he called on a hundred, then a thousand and more of his spears to push it back down. And still more rained down upon them in a never ending downpour.
This was the power of a twelve-winged Angel. The strongest of God's soldiers, the mightiest of Heaven's children.
The world had forgotten their might. Not since the Great War had the world witnessed their true power. Not with Michael laboring behind Heaven's Gates and Azazel hidden in his labs.
They were creature of power, who could stand up to Maou's of the underworld and not be found lacking. In Heaven, they were second to none but God himself. They could destroy nations whole and raze entire continents. But it had been a Millennium since their true power was last witness on this earth.
The world had forgotten their might.
Kokabiel reminded them.
The gains the swords from the Earth have made against the spears from the Heavens was lost in seconds. In one heartbeat their advance was slowed, in the next it was haltered, and by the third it was reversed. Soon it was steel that was pushed back, sinking back down to the ground that birthed them.
An endless curtain of white was pulled down from the skies and when they fall to the ground, like how they brought about the end of the plays since the times of old, so too would this bring about the battle's end.
And yet though his victory was assured, his desired war soon at hand, Kokabiel could only look down in confusion at the face of the boy who he faced. The one whose soul was bathed in the Devil's tainted magic yet remained unspoiled. The child who he placed his faith in but had been found lacking.
The boy did not look defeated. Not angry nor even defiant as he face his coming doom.
He was smiling up at him peacefully, arms held out in welcome. And then spoke,
"It is my only path.
My whole life had been,"
The spears of light had broken down the last of his swords, and now they were tearing at him, ready to pierce through his flesh and bones but still he did not look away. His eyes locked unwearyingly on to the Fallen Lord's as he called its name.
"Unlimited Blade Works"
And the world disappeared behind a wall of flames.