Chapter 177: 177

They would not fight Gilgamesh head-on, for even their leader has been defeated in the past.

Instead, they would attack their enemy from afar, they would rain down death and destruction, and burn the very earth if they needed to overthrow their enemy.

This was the most basic attack for all Angels, Fallen or not. A tried and tested method that has never been replaced or abandoned since it was created at the beginning of time. That's because it worked, oppressing enemies by dumping destruction from Heaven until nothing but ruin was left behind.

Even Kokabiel made its power manifest.

Then he raised his hand.

The world is illuminated with all the brightness of day. Not a single fragment of shadow marked the world up to the white sky.

It was as if the dawn had come and gone, and a new day was 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 hovering in the sky of day and not night.

Or at least the little pieces 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 one shining like a sun. They painted the entire sky a shimmering white, as if a shimmering lake of liquid light hovered in the heavens and flooded it from horizon to horizon.

Night turned into day when the whole city became more illuminated than the light of a single sun.

And before all this Gilgamesh just stared with no emotion visible in his eyes.

If all those Fallen Angels were willing to throw away their lives 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 desired.

Kokabiel faced Gilgamesh as he increased his power even more, Kokabiel respected Gilgamesh, like all supernatural beings he respected power and so he respected Gilgamesh.

He knew there was no shame in falling before that man, in fact he should feel proud if he faced someone with such power head on.

This is what Kokabiel discovered when he first fought Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes was a man that Kokabiel came to fear and even respect.

Gilgamesh only looked on when his [Gate of Babylon] and his [Unlimited Weapons Works] manifested around him.

The silence that fell over the courtyard was almost deafening with intensity, as all eyes there looked on in amazement at what they saw.

The space around Gilgamesh crumbled into golden ripples as the most variable weapons appeared, if that wasn't enough in blue flames the most diverse weapons materialized.

They hovered in the air, held up by invisible hands, by the hundreds, by the thousands they counted. Enough to match every spear and more. They lined up row after row, measuring the width of the courtyard, and even more kept appearing, conjured from nowhere. Even the smallest of them radiated so much power that you could almost feel it heating their skins like the heat of a campfire.

Swords with powers that could match the Excaliburs became mundane, as they hung alongside swords so beautiful that anyone could look at them day and night and still not get enough of their vision. Swords purer than a mother's love hung alongside blades so horrible that one could feel their soul stained simply by the knowledge of their existence.

And still more came, filling the air with each passing heartbeat, all pointed upward toward the Fallen Angels.

Now those swords that came out of legend, wielded by villains and heroes, weapons that warriors spent their entire lives wanting to wield, empires and entire countries fell before those weapons, holy weapons that from the beginning killed Demons and Satan himself, and demonic weapons that killed Seraphim and Gods.

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For any of the citizens of the city who had looked up at the sky that night, they would have seen the very stars falling from the sky itself.

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 that Heaven sends to those who dare to defy it. With a hundred of his angels, he brought down the Tower of Babel in a single wave. Now, once again, it fell upon the earth, this time in 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 the mountains themselves could support its weight. What could the power of a single human do against such a thing? It should have crushed him, pushed him aside with the greatest of ease before tearing through the crust of the earth he stood on.

It didn't.

It was interrupted by steel.

The tip of the spear met the edge of the sword and broke it. The burning light fought against the cold metal and was extinguished. They were the weapons of Heaven, a power God had granted to his Angels, but they were overcome by the power of a single man.

Blades of the finest steel shot from the ground to the sky, hurled upward by invisible hands. And they hailed the spears of their enemies in a burst of light. It filled the sky in an endless stream of fireworks, sending shockwaves of noise echoing through the city.

Yet throughout the hundreds and hundreds of blows were exchanged, not a single blade was destroyed. It was always the spear that broke, cracked, and fragmented in the unyielding blade's cutting edge.

Like waterfall water breaking on the surface of the earth, so did the spears of light in the curtain of steel swords that rose up to challenge. They could not harm him, could not challenge him, could do nothing but bring him down.

The light was interrupted by the steel.

It was then pushed back.

They threw wave after desperate wave of spears, but for each spear they threw another raised blade to match it. However, while a single sword was more than a match for any spear, the same could not be said of the other way around. The price of two or more needed to be paid to deflect even the smallest among the blades, and it was a price the Fallen could not afford.

And that began to be exacted.

It started slowly, almost imperceptible to even the sharpest of eyes, but moment by moment it began to pick up 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 incomprehensible eyes as their end approached them. Even as they continued to conjure and desperately throw more spears to fight the tide of steel that rose from the ground to drown them, but they could no longer contain it.

Then the swords advanced.

And then they died.

It advanced upon them in numbers beyond continuing, 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 that they could bring down even the mightiest of Servants.

This could destroy the vastest of armies, this rain of swords and steel. Numbers against him were meaningless. Be it one or a thousand, before the limitless all things become equal.

And in the face of such an attack.

Not a single one ran.

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