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"It’s always shut up. Always. And it’s always monster too. Why can’t you think up of anything interesting for a change?" the man scratched idly at his chin, "You know what I would have said? Fuck off you shitstain! Get bent you fuckup! Go shove a rusted spoon up your ass!" Freed’s face brightened, "Oh, that’s a good one! I’m going to have to write that one down."
The second figure chortled. Freed nodded to it, smiling once again.
"But where are my manners? I have yet to introduce my most esteed companion. Valper Galilei, ladies and gentlen."
The figure stepped forward, revealing himself to be an old man with a pencil-thin mustache and dull grey hair. He was dressed in a priest’s clothing, the robes barely fitting over his corpulent fra.
"He makes swords," Freed comnted offhandedly, "Very good swords."
The man stepped aside, allowing them to see what had been hidden behind his back all this ti. A blade, gleaming with yellow light, half its length embedded into the stone floor. He could feel the holy energy suffusing the weapon’s entire length, pulsating as though alive. Within his mind, Belial snarled in disgust.
"You... fused them?" Irina whispered.
"Fused. Mated," Freed shrugged, "Whatever you wish to call it."
’This is heresy," Xenovia growled, "The Excaliburs are ant to rest in pieces. You have no jurisdiction in fusing them together!"
"Swords are ant to be used, little girl," the figure that was Valper croaked out, "Exaclibur, especially. It took a painstakingly delicate process to piece them back together, but in the end, it was a success. To see a reforged Excalibur in my lifeti, even if it is only partially completed," sothing akin to fanaticism had entered the man’s tone, making them shift uncomfortably where they stood, "it is all worth it."
"You know much about holy swords," Kiba ant it to be an insult, but the priest did not seem to mind.
"Considering that I was the one who headed the Holy Sword Project, yes, I do know much about holy swords."
The devil’s eyes widened, then narrowed. The grip on his swords beca dangerously tight.
"As though stealing the original Excaliburs weren’t enough," Irina shook her head, "What are you planning to do with a reforged one?"
"Oh, I was thinking of taking it for a walk along the park. You know, having so alone ti, maybe setting up a picnic to enjoy the scenery together. All the things you would do on a first date," the man tilted his head to one side and stuck out his tongue. The very picture of insanity, "Then I’ll bathe it in blood. All of yours at first. Eventually others as well. Find a few people. Kill them. Chop them into little pieces and say it was the devils that did it. Do the sa to a few devils and say it was the Church that ordered to do it. They have an Archdemon, now, you know? I would like to kill him the most. Eviscerate him and pull out his guts. Strangle him with his own intestines. Doesn’t that sound like fun?"
He supposed he should be honored.
"Does your blasphemy know no end?" Xenovia demanded.
"I rather like blasphemy," Freed shrugged, "It rolls off the tongue so much more nicely."
In response, the blue-haired exorcist held out a hand. The air hissed around her, becoming a gale of whipping wind that surrounded her resolute form. Beams of light erupted from the end of her fingertips, joining together to form a hexagrammic ward. She reached into it and dragged sothing out. The broad, straight edge was unmistakable, as was the sudden flow of power that emitted from its entire length. Xenovia heaved it up, pointing it towards Freed.
"This is Durandal, and it is going to end your wickedness."
He shared the surprise they all felt. Their foes didn’t, and that made it all the more worriso..
"You have shown your trump card," the man licked his lips, eyes wide with delight, "Now allow to show you mine."
Scores of heavy oaken hafts beat against the floor in perfect unison. Figures erged from the shadows, their forms sheathed in heavy plate, their faces hidden by sneering, wrathful helms. The joints in their armor snarled with every motion, the steps they took heavy, resonant thuds against the ground. The halberds in their hands glead with lethal intent, each a silver blade etched with burning sigils.
And then they spoke, as one, intoned together the first phrase of what was to beco a mantra.
We are the hamr!
Xenovia stepped back in surprise, then a look of grim resolve settled over her face.
"Knights Templar," she snarled and Durandal moved from Freed to point at the closest of the figures.
It did absolutely nothing to deter them.
We are the spear in His hand! We are the sword in His fist!
Ironclad, every warrior was a mountain of steel plate and indomitable resolve. Tabards hung down from their armored necks, each piece of white cloth emblazoned with the crimson mark of the Cross. Strips of parchnt trailed down legs and arms, adorned ornate shoulderplates, and covered gauntleted hands. On their surfaces were etched lines of scripture, holy words, and they were not rely for show. He could sense the power that emanated from each, weak individually, but when placed together, ford a latent matrix of defensive energies that protected its wielder from harm.
Knights Templar indeed.
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