Sorry for the delay.

Enjoy!

Ban was running.

He didn't want to run away and, no matter what the smug bastard might have thought, he didn't mean to stay away. Hell, he wanted to kill that fucker so much, he could practically feel his blood boiling at the thought of finally just putting an end to the sick fuck who murdered—

Instead, he bites back a curse as his knee suddenly locked up as he ran, nearly sending him stumbling though he quickly forces himself back on his feet, albeit more slowly now with that joint down.

The Commandment of Love was such a fucking cheat. He'd been winning, he knew he had. No matter what the bastard threw at him, there'd been nothing he could do that hurt him, really hurt him. For all the bastard acted smug, the only times he made him bleed was by bouncing Ban's own attacks back at him with Full Counter. Not a single one of Estarossa's own attacks left so much as a scratch. Now, though, with the Commandment of Love weighing him down more and more, Ban had no choice but to get away from him—no matter how much that burned his pride to turn his back on the fucker who killed—

"Fuck," he bites out as his other knee locked up and he was forced to stop or else fall flat on his face. "Fucking shit, seriously?!"

He's—he had been faster than Estarossa, he knew that much. He had a hell of a headstart and from what he knew of Estarossa, there was a chance he might've stayed back for long enough to gloat that Ban was currently out of his range. Love—it had to do with proximity and it didn't last forever. It was something they discussed when they were talking about the Commandments with the others during their reunion. Get far enough away from Estarossa's influence and it would start wearing off on its own. The Commandment of Love's curse wasn't permanent, the Captain had assured them. It only lasted around half an hour once you got far enough away from the one bearing it. And unlike most people, he was actually resistant to the Commandment curses after all his time fighting the Demon King in Purgatory. For all he knew, in his case, it might start wearing off in fifteen minutes rather than thirty. Fuck, but he hoped so. Half an hour—considering the fucker could fly, that was more than enough time to get to Liones and he'd be damned if he let that fucker get close to the Captain, not after everything they'd been through.

Was he far enough away, though? He couldn't tell. He couldn't see the bastard... that was a good sign, right? He remembers that during his time, the curse of Love had lingered for a while after Escanor had gone and dragged the fucker out of Liones (and oh, but that memory is a good one and one he hopes he can replicate), enough that he hadn't been able to fight when those people Zeldris had hoodwinked with his Piety and Derieri came in. He'd been able to against Grayroad later, not that he'd been able to realize the significance at the time, but...

He could see a speck of dark in the horizon quickly growing larger and sense a quite frankly disgusting presence coming his way. Shit. That fucker, he hated that fucker so much, he could just—

He tries to stand up again but his legs refused to follow. His knees felt like they were stuck. There was a weight on his back, almost enough to crush. He tries to use his arms, at least, to support him, but his elbows locked together and even his fingers felt stiff. Love was meant to take away its victim's power to hurt but for Ban, who used his entire body as a weapon even more than he did his actual weapons and magic power, that meant Love's effect was outright fucking crippling.

Shit, what was he supposed to do? From what he knew, there were only two ways to remove a Commandment curse outside of Goddess Clan magic or the Captain's newfound Disobedience Counter Vanish and that was by either defeating the Commandment who inflicted their curse on you or by dying yourself.

Defeating the Commandment who gave them to you—oh, yeah, why the fuck didn't he think of that? Defeating the bearer of the Commandment who inflicted their curse on you, that was definitely doable if it weren't the fact that the curse of the Commandment left him unable to move. How the fuck was he supposed to kill someone whose Commandment took away his ability to kill?!

Die? He was a fucking immortal. And even then, that would only leave the bastard free to go after the Captains all over again and he would rather be damned to Purgatory alone for all the rest of his immortal life than let the fucker kill the Captain, either of him. Not again. Never again. Never, ever.

Good fuck, he hates that bastard and he hates that he hates him.

Just, what was he supposed to do?

What could he do?

With everyone exhausted, Gilthunder outright unconscious from the strain, and the Super Cyclone that was their only remaining protection beginning to falter under the weight of the demonic hordes, Jericho genuinely thought that this really was going to be their last stand and it was then that Howzer finally screamed the signal:

"NOW!" he bellowed desperately over the roar of the dome of winds he'd cast to protect them, as well as the roars of the demons teeming around that protective dome, teeth gritted, blood streaming over his eye, the unconscious Gilthunder slung over his shoulder and yet managing to stand tall all the same. "Gilfrost, go!"

Gilfrost's eyes flashed open. Despite the burning heat of the miasma surrounding them all, his breath formed mist upon exhale.

"This is for Gil."

Magic swirled around him as he rose higher and higher into the air, his staff shining so brilliantly, for a moment, it was as if the moon had finally pierced through the cloud of miasma that had covered the sky in the demons' wake. His gaze was cold and regal as he looked down on the demonic swarm and finally raised his staff, tracing a pattern in the air that glowed sky-blue.

"Freeze Coffin! Power Amplify! POWER AMPLIFY!"

The doubly amplified ice spell exploded out around them in an insanely powerful shockwave of magic that quickly spread through the entirety of the demons swarming them, freezing magic engulfing every single one of them in layers of frost and rime, stopping the spread of black flames and blasting through the surrounding miasma, leaving an icy mist in the wake of the wave. What had been a swarm of demons that could've razed Britannia and everything they'd sworn to protect quickly transformed into nothing more than an enormous collection of ice statues as far as the eye can see.

They'd done it.

It worked.

They'd won.

They actually did it. They won. A whole fucking army of demons and they won.

Just as Jericho was able to process that thought, Gilfrost fell through open air, spent, his staff dim. Jericho catches him before he could hit the ground, bearing him as gently her own exhaustion could let her handle. He wasn't heavy but she was so tired, she couldn't help but shake even under his surprisingly slight weight.

"Did it work?" Gilfrost asks woozily, face seeming feverish as he looked from her to Silver before finally settling on the unconscious Gilthunder in Howzer's arms. "Did—"

"It did," Jericho pants. "We won. Just... just rest now, I'll... " she staggers as she walks but she manages anyway, moving to grasp one of the incantation orbs on Gilthunder's charm. "Hyper Recovery."

Immediately, they were engulfed in a shell of restorative light and Jericho felt her injuries begin to heal, with even her exhaustion abating slightly. Before her eyes, the cut on Howzer's face healed, Gilthunder's breathing evened, and the strain on Silver's face somewhat lightened, even as he flashed her a rueful smile as he finished casting his own healing spell over Gilfrost.

"Good," Howzer pants. "We won. Now, we should go back and—"

All around them suddenly came the sound of cracking ice.

No.

Wait.

All that work, it couldn't have all been for nothing—

The ice shatters.

"Perfect Cube!"

The shield was the only thing that saved Jericho from getting devoured. Gilfrost, still pale, still feverish, was holding out his staff, alight once more however dimly it might have seemed in comparison to how it had been, blood trailing from his nose as he staggered out of her arms and onto his feet. As for Jericho, she merely stood frozen, the Perfect Cube's translucent walls allowing her a good look at her would-be attacker. It was a massive red demon, its body wreathed in steam as its black flames rapidly thawed out the ice they'd worked so hard to imprison it in, mouth open in a roar as it began to batter at the barrier's walls.

It didn't even look hurt. All of that time preparing a plan to wipe them all out in one fell swoop and it didn't even hurt them.

"Calm down," Silver says, picking up his sword. "Howzer, Jericho, Gilfrost, we need—"

Whatever it was he thought they needed, Jericho didn't get to hear as masses of rapidly-thawing demons began to roar, fury evident in their voices even as they began to charge at the barrier itself. Though the barrier's walls stood firm, Gilfrost flinched with almost every blow, sweat and blood dripping down his brow. "I..." he pants. "I can't—"

Almost without thinking, Jericho lunged for another of the incantation orbs on Gilthunder's charm, shattering it. Immediately, purplish-gray smoke began to fill the confines of the cube before slowly solidifying. Almost at the same moment, Gilfrost cried out and fell, his Perfect Cube dissipating, allowing the hordes to charge them anew—only to be repelled.

"Good thinking, Jericho." Silver actually manages a smile, even as he began to reimbue his blade with lightning. "Very good thinking."

The incantation orb she'd used contained an Eternal Sealing Spell. They were safe.

"Yeah, you really saved our hides!" Howzer says. "You—"

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by yet more roars as the hordes took the new shield's appearance as a challenge and began to charge at it anew. And unlike the Perfect Cube, this shield wavered.

For now, she couldn't help but think. This kind of magic could stand up to ten tyrant dragons in theory but demons were a threat on an entirely different scale. It wouldn't last, it would only buy them time and only a few minutes at best. Just enough time to breathe. To think. To plan, if they were lucky but—

"W-what do we do now?" Jericho asks, unable to help the fear in her voice as her eyes darted nervously from demon to demon, though she stood firm regardless, sword in her hands once more and held protectively ready. "Should we... try it again?"

"Forget it, it's hopeless!" Gilfrost suddenly snaps. "There's nothing we can do, we should just run."

"Gilfrost," Howzer snaps back. "We can't just abandon the—"

"There's nothing we can do!" Gilfrost suddenly screams, shocking them into silence. "I'm... I'm almost out of magic. And it looks like her reinforcements aren't ever going to get here," he adds, disdainful. "There's no point in fighting anymore. We should just run."

"W-we're surrounded," she points out. "There's nowhere for us to run!"

"I might... I might still be able to use teleportation magic, it's just..." Gilfrost swallows. "I only have enough power to bring one other person with me..."

"Then take Gilthunder," Silver orders. "As you are, you'll only be a burden. Just, take Gilthunder and escape back to Liones—"

"No!"

It was Gilthunder who'd spoken, finally awake, though still pale as he shakily moved to stand on his own feet, Howzer hastening to support him.

"Gil, please," Gilfrost immediately began to protest. "Don't—"

"I'd rather die fighting to protect Liones than survive as a coward running," Gilthunder declares through gritted teeth. "Especially not from the Demon Clan."

"Gilthunder, please," and there was a note of desperation in Silver's voice, something Jericho had never heard from him even after all the hours of fighting against the uncountable hoard. "Please, I never wanted you to—"

"I won't let you die." Gilfrost states. In contrast, now, his eyes were clear and resolute. "Never you, Gil."

"Gilfrost?" Howzer says pensively. "What are you—"

In a flash of light and smoke, Gilfrost disappeared and in his place stood—

Jericho blinked.

No fucking way...

The smoke clears. It was real. Jericho's eyes weren't playing tricks on her. Of all the people in the world, she never expected to see—

Vivian's smile was almost rueful as she grabbed Gilthunder's hand, her staff beginning to emanate the tell-tale light of teleportation magic even as Gilthunder reflexively tried to shake off her grip, his expression horrified. "Don't hate me for this, 'kay?"

Teleportation magic enveloped her and Gilthunder in pale gold light—

—When the light surrounding Gilthunder crackled then dispersed, Merlin's protective charm gleaming fiercely where it still dangled from his hand. Jericho got a glimpse of Vivian's expression turning into one of utmost horror before her teleportation magic spirited her away, leaving them to stand on the battlefield still surrounded by enemies on all sides and with one less person fighting on their side.

Amidst the near all-encompassing blizzard of black snow over Liones, the kingdom no longer burned and the sounds of screams no longer filled the streets. That world of black snow had smothered the flames and deadened even the sound. What had just a scant few hours ago been a bustling kingdom filled with lively people had become a city filled with blackened corpses and charred flesh. The capital had been well and truly ravaged by the demonic monsters. Castle Liones alone remained pristine by virtue of the protections laid upon it. For now.

For now. Only for now.

The Holy Knights of Liones had been well and truly pushed back. To the few citizens who could bear to look out at the carnage from the relative safety of the shelters, the Holy Knights had scattered. Over the course of the ever-darkening night, so much worse than the incident with the 'New Generation' and the demonic Hendricksen not so long ago, the Holy Knights had succeeded in killing only one of the monsters, the dog-like demon felled in an ultimately lucky strike. All the fighting they'd done, all the pain they'd endured since the chaos had begun, and they'd only managed to kill one of the monster rampaging in the streets. Two remained, still strong and only growing stronger, the monstrous centipede that devastated the grounds and the deformed horse-like creature that terrorized the skies.

With only a skeleton crew of Holy Knights available in the absence of their strongest and without any heroes in sight, the fall of the kingdom seemed imminent. Who could fight against such creatures? How could anyone fight against them?

"Wrath of the Golden Wind!"

The demonic horse is swatted out of the sky and into the ground in a blast of great wind so strong, it was smashed flat against the pavement, the black flames that formed its wings and armor blown out, the winds continuing at such force that it threatened to squish the brain exposed by the gristly skull it called its head—

Before it roared a challenge and the air around it combusted in a sphere of black flames, allowing it to reemerge, the dark fire that formed its mane roiling as it began to charge, skeletal legs moving in a gallop through the air even as it formed new dark wings and began to fly at the one who'd struck it.

Its attacker resembled neither knight nor warrior nor great hero of legend. She was what looked like a young girl in a maid's dress, her stance protective as she hovered over the Boar Hat and the castle it rested upon, her expression calm in contrast to the citizens of Liones gawping from the shelters. Though heavy black snow continued to fall, it couldn't seem to touch her. Her amber eyes were fixed on the monster and the monster alone as she held out both arms and once again incanted:

"Wrath of the Golden Wind!"

Her winds blindside the monster and smash it unceremoniously back into the ground then keeps it there. It roars in protest under the weight of her winds but that only makes her clench her teeth, grip her hands into fists, then call upon more winds until its all but crushed under the force of them.

Then more roars fill the air as Holy Knights, battered and bleeding but still standing against all odds, rush out from the Boar Hat's shadow to fall upon the demon, battering it with their weapons and magic while the monster was unable to move, subjecting it to a barrage of explosions, ice, and crushing swings of a saw-like sword until, finally, it died.

It simply died. Before their eyes, the monster that had caused such grief had finally, finally died. After the girl's appearance, it hadn't taken her and the Holy Knights longer than five minutes to kill the monster.

But it wasn't over.

The monster's corpse dissolved into miasma far denser than anything they'd seen yet, causing the knights to scramble out of the way as it began to rise into the sky. In its wake, the air smelled vile. In its wake, it left—

"The snow," Slader calls out to his companions. Then to the girl: "Lady Elaine?"

She nods. "I know."

Before the astonished eyes of the watching populace, Elaine then took a deep breath and rose, arms outstretched, unmindful of the black snow as her winds whipped around her in a protective sphere. The snow couldn't touch her. In fact, it dissolved upon contact with her sphere of winds. In her wake, the air no longer carried the scent of brimstone and carrion but, instead, the faintest whiff of lavender. Her face raised to the skies, she called out:

"Wrath of the Zephyr!"

And her magic clove through the miasma that had covered the skies, slicing through the dark that had fallen over the skies and allowing moonlight to stream over Liones for the first time since the monsters had arrived. As she opened her arms, the miasma began to get swept away, dissipating the deadly snowfall in the process. Sweat began to bead on her brow but she remained there, her expression determined. To the watching populace, the sight of Elaine high in the air, silhouetted by the moon finally made visible only through her efforts, she looked neither like a knight or a warrior.

Instead, she looked like a saint.

Then suddenly, someone screams: "Lady Elaine, get down!"

A great gout of black fire suddenly exploded high into the skies around Elaine, as unleashed by the demonic centipede from below with an earsplitting screech that had both knights and civilians cowering and covering their ears, those unlucky enough not to do so in time falling to the ground, bleeding from the ears. With another cry, the demonic centipede raced for the knights while they were still reeling from the noise, black flames blazing in its wake and melting the ground wherever it passed, its maw bloody, burning, and opened wide to devour—

"Pursuing Whirlwind!"

Blades of wind battered the monster from all sides, scything through its already damaged carapace to shear through flesh and bone, before exploding out in bursts of black gore. Almost immediately, black flames flared around the demonic centipede, forcing its wounds closed before remaining there in patches of black that resembled a cross between bandages and armor but though it seemed healed, when it rose, it did so unsteadily. It had been—no, it was hurt.

High above, Elaine remained, still surrounded by her sphere of winds and, having dodged the flames, completely unhurt. Though pale and sweating, she remained there, her amber eyes resolute.

"No matter what," she declares. "You won't get past me!"

The further along the Sins fell into his—their—memories, the guiltier Meliodas felt. He had known it wouldn't be easy on them—they weren't heartless, unlike someone he knew back home—but seeing it for himself now...

They really were good people. He hadn't truly been able to appreciate the feelings of the Sins of his time when they'd discovered the nature of his and Elizabeth's curse in, not when the grief from Elizabeth's impending demise had driven him to such lengths that he'd genuinely considered becoming—but no. Now, he knows.

The connection went both ways. It wasn't something they'd known beforehand but in guiding them through the Broadcast, he was made to experience their emotions as if they were his own. And he knows it was the same for his counterpart, after all, they'd become so strongly interconnected at the start of the Broadcast that it was outright hard to separate where he began and the past Meliodas ended, almost as if he'd Empathized outright. The Sins, their feelings, they were...

The Sins really were such good people. His friends, they really were amazing people. He... he really didn't deserve them.

That's why, almost more so than the before, he really does not want to show them this.

He knows it wasn't even necessary, strictly speaking, for them to be shown his time in Purgatory beyond Ban finding him and the fights with his father but it felt... correct to do so. It felt right. Even before Meliodas—the Meliodas who he'd been a part of in his time—had died to Estarossa and the Commandments, he had been in Purgatory, as he had ever since the first time he—rather, Meliodas, had died. And being there, being stuck there, with only his Father for company, it had been—

He skims through his time in Purgatory as much as he can but he'd been there for so very long, this becomes the longest part yet. Thousands of years in the mortal realm equated to millions and millions of years in Purgatory and though, initially, he'd been outright unable to feel despair due to his nature as emotions torn from him—Meliodas, the more Meliodas had died (and he truly had tried everything), the closer to despair he could feel and it hurts even now, remembering.

How exactly more of him had ended up there over the years, he shows as well. He doesn't dwell on them, not after Meliodas had so vehemently protested him showing them his—their first death at his hands, but he shows them glimpses of his deaths in the mortal realm. He doesn't want to. But it feels... right.

Meliodas had sought death with such desperation, hoping that it would be better than what his life had been cursed to be. He knows this because he was with him when he makes that decision, with him in the moments before he tears out his hearts from chest intending to die, just as he's there in Purgatory suffering the consequences of his deaths before that. As he is now, complete, he has experienced each death Meliodas has had, the life that preceded it, and the endless stretch of time in Purgatory simultaneous to the both of them, a collection of horrible lives, deaths, and afterlives that could rival kingdoms in terms of suffering and—

He doesn't show them all of his deaths. The scant few he shows is more than enough and, as he is now, he knows exactly how they feel and the weight of their combined horror, grief, and sympathy was all but crushing, even as it soothed him in some small way to know that, despite how truly terrifyingly painful it was for them, not once has any of them pulled away. He knows they want to. He can feel it, that urge—nay, the desire to pull away and just end the Broadcast altogether in the back of their minds, so strong, the urge was almost physical—though they force themselves to endure anyway, simply because—

They really were such amazing people. They really didn't deserve what he's putting them through. He really doesn't deserve them.

The stretch after his last death before Ban's arrival is the worst of it, more so because it was during this endless stretch of time that...

He's ashamed. What happened to him, what he'd become, it was all because he'd just...

Given up.

Retaining yourself in Purgatory wasn't a matter of power levels or magic or anything quite that simple. That easy. He's seen souls of every kind over the course of his time in Purgatory, some of great heroes, some of great villains, some of people who might've even been stronger than he but up until that fateful day he'd outlasted them all when it came to resisting the degeneration that Purgatory engendered, to retaining his sense of self, and that was because...

It all went down to hope.

Purgatory was a place that fostered no hope, that ate away the soul. Just being there was torturous, the air toxic, freezing, and burning all at once, the land without food besides what you could scavenge from the creatures you could kill, and the water acidic and just as likely to melt your throat as it was to quench your thirst. Even unable to feel most sensations without his physical body, it had been agony being there, even before taking into account the sheer loneliness that came with being imprisoned there. For all that it was teeming with creatures of every kind, it was ultimately so lonely there were times he was almost happy to see his father when he came to visit, even if those visits only really meant pain of a different variety.

How could anyone want to be in such a place? How could anyone stand to be there? How could anyone endure living there?

Degenerating meant losing yourself, corrupting your soul, and sentencing yourself to wander without end but it also meant an escape from knowing that you were in Purgatory and that made it better than staying sane for so very many. Until Ban arrived, he'd never seen anyone last longer than a decade before losing themselves completely and as for him, he only managed to endure for as long as he had because for all that Meliodas' deaths in the mortal world brought him closer to the brink, they also provided a reprieve for him in Purgatory. A glimpse of a life outside of the unending hellscape, of Elizabeth. A reason to hope.

After that fateful day when he—Meliodas had used his Assault Mode, he hadn't lasted long. For all the millions of years he'd managed to endure within Purgatory, once complete and without anything to hope for, he degraded. He wandered. He was lost.

Then Ban arrived.

The feelings of the Sins are, as they had been since the Broadcast began, ever-present in the back of his mind. He can feel their shock at the emotion, the tone, so to speak, that these memories carried and has to smile.

His memories in Purgatory before had been nothing but unending misery but after Ban's arrival, they became...

Hopeful.

After all, how could he lose hope anymore? His best friend was by his side and he knew that his friends were waiting on the other side, that Elizabeth was waiting on the other side.

Despite the trials that followed, the continuing challenges that came with being trapped in a hellscape like Purgatory, the struggles that came with his being so much weaker without his body, the decades spent fighting his father even with Wild at their side and even being forced to wander Purgatory for monthsyearscenturies on end after their disastrous last bout until their chance meeting with the Purgatory Witch...

He could no longer lose hope. Not truly.

He had Ban by his side. Wild. The Sins and Elizabeth were waiting on the other side. He wasn't alone.

Knowing they were with him, how could he be afraid?

In his friends, the Sins, Elizabeth, he had nothing but faith.

They were being pushed back against each other and there wasn't anything they could do about it. Nothing. They were exhausted, out of options, surrounded on all sides, and, for all intents and purposes, absolutely fucked. There was nothing between the hordes and them, no magical shield spells, no tornados, and certainly no lightning. Gilthunder was down, conscious—for all the good that did him—but without the strength to move. Jericho was bruised and bleeding, her sword bereft of any enchantment. Silver's armor was battered and near-torn, and his sword snapped in half after a blow from a gray demon he'd only barely been able to parry. As for him, Howzer's arms had long given out and his magic had run dry. All he could do now was stand, and even then, only barely. He could no longer fight. Gilfr—Vivian had left them to their fates, left them to stand alone with no reinforcements in sight.

It was hopeless, wasn't it? There was nothing they could do. There was no point in fighting anymore. They should just run.

Unbidden, Vivian's words keep ringing over and over in his head but he forces himself to stay on his feet and stand, as tall as his exhaustion could allow, even if only by using his beloved javelin as a crutch.

It wasn't like he didn't get what she meant. It wasn't like he was stupid enough to think they had a realistic chance at this rate.

But.

All the same, he couldn't give up.

He was a Holy Knight of Liones. He was a knight. His eyes were meant to judge the wicked and he could see the wicked awaiting judgment all around him. His mouth was meant to speak the truth and he'd sworn that he would never abandon his duty to the people of Liones and all of Britannia. His sword was meant to crush all evil and even if he could no longer raise his sword, he could let his body be a shield for those who still could.

If he couldn't do all that, he couldn't call himself a knight.

Gilthunder was at his back, without the energy to even stand, much less use his magic power. At his right, Jericho was still on her feet, an apprentice Holy Knight without magic or special ability but fighting more fiercely than even Gilthunder had before he'd fallen. At his left, Silver was doing the same, this druid knight they'd only met a scant few days ago physically shielding them with his body when his broken sword failed to reach.

He wasn't alone. He and Gilthunder, they weren't alone. Even if they could no longer fight, even if he could only barely stand, he refused to give up hope, not when his companions were putting their lives on the line to defend them.

Even if it was hopeless, even if there was nothing they could do, even if there was no point in fighting anymore, he could never run, not when his allies were putting their lives on the line.

If he abandoned them, he would lose the right to call himself human.

(After all, as a knight, as a human, as someone worth the protection they were giving, the least he could do was not let them die alone.)

Even as he saw death coming his way in an attack he could do nothing to avoid, he refused to back down, refused to do anything less than try and face it and protect Gilthunder from sharing his fate, staring down the massive gray demon that had stepped over the throng of demons his allies were keeping at bay to come at him and standing at least to protect his best friend, even if it meant death

Clang!

The blow was intercepted, not by a sword or a technique or even by hand, but by Silver's helmeted head, the knight standing before them with outstretched arms, his broken sword held out. The blow had rent a huge dent in his helmet but the knight refused to waver, refused to back down. Before Howzer's astonished eyes, his sword's broken blade then glowed with white light as it sliced through the arm of the gray demon that had attacked them, leaving the clawed hand embedded into Silver's helmet.

"I... will not..." Jericho pants, her sword at that gray demon's throat. "Let anyone die!"

Cold air exploded and ice sheeted over the bodies of the demons immediately surrounding them, trapping them in icicles as tall as trees, the ice that had erupted from Jericho's sword nothing like the quick-spreading rime of the Freeze Coffin Enchantment, long since faded in Vivian's absence, but more like gigantic, icy fangs.

Ice that was, without a doubt no one's but Jericho's own.

At the same time, Silver's already damaged helmet finally fell apart, splitting into halves, unveiling flowing silver hair, blue eyes, and a face that was—

Familiar

He stares at him. Then he whips back to stare at Gilthunder behind him, who was gaping from shock.

Identical.

"No fucking way," Jericho breathes, staring at the magic that coated her sword. "How... how could I have..."

"You're..." Gilthunder whispers. "My..."

"No matter what," his favorite uncle Zaratras—who by all logic should have been dead—declares, lightning and druid magic setting what remained of his sword alight, the blade a brilliant beacon in the dark of the demons' miasma. It could have just been his imagination but, over the din of battle, Howzer could've sworn he heard the beating of wings. "No matter what happens, I will protect you!"

Estarossa. He could see him clearly now. He was on his way, flying fast on dark wings, and Ban was still unable to move, joints locked, muscles tight, weight on his shoulders all but crushing. At this rate, the fucker didn't have to do anything to him, he could just go ahead and fly past Ban and he could get to the Captains and, once again, there'd be nothing Ban could do to stop him. Even after everything, after growing strong in Purgatory, after surviving decades of battles against the Demon King himself, Ban still couldn't do anything against this one smug bastard. He still couldn't protect anyone he cared about. And his best friend, the Captains, they would...

Fuck, what was he supposed to do? He was resistant to the Commandments—to the point that, so long as he wasn't too blatant about breaking their conditions near their bearers, he could mostly just shrug off their effects but in this case, it was different. He'd been able to turn his back on Zeldris and retain his freedom despite breaking Piety because his resistance let him shrug it off for long enough to get out of its range. Estarossa, he had to face him if he wanted to make sure he couldn't get to the Captains and since he hated that fucking bastard, facing him meant losing his ability to actually fight. Move.

What, was he supposed to just stop hating him?

What the fuck kind of question was that?! How could he just stop hating him? How could he not hate that fucking bastard? Even just thinking about it made him hate him all the more. He had butchered the Captain and because of him, the Captain, his best friend, had—

His best friend had...

He stops, all the tension draining from his posture.

The Captain, Estarossa had...

Estarossa, this Estarossa, had...

"You're mine!"

Estarossa's whole body was roiling with darkness as he slammed all seven swords into Ban's body, three aimed at his heart, four aimed at his head—and for the first time since their fight began, the attack connects, the empowered blades piercing through Ban in an explosion of gore and dark power, of fire hot enough to melt through bones even before Estarossa grins as his blades dissolve into a darkness that seeped into Ban's veins and spread all throughout his body in a wave of tainted, corruptive force.

"Die."

Mutative magic spreads from the swords embedded in Ban's heart, Ban's eyes, Ban's brain—and without another word, Ban explodes, his body falling apart into chunks of flesh and viscera that Estarossa then set ablaze with a contemptuous twist of his fingers, a pillar of black hellfire exploding from where Ban's remains had been. When it was all over, there was nothing left but ashes, chips of bone, and the clothes he'd worn, now reeking with the scent of scorched, corrupted blood.

"What a pest."

With that, Estarossa left him behind, rising to the skies once more on dark wings as he set off to see his brother. Both of his brother.

Or at least.

He started to.

Because as he began to rise, he heard a sound.

And what he heard was Ban.

Before his eyes, the ashes, bones, and blood that had been all that was left of Ban became more. Ashes became flesh that grew over bones that were rapidly growing back into the shape of a human, starting with his grinning skull. Before Estarossa's eyes, Ban was reconstituted completely and perfectly, the restored Ban looking no worse for wear despite it all, and he was laughing as he lay there, so hard he was wheezing for breath, actual tears in his freshly-regenerated eyes.

Estarossa is unnerved.

Then, Ban looks him in the face and laughs even more, loud, hard, and true, even as he's pulling himself back onto his feet and brushing off ashes from the knees of his pants.

"Fuck, I've been so stupid," he manages in between chuckles, still doubled over as he was. "I'm a fuckin' dumbass, is what I am! Hah! Oh man, I'm such a fuckin' dumbass, I can't believe myself. Hah!"

Still laughing, he lashes out once as if swatting at a fly—

And that one simple move had been enough to rip Estarossa's arm from his shoulder, the severed limb sent flying, leaving a trail of blood arcing in its wake. It happened so quickly, Estarossa hadn't even been able to see him move. All the power he had, all the darkness roiling under his skin and over his flesh, and it had done absolutely nothing to dull that one, barehanded strike.

He was speechless.

"He's alive," Ban says, with relish, with pride, with absolute gratitude. "The Captain is alive. I don't have any reason to hate you, he's alive and well, both of him are. You, on the other hand..."

His eyes gleam scarlet as he regathers his strength once more and it's easy. It's his power. There's nothing to stop him, not anymore. Love can't weigh him down because, unlike the bastard in front of him, he's powered by the real thing and it felt good.

The air around him crackles from the mere force of his aura as his lips curl up in a sneer.

"Won't be."

Elizabeth doesn't know how long it's been since they'd gotten the call for reinforcements from Gilthunder and the rest in Istar. There'd been such a rush of activity and chaos since they'd first gotten the signal, she'd barely had time to think since she'd been woken by it what felt like eternities ago, and they'd been rushing to get there ever since, the Ladies Jenna, Zaneli, and Solatido flying on pairs of white wings, the rest of their party following either on foot or on horseback. They were going as fast as they could but Gilthunder and the others—wherever they were, it was far, far away. It's been hard to tell given the dark skies but it could've been hours since the first call for reinforcements had rung out through Istar.

Technically, she wasn't even supposed to be there. Solatido had specifically sent out Lady Jenna and Zaneli to handle it, with their bodyguard Theo and a handful of other druids for support, but after she and Hendrickson had found out that the call for reinforcements had come from Gilthunder, she'd insisted on coming with them and Solatido eventually caved. Now, Solatido herself carried her in her arms, as easily as if she weighed nothing, while Hendrickson rode with the rest.

She spares a glance down at Hendrickson riding with the others down below and has to force herself to breathe. Gilthunder and the others, they were going to be fine. They were going to help them. All of them. They would get there in time.

It's the smell that first tells Elizabeth that they'd arrived, like carrion and brimstone, thick, hot, and putrid. The second thing is the heat, the air turning oppressively, burningly hot the closer they approached. The third thing was the dark, not the same as that of the night but thicker, bleaker. No stars shone in the sky, no moon though she knew it was supposed to be full. The sky was an ominous black, unpierced by light of any kind.

"How disgusting," Solatido mutters. Her wings glowed so much that the dark seemed to recoil from her. "They really are going all out."

They were in a valley, dry and desolate and so thick with the scent of demonic miasma, she almost wanted to choke at the scent of it. In the midst of it all, far below, the grounds were teeming with demons, an enormous mass of them crowding around—

"No," she whispers. "Howzer, Gilthunder, they're—"

"Stay here, Lady Princess," Solatido tells her, setting her down on a shelf of rock before beginning to descend, four wings outstretched. "I'll take care of this."

"Purge!" She sees as, down below, Hendrickson is the first to charge, his sword glowing with brilliant light, the other druids following not far behind, their weapons similarly alight. "Get back, get back! Purge! PURGE!"

Before them, demons scattered, screaming as their infused weapons tore through them one at a time, the druids' charge cutting through the horde, slowly but surely. The screams, the smell, the sounds of demonflesh as it was vaporized, it was all—

"Thunder Ray!"

With a yell, Zaneli fired a bolt of glittering, golden lightning that obliterated three—no, four—no, five demons in one fell swoop, reducing them to naught but ashes, her lightning not quite like Gilthunder's but instead bearing some kind of odd light that felt—

"Ark!"

At Zaneli's side, Jenna held out her staff, brows furrowed in concentration and shells of sparkling light trapped at least five different demons before detonating at a wave of her staff, the demons she'd trapped reduced to ashes, the light of their radiance burning the demons outside of it. She'd never seen such magic before but—

It felt familiar. So familiar.

—No, right now, she had to focus. She had to do something. Gilthunder, Howzer, Jericho, Gilfrost, Silver—they were all still out there in the middle of it all. She had to help them. What could she do?

What she did in the Capital, could she do it again?

She could do it again, right?

Because right now, there's light in her veins, light in her heart, calling for its release with every second that she had to look at the mass of demons down below. There were so many, so many, how long had their companions fought alone against them? How long had they been forced to fight, waiting for them to come? How long had they been fighting by themselves?

Her eye right seemed to burn beneath her fingers and it's all she can do to breathe.

"I'm..." she chokes, tears spilling from her right eye though she didn't know why. "I can..."

"There's no need for you to fight, Lady Elizabeth," she hears Solatido whisper from behind her. She whips back to face her—hadn't she gone down to fight with the rest?—and the bard looks back, her expression serious. "Please don't put yourself at risk. As I told you, let me take care of them."

Solatido raises her arm and—

"Spiteful Saint!"

—the demons, a swarm of armies enough to cover the grounds, were all instantaneously obliterated in a rain of light like a shower of falling stars.

Estarossa was running.

No, he was flying, taking off as quickly as he can, pumping all the power he had left into a pair of wings to take him as far away from this place as possible.

Because as much as it burned his pride to be forced to flee—

An invisible, inexorably powerful hand grips onto his ankle with force enough to crush through even the darkness covering his skin before swinging him unceremoniously back to the earth with enough force that he craters the ground once again.

"Where you goin'? I was just getting started," the monster was saying, his tone lax. "Don't tell me you've had enough already. Have you~?"

—He doesn't want to die.

It takes everything he has to twist out of the monster's grip, kicking off with all the strength he could muster, before he once again runs, as fast and far as he can manage, pumping all his strength into his legs, then into his wings. Estarossa is fleeing for his life.

And Ban, as simply and casually as anything, follows after him, keeping up seemingly effortlessly.

Estarossa's beyond desperate.

"Black Hound!"

The enormous, flaming attack smashes against the monster head-on in an explosive burst of black fire that quickly spiraled upwards, forming a whirling cage of black flames—

—But that monster emerges from the smoke and flames, virtually unscathed, the dark fire having splashed harmlessly over his skin as he walked out. Walked out. He only walked out of that attack without a mark to show for it.

Estarossa flies.

"Kinda tickles," Ban remarks offhandedly as he follows, easily keeping pace even though he was on foot and, to all who saw him, apparently just jogging. "Your Dad's was way worse~"

The emphasis on the last word was the only warning Estarossa had for the attack that followed, a simple swing of Ban's fist that sent force ripping through the skies. Estarossa just barely manages to twist aside at the last minute to avoid a direct hit from Ban's attack but it still grazes the back of his skull and shears off his wings, sending him plummeting to the earth, his vision fading around the edges from the strike as the ground came rushing for his face and darkness began to swallow his vision.

Then darkness reared up and swallowed him whole.

Zaratras had been fully prepared to lose his life in the fighting when the demonic army had been obliterated. It had happened in an instant. One moment, he'd been fighting in the full expectation that he was going to die once more, hopefully after taking down the horde with him in a suicide attack, when the decision had been taken out of his hands as the sky lit up with stars that reduced each and every one of the demons attacking them to ashes in the wind. It had been an incredible attack of miraculous power on an entirely different scale than he'd ever seen before and without it... gods, they would have died. Nothing he could have done could have even hoped to match the sheer power of that attack just now and without it...

... It didn't bear thinking about. Not now when they'd been saved.

Despite his best efforts, he'd been the last one standing by the time the attack had come through, Gilthunder, Howzer, Jericho having fallen unconscious not too long before—from shock, or stress, or simple exhaustion, he didn't know. He himself had been injured severely over the course of the battle despite his healing magic. So the sight of the white-robed forms of his former brethren, the druids, sweeping over the ashes of the fallen demons to tend to his companions, to his son, was a welcome one. He waves off the first few to approach him but—

"Don't presume to order me around, revenant."

He recognized the voice.

"L-Lord S-Sariel?" he stutters, trying to sit up only to forced down by a small hand pushing at his neck. "O-or is S-Solatido?"

"Invigorate," is all he hears at first, and the power of the light that suddenly floods through his veins is almost just as miraculous in its sheer scale as the spell that had so obliterated their attackers, healing him completely with one touch. Even Jenna and Zaneli had never shown such power. It was, undoubtedly, Sariel of the Four Archangels speaking.

Yet what he said next was:

"That's Solatido to you, revenant."

"Wh-what...?"

"Call me Solatido," Sariel orders, not even looking at him as he raised his other hand and began to dissipate what remained of the demonic miasma, purifying the air of the last traces of the demons' presence. "If you at all value the poor excuse of a life you have left, revenant, you will refer to me only as Solatido."

"Gilthunder! Howzer! Jericho! Where are you?!"

That was Princess Elizabeth. He could recognize her voice.

"Call. Me. Solatido."

The hand around his neck tightens, small fingers denting the armor around his throat, and he's pulled up roughly to look the Tornado of the Four Archangels in the eye, Sariel's face cold with fury as he looked down on him. From this angle, Zaratras can see himself reflected in the blue of Sariel's eyes, see his own terrified face swimming in their depths.

"Especially in front of her."

The Broadcast came to an end so suddenly, King nearly shouts. Moments ago, he'd been standing before the Purgatory Witch as she'd opened the door for them from within Purgatory's depths, the air of Purgatory simultaneously burning and freezing his throat as he'd said his acceptance, Ban's-the future Ban's hand on his shoulder a silent reassurance before they fell into the swirling gateway of colors.

Now, the morning sun is warm on his face. The air of Liones smells sweet to his nose. The breeze feels cool against his skin.

His hand was locked in a death grip around the future Meliodas' hand and it was hard to let go. His eyes are sore. Tear tracks stain his cheeks and even now, there're new tears welling in his eyes. He isn't alone in this.

For a moment, there is silence as every single one of the Sins present readjust to the end of the experience, being in the now even as they processed the yearsdecadescenturieseons worth of memories they'd just experienced. When this had begun, the moon was still high in the sky. Now, light from the morning sun flooded the room, though even in his muscled morning form, Escanor remained as silent as the rest of them. The room was silent, no one seeming to even breathe. The only sound to be heard came from outside the Boar Hat, that of birdsong in the breeze and the lively noises of the people as the capital of Liones figuratively began to wake. Dawn had come and go while they'd been in the Broadcast. It was a new day.

"S-so," their Meliodas is the one to break the silence, voice uncharacteristically hesitant, smile noticeably forced. After so long spent in the Broadcast, his arm had regrown to the point that he had his wrist again, gruesome though it looked. "There's still Ban's part to go through but how are you guys—"

Without saying a word, acting almost purely on instinct, the King goes forward and grabs both Meliodas into an embrace, gasping for breath, choking down sobs.

"K-King, wha-what are you—"

He isn't alone. Almost immediately, Diane follows after with a sound like a sob, then Escanor with surprising force, then Ban, with equally surprising gentleness, all of them wrapping their arms around the Captains in an embrace that was for his sake as much as it was for theirs, meant to provide comfort just as it was meant to seek it, the gesture a reassurance and a promise all in one.

"Cap'n," Ban says, soft as a breath. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry," King chokes out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so—"

"We're here, Captain, we'll always be—" Escanor was whispering. "C-Captain, I hope you know that—"

"That was so awful, Captain," Diane was sobbing. "You shouldn't have had to—you didn't deserve—"

"I..." Their Captain hesitates from within the embrace. "You guys, you're..."

The future Captain cuts his past self off, pulling him closer, his own eyes closed as quietly, with the smallest, softest smile, he melts into the embrace, his arms going up to twine around them all as if he meant to try and hold them all, as if he couldn't bear to let go. And their Captain, with some hesitation, follows suit, gingerly allowing himself to melt into their hold, eyes slowly going closed as he let himself be held and returned the embrace.

"This was not part of the plan," Gowther comments. "Would you like me to join you?"

Diane doesn't even bother with a reply; she lets out a laugh that was almost a sob as she pulled Gowther into the embrace, knocking his glasses askew.

"Oof."

And for several long moments, they stay there, just holding each other. Just like that. In Boar Hat, under the warm, bright sun high over Liones, Britannia, the mortal world far from Purgatory or the Demon King, the Sins all held each other tight.

There was still much to do, King knew. There were still the future Ban's memories to go through, the preparations they were going to have to do in light of their new knowledge, the Commandments were still out there, and there was so much more they had to do—

But for now, they just stayed there, holding each other in the silence, in the warmth of the new day, in the warmth of an unspoken promise that they would never break.

If it could be like this, even if only for just a few moments, everything could be alright.

It was, I'd like to think, a hell of a ride but we finally got it.

A group hug.

And, y'know, memory lane, Estarossa running, etc etc. But mostly the group hug. Man, this entire story started as a cheap excuse to practice writing hugs, fight scenes, and shenanigans but here we are now, with this monstrosity instead. I initially planned on ending this in 7 chapters but we're, uh, past that, I'd say. I have a strict no-spoiler policy but I will say the ending's gonna be fun.

I'm pretty sure everyone knew who was going to win the Ban-Estarossa fight. And that was me. I mean, who else was it going to be, Studio DEEN? In all seriousness, despite the... obvious, eventual outcome, I hope I made it more interesting than a simple curbstomp.

Anyway, I'm going to try and get back on a schedule for writing. If all goes as planned, I'll either be updating things or uploading oneshots every two weeks. If anyone here's reading Oft-Sprung Surprise, that should be updated on June 21. This ought to be updated by July 5.

In any case, feedback is motivational and I hope you all have a nice day.

As a bonus, have an omake that's more or less canon to this thing

Several minutes later, after the future Meliodas reluctantly broke the embrace:

"... hey, uh, is it just me or do I smell something burning?"

"What are you... has that hole always been on my ceiling?"

"Ah, that's my bad. Sorry, Cap'n, Captain, I had to go deal with a pest."

"Oh, Ban! You're just in time, it's your turn to... why are you covered in blood?"

"Wha? Oh, yeah, guess I am. Heh, don't worry 'bout that, it isn't mine. And, anyway, I am immortal so s'not it matters."

"What the—" King sputters. "Whose?!"

Ban only shrugs, indifferent. "No one important."