Elaviel's hearing faded. For her last strike, she'd sacrificed most of her defenses, leaving her vulnerable to this devastating blow. Black marks spread across her pristine skin, weaving arcane patterns like spider silk, binding their delectable prey.
Tainted by one of the seven deadly sins, Elaviel felt the profane power, antithetical to the Lord's teachings, coursing through her, tempting her toward corruption. At her peak, she would have been unfazed, but now, weakened, she struggled against the seductive pull of sinful desire.
A flush crept unnaturally across her pale face. Behind her, Eden collapsed, spilling out the nuns and knights it had sheltered into the churning sea.
Before mythical beings, they were mere ants. Many nuns, once pure as untouched paper, succumbed instantly to the Sin Demon of Lust's aura. Their faces flushed, minds clouded, primal urges overtaking reason, craving only indulgence.
Soon, flawless nuns tore at their robes, revealing curvaceous figures, frantically caressing their tender flesh for solace.
They were more debauched than any courtesan.
What was unthinkable under normal circumstances became reality under the Sin Demon's influence. The once-epic battlefield morphed into a den of lascivious moans.
Elaviel's expression carried sorrow. She was the Lord's wrath and punishment, but also the hope and light for these faithful. Yet now, she neither vanquished the Abyss's demons nor protected her followers. Gravely wounded, with Eden crumbled, she was powerless to uphold the Lord's glory.
In this world, miracles were rare, almost nonexistent. Most mortals faced doom with no recourse. But miracles weren't truly impossible, and she was no mortal.
She was an angel favored by God.
Suddenly, the crucifix fragments in Senia's hand blazed with holy light—not the usual gentle white, but a fierce, blood-red intensity. The Church's relic ignited, unleashing millennia of pent-up fury.
"Your Highness, flee!"
A roar cut through the chaos.
Seizing the moment, Violet, who had been struggling in the sea, leaped forward. Her holy sword channeled the blood-red light, forming a radiant pillar that slashed at the battered Senia.
With Lilith's ascension to mythical status, Senia was reduced to legendary-tier, her magic drained and wounds severe. Violet's strike, bolstered by the relic, posed a real threat—especially since Senia's injuries, exacerbated by her deliberate feint, were no lighter than Elaviel's.
A thunderous boom echoed.
"Senia, run! This woman's gone mad!" Lilith shrieked, yanking the Sin Demon away, dodging the blow.
In the next moment, the sea wailed. The two demons vanished into the mist. When clarity returned, the archangel was gone.
Only the nuns and knights, wrapped in golden light, remained.
Violet, exhausted from her near-mythical strike, floated lifelessly on the sea, her purple hair soaked, resembling a martyr.
"Hahaha, so many humans! I've hit the jackpot!" Lilith crowed, waving her hand. The sea turned scarlet, forming a massive blood bubble to trap the survivors.
She planned to drag them to the Abyss for "study," curious about their entertainment value.
Unlike Lilith's carefree glee, Senia gazed silently at where the angel had vanished.
"Hm… the proud canary's wings are broken, now falling to the dust, stained with filth…"
Her voice was weak, her seductive form trembling. Even reclaiming her mythical throne, her wounds wouldn't heal easily, requiring time to recover. Yet her eyes gleamed, her alluring lips curling as she silently counted down the angel's demise.
"Argh! The sun's up, Senia! Take off your clothes and cover me!" Lilith's shrill cry shattered the mood.
Senia sighed, gently embracing Lilith's petite frame, whispering in her ear, "You didn't drop the ball this time. Do whatever you want from now on."
Her sultry voice teased Lilith's ear, but the vampire pouted, hiding in Senia's shadow. "That's how it's always been! Don't act like you're granting permission. I do what I want!"
Still, she smirked, pleased with herself.
Truman remained oblivious to the mythical battle raging over the Pacific, noticing only that the recent sea breeze carried an eerie, bone-chilling cold.
Winter had arrived.
Fortunately, he'd achieved a class leap. Not exactly to the heavens, but the house auction three days ago had left him flush with wealth. Though only a fraction of the proceeds was his, a sip from an elephant's broth was enough for a mosquito to live out its days.
The Bishop hadn't swindled him or set traps. Instead, he generously shared a portion of the profits and elevated Truman's status from third-class to second-class citizen. In a way, Truman was the Church's benefactor—no one knew how close he'd been to the angel during her stay. A little generosity wouldn't hurt.
Now, Truman had left the slums, settling into a nearby communal apartment with new winter clothes, no longer freezing in a shabby hut, hands and feet purple from cold.
His savings could sustain him until old age. The day he got the money, he strutted into the church where he'd prayed, flaunting his newfound status before the old priest and tossing his cross at him. The priest fumed but could do nothing.
Truman was a petty man at heart.
Though he could live comfortably, he wasn't content to idle away his life. He planned to resume his summoning rituals—his lifelong pursuit of pleasure trumped all else.
"No way one setback will keep me down! Let's see if I can pull SSRs every time!" he sneered, convinced the last mishap was a fluke. The rituals must go on.
Thinking of summoning brought a pang of nostalgia for the holy angel who'd left days ago. Though she saw him as nothing, their week together was real, her divine presence leaving a deep mark.
"Shame I didn't get to fuck her even once. Regretful…" he sighed. "She's probably back in the Federation's holy city by now."
Realizing she was a mythical being who'd shared his roof made those days feel like a dream.
"Bye-bye then. The next one'll be better."
Used to partings, Truman began gathering materials for his next ritual.
The mythical battle's ripples weren't limited to a chilly breeze. The holy city's observatory, the Alliance's astrological society, and Yamato's shrines all detected this once-in-decades clash.
The storm stirred by angel and demon skewed magical rituals and altered divine incantations, causing widespread frustration.
The Middle Kingdom's Imperial Observatory, under the Demon Suppression Division's authority, also observed the battle. As a prestigious institution above all daoist associations and sacred sites, it held immense influence.
Yet now, chaos reigned within. Voices clashed in a cacophony.
"Master Wang! Look at this formation pattern—huge discovery!"
"The Star Chart's shifted, and you're fussing over formations? You array folks are so rigid."
"This is a mythical clash—first in fifty years! We're witnessing history."
"No clue who won…"
Amid the din, an old Taoist in robes stroked his beard, his trembling hands belying his calm facade.
"Mythical beings rarely meet unless it's a death match. They guard their domains fiercely, unless…"
"Unless a new mythical being was born!" a young Taoist blurted, face flushed with excitement.
"Possible, but not certain," the old master cautioned.
"Report! Message from the Court!" a voice cut through the hall.
The noisy observatory fell silent, everyone holding their breath for news from the Demon Suppression Division's highest echelon.
"The Chief is aware of the Pacific holy war. The Observatory is to monitor Harvest City closely, without fail."
Order resumed swiftly. None dared question the Chief's will. Though puzzled, they diligently began tracking Harvest City's anomalies.
On the lightless sea, a white shadow streaked across the surface.
"Where am I?"
Elaviel's question went unanswered, swallowed by the roar of waves.
Alone, she flew over the ocean, her mind retracing recent events.
Days ago, she'd clashed with the Sin Demon over the Pacific. Though she nearly slew her foe, a cunning trap cost her dearly—her Eden collapsed, and she sustained grave wounds, escaping only through her followers' sacrifice.
As her consciousness returned, frustration surged.
She was the angel of judgment, the Lord's thunder and wrath. Had she descended correctly, in her full glory, the outcome would've been different.
"Was it truly a mistake?"
Elaviel sighed. Now wasn't the time for such thoughts. Her injuries were severe—not mere flesh or soul, but her very existence teetered on erasure. Black veins spread across her arms and abdomen, bringing pain and a feverish heat.
This was the curse of lust, a sin's taint her weakened state couldn't resist. Her mythical status waned as her essence faded.
"Ela…viel…"
She knew not where to go, but a faint, blurred voice called from the horizon, laced with compulsion.
Like a siren's song luring her faltering mind, the archangel spread her wings and flew toward the distant summons.
...