Chapter 826: When the Flügel and the Elf Simultaneously Gather in Human Territory
Azriel usually doted on Jibril to an absurd degree. She loved wrapping her arms around the youngest Flügel, squeezing her tight until Jibril's annoyance boiled over into outright hostility.
But today, the grand library of Avant Heim held no warmth. Azriel was not doting.
Her amber eyes were sharp, entirely devoid of their usual playful glint. Even her signature verbal tic—the playful 'nya' she attached to the end of every sentence—was completely absent.
Recently, Jibril's behavior had completely violated the Flügel code of conduct. The youngest, most bloodthirsty weapon of the Old Deus Artosh was acting entirely out of character. Instead of hunting down lesser races or seeking glorious combat, the typically arrogant Jibril was buried in the library. She was carefully sifting through ancient texts, researching the Elves and the Ex-Machina.
Those two special races were somewhat understandable. But what truly unsettled Azriel was Jibril's primary focus: Humanity. The weakest, most insignificant dirt-dwellers on the planet.
No matter how Azriel looked at it, her little sister's behavior was deeply abnormal., Jibril usually possessed a whimsical, chaotic personality. Now, she had become unnervingly quiet. It was as if she had suddenly matured, her chaotic edges smoothed over into a steady, calculating calm.
"Jibril, answer me. What exactly are you doing?" Azriel's voice cut through the silent library, sharp and demanding.
A heavy thud echoed through the vast room as Jibril closed her thick tome.
She lifted her chin, her golden cross-shaped pupils meeting Azriel's gaze with an eerie calm. Azriel searched those eyes for the familiar spark of madness, the thirst for slaughter. Instead, she found only a swirling, deep-seated confusion clouding her sister's gaze.
"I do not know."
Her lips parted slightly as she delivered an answer that left Azriel completely stunned. Jibril truly had no idea what she was doing, or why this sudden obsession had taken root in her mind.
It all stemmed from a dream. A dream so vivid, so suffocatingly real, that it bled into her waking hours. She needed to know why, in that vision, an Elf had become her teacher. She needed to understand why she, a proud weapon of the heavens, would ever stand side-by-side with Humans and Ex-Machina as friends.
And most terrifying of all... she needed to know why a Flügel, whose sole existence was meant to offer the Throne of True God to Lord Artosh, would fall desperately in love with a Human man.
All of this agonizing confusion stemmed from that single, hyper-realistic dream. The moment Jibril woke up, she had rushed to the library, desperately searching for any historical traces of the people she had seen.
"Azriel... can I tell you everything that is confusing me?" Jibril asked softly. The heavy, unfamiliar emotions swelling in her chest demanded release.
Hearing the genuine vulnerability in her little sister's voice, Azriel felt her rigid posture soften. She gave a slow nod. "Alright. I will listen."
For the next hour, Jibril laid bare every fragment of her impossible dream. She described the faces, the battles, the strange warmth of companions, and every minute detail she could recall.
Azriel listened, her brow furrowing deeper with every passing second.
This description was a dream? Could a mere illusion possess such terrifying, granular detail? More... could a Flügel even dream in the first place? Azriel had lived for millennia. She had never experienced a single dream. They were weapons forged for slaughter, designed to kill gods and shatter continents. Dreaming was a superfluous flaw.
Yet, Jibril spoke with such raw conviction that Azriel found herself doubting her own reality. 'Is it just me who cannot dream?' she wondered silently.
"Azriel, what do you make of this?" Jibril asked, her wings drooping slightly.
"I am sorry. I truly do not know." Azriel admitted, her voice tight with frustration.
"Is that so...?" Jibril let out a quiet sigh. She reached for another dusty tome, preparing to dive back into her endless research.
Then, the air shifted.
"Do you want to know everything about that dream? Then come..."
A voice whispered directly into her mind, carrying a strange, magnetic pull. Jibril stiffened, her golden eyes widening.
"Azriel, did you hear anyone speaking?"
"A voice?" Azriel raised an eyebrow, scanning the empty library. "I did not hear anyone speaking besides you."
Jibril fell silent. She turned her head, staring blankly toward the horizon beyond the library's massive arched windows. That voice... it connected deep within her soul. It felt so incredibly familiar.
Seeing Jibril lost in a sudden trance, Azriel stepped forward. "Jibril?"
Whoosh!
Without a single word of warning, the magnificent pink and white wings on Jibril's back flared open. A violent gust of wind scattered the ancient texts across the floor as Jibril launched herself through the window, tearing into the sky under Azriel's astonished gaze.
"Jibril! Where are you going?!" Azriel shouted, her voice laced with sudden panic.
Jibril did not look back. Her gaze remained locked onto a distant point, her flight path unwavering. The bizarre, erratic behavior sent a spike of worry through Azriel's chest. Gritting her teeth, she unfurled her own massive wings and launched into the air, desperately chasing after her sister.
Meanwhile, deep within the lush, heavily guarded borders of the Elven territory, chaos was quietly brewing. The head of the prestigious Nilvalen family had vanished without a trace.
Far below the soaring Flügel, hidden within the treacherous ruins of the world, the Human settlement operated in tense silence.
Rick stood near the edge of the camp, his expression grim.
"Rick, no matter what we try, we cannot get anywhere near Couronne," one of the scouts reported, wiping ash and sweat from his brow.
Rick crossed his arms, his mind racing through the variables. "Call off the attempts. There is no need to try anymore."
He was absolutely certain that Couronne's current isolation was the direct work of Ren. If Ren wanted them kept away, no amount of futile struggling would breach his defenses. Patiently waiting was the only logical move.
As Rick analyzed Ren's sudden appearance, a dangerously bold idea began to take shape in his mind. Ren possessed power that defied all logic. He could resurrect the dead. He maintained an active, almost protective interest in Humanity. He was even willing to engage in deep, intimate acts with Couronne.
In a world where every other race viewed Humans as nothing more than walking meat—creatures to be slaughtered for sport or enslaved for labor—this was an anomaly of monumental proportions. Who would willingly befriend weak, hairless monkeys?
Rick possessed a brutal, unflinching sense of self-awareness. He knew exactly what Humanity was in this war-torn world: prey. Only by maintaining this cold, rational perspective could he keep his people alive and make the most optimal decisions.
But now, an opportunity had presented itself. A massive, unshakable tree had appeared in the middle of a hurricane, and Rick fully intended to use it as shelter.
Just as Rick began formulating the exact words he would use to beg Ren for his protection, the sky collapsed.
A terrifying, suffocating pressure slammed into the earth. It felt as though gravity itself had multiplied tenfold. Every single Human working in the camp was instantly forced to their knees, their faces pressed into the dirt.
Rick hit the ground hard, his breath catching in his throat as sheer terror gripped his heart. His face drained of color. 'This power... it belongs to one of the higher races. Have we been discovered?'
"Azriel, what are you doing?!"
The voice echoed from the heavens. The one radiating this lethal, crushing aura was Azriel, who had followed Jibril all the way from the sky.
"Jibril, this is a hidden settlement of the Humans," Azriel replied coldly, her eyes narrowing at the trembling figures below. "Weak, insignificant dirt should simply be swept away to pave the road for Lord Artosh's throne, nya~"
Azriel raised a hand, gathering a terrifying concentration of destructive magic, fully prepared to wipe the settlement off the map.
But Jibril darted forward, placing herself directly between Azriel and the Human camp below.
"Azriel, stop!"
Azriel's magical output faltered, her expression twisting into deep, genuine confusion. "Jibril... what is wrong with you?"
"I do not know," Jibril replied, her voice steady, her golden eyes burning with absolute resolve. "That is why I came here. To seek answers. And I will not allow you to destroy this place."
Azriel stared at her little sister. In all her millennia of existence, she had never seen Jibril defend a lesser race. She had never seen this protective, unyielding fire in her eyes. Pressing her lips into a thin line, Azriel slowly lowered her hand, withdrawing the suffocating pressure that blanketed the camp.
Suddenly, Azriel's gaze snapped downward, her combat instincts flaring to life.
Directly beneath them, right in the center of the Human settlement, the fabric of reality began to tear. A massive spatial rift tore open, spilling an unknown, terrifying energy into the air.
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