Chapter 825: Destroy the World for You! The Beginning and End of the God-Slaying Flügel
Ren explained the origin of that hyper-realistic dreamscape to the bewildered Corone.
"So... that is how it is..."
Corone murmured, her voice barely a whisper as the sheer magnitude of the revelation washed over her. She finally understood the true nature of the reality they had just experienced. Her gaze drifted toward Shuvi, her eyes swimming with a deep, aching envy.
She could not even begin to fathom the terrifying depths of Ren's power. To drag every single race, every living soul across the entire world, into a perfectly constructed, seamless dream? It was the work of a supreme deity. Yet, what truly shook Corone to her core was not the power itself, but the motive behind it. He had orchestrated this monumental feat for one singular purpose: to help Shuvi, an Ex Machina, grasp the abstract, fragile concept of a human heart and human emotions.
He had rewritten the fabric of a world just for one person.
If a man ever went to such unimaginable lengths for her, Corone knew she would fall hopelessly, irrevocably in love.
Even without being the primary focus of his grand design, she had spent decades immersed in that beautiful, fabricated utopia. The gentle days, the shared laughter, the quiet moments—they had already woven their magic. She had grown deeply, undeniably fond of the man standing before her.
"Th-that..."
Corone stammered, her cheeks burning as she nervously tapped her index fingers together. She averted her gaze, staring intensely at the floorboards.
"Before, I... I..."
She struggled to find the words to explain her recent, rather bold actions, her mind a tangled mess of embarrassment and lingering affection.
Ren did not let her flounder. He cut through the tension with his usual, effortless pragmatism. "Corone, would you like to stay by my side?"
Corone blinked, her brain stalling as she tried to process the weight of that simple question.
Seeing her confusion, Ren elaborated, his tone casual but his eyes locked onto hers. "It means to date me. Or to marry me in the future. Or simply to become my woman. What do you think?"
Instantly, Corone's face flushed a brilliant, violent crimson.
The sheer bluntness of his proposal hit her like a physical strike. Happiness surged through her veins, so sudden and overwhelming that the room seemed to spin. She felt entirely dizzy, her knees threatening to buckle under the weight of her soaring heart.
"B-but Shuvi..." Corone managed to squeak out, her eyes darting toward the Ex Machina girl, guilt warring with her elation.
"I do not mind. It is perfectly fine if Corone comes along," Shuvi replied, her voice smooth and entirely devoid of malice. She tilted her head, her mechanical yet expressive eyes blinking innocently. "And Jibril, and Teacher Think... would it not be nice if everyone lived together?"
Corone stared at Shuvi in absolute shock, her jaw slightly slack. "Shuvi, you... will you not be jealous at all?"
Shuvi's brow furrowed slightly in genuine confusion. "Why would I be jealous? Everyone living together forever is a very happy outcome."
"Shuvi has never cared about such trivial issues. So, Corone, what is your answer?"
Ren steered the conversation back on track, a low, amused chuckle rumbling in his chest. He stepped closer, his presence enveloping her. "Let me warn you in advance. Since I have already kissed you, my possessiveness will not allow me to let you go to anyone else. I imagine that with my power, destroying an entire world just to keep you would be absolutely no problem."
Corone's breath hitched. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Just moments ago, she had been envying Shuvi for having a dream world created for her. Now, this impossibly powerful man was casually declaring his willingness to annihilate a real world for her sake.
It was intoxicating. She did not mind his domineering, possessive words in the slightest. In fact, they shattered the last of her restraint.
Corone threw herself forward, crashing into his chest. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, greedily inhaling his masculine scent.
"Ren-kun..." she murmured, her voice thick with absolute infatuation. "I want to be your woman... forever... Ren-kun, I truly, truly like you..."
Even Ren, accustomed to his own charm, had not anticipated such a ravenous response. Her hands roamed eagerly over his back, her lips pressing feverish, wet kisses against his skin.
Feeling the side of his neck grow increasingly damp, Ren cast a sidelong glance at Shuvi.
"Shuvi," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "That thing you mentioned wanting to do earlier... do you want to try it together?"
"Together?!" Shuvi's synthetic eyes flared with a bright, eager light. "If it is with Corone, I have no problem with that!"
With a flick of Ren's wrist, a soundproof, opaque barrier snapped into existence, sealing off the room from the outside world. Corone's body gave a violent, anticipating tremble as she was gently pushed back, tumbling onto the expansive, impossibly soft mattress.
Far removed from that intimate sanctuary, the world operated under a different, far more brutal set of rules.
The Flügel.
Ranked sixth among the sixteen Exceed races. Their most defining physical characteristics were the geometric halos floating above their heads and the ethereal wings sprouting from their lower backs. The halo was not merely an ornament; it was a highly complex construct capable of multiple uses and transformations, serving as the core of their magical manipulation.
They were forged by the hands of Artosh, the Old Deus of War.
Artosh was a divine entity who sustained himself on the pure essence of battle intent, hatred, malice, and spilled blood. He cared nothing for the trivial pursuits of mortals. Desire, emotion, political power, wealth—all were utterly meaningless to him. The only thing that stirred his divine blood was conflict, specifically the thrill of clashing with overwhelmingly strong opponents.
He had created the Flügel for one singular purpose: to serve as his vanguard while he sat high upon his heavenly throne, watching them orchestrate one apocalyptic war after another.
To him, the Flügel were not children; they were living, breathing weapons designed to slaughter gods. Alongside the Ex Machina, they were the ultimate god-slaying race.
They were the God-Slayers—a divine sword forged to annihilate all other races. A blade born solely to carve a path of absolute ruin and dedicate the throne of the One True God to Artosh.
When a mortal found themselves swept by the cold, calculating gaze of a Flügel, they were instantly gripped by the chilling, inescapable illusion of their own impending death.
At this very moment, high above the clouds at the gathering place of the Flügel, two extraordinary members of this god-slaying race stood together.
They were anomalies, even among their own kind.
One represented the absolute beginning.
The other represented the absolute end.
The first was the Speaker of the Council of Eighteen Wings. The full-winged representative of the entire Flügel race.
She possessed flowing emerald-green hair, a single elegant horn protruding from her head, and striking heterochromatic eyes—one a deep, oceanic blue, the other a piercing, radiant gold. From her waist extended a pair of perfectly symmetrical wings that appeared to be woven from pure, solid light. The halo hovering above her head was a masterpiece of magical engineering, its patterns impossibly complex, formed from overlapping, complex magic circles and shifting geometric shapes.
Her name was Azriel. She was the very first Flügel ever created, boasting an age that exceeded twenty-six thousand years.
She habitually wore a perfectly crafted, angelic smile, a flawless mask designed to conceal the true, great depths of her thoughts. She had unilaterally declared herself the beloved 'older sister' of all Flügel. She had even gone so far as to attempt passing official legislation that would legally mandate every Flügel to sincerely address her as such—a motion that was immediately and collectively vetoed by every single attendee of the Council.
She was the leader of their race, holding the absolute right to execute her own kind.
Yet, paradoxically, she commanded almost zero prestige among her peers. The other Flügel openly regarded her as a complete idiot. They frequently spoke to her with blatant disrespect, often referring to her simply as 'that thing'. Even her creator, the mighty Artosh, had once bluntly admitted that she was both "unattractive and an idiot."
But beneath that goofy, dismissed exterior lay a terrifying truth.
As the prototype, the number one individual created upon a foundation of theoretical perfection, Azriel possessed unmatched, world-shattering combat power and a will as cold and unyielding as absolute zero. She was a creature who would not hesitate to use her own beloved companions as meat shields if it meant securing the death of an Old Deus.
"Jibril, what exactly are you doing?" Azriel questioned, her tone tilting in a sing-song manner as she addressed the other Flügel in the room.
The one she spoke to was an angelic maiden whose beauty rivaled that of a goddess. Yet, her entire being emanated an overwhelming, suffocating presence that demanded absolute submission.
A complex, shifting geometric halo rotated slowly above her head. From her lower back, precisely 0.8 units outward, sprouted faint, glowing wings—appendages far too small to ever allow her body to float according to the laws of standard aerodynamics. Her impossibly long hair flowed around her, continuously fluttering and dancing despite the absolute stillness of the windless room. Whenever a single strand swayed, it caught the ambient light, refracting it like a prism and shimmering with the brilliant colors of a rainbow.
Her eyes were only slightly open.
The killing intent hidden within that narrow, golden gaze was so dense it felt as though it possessed actual physical mass.
If Azriel represented the beginning as the first of their kind, then Jibril was the absolute end. She was the final individual to be born among the Flügel, the ultimate, perfected model.
Though she was the youngest, her actual age still spanned a staggering 6,407 years. Like all of her kin, she possessed eternal life. And even among a race of god-slaying weapons, her combat indicators and destructive capabilities stood at the absolute, terrifying pinnacle.
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