Chapter 685 The New Dawn of Michael

The world seemed to stop breathing. The angels—who once shone like towers of light—now stood silent among the ruins and the fallen bodies of their protectors. Their wings were tattered, the light in their bodies dimming with the loss of their old leader: Michael. Yet amidst the siege of Earth's forces, a new light began to shine from the rubble—not from heaven, but from the heart of a human.

Joanna stood in the midst of the shattered altar, her body covered in dust, her golden eyes gazing at the sky that no longer promised miracles. Within her chest, the core of light that once belonged to Michael pulsed—unstable, as if waiting for a final acknowledgment. In this beautiful yet sorrowful moment, she briefly recalled all the memories shared with Michael; their laughter and tears formed an inseparable bond within her soul. No longer were there angels singing songs of resurrection, only a deafening silence calling the remaining souls.

The angels bowed their heads, some still trembling from the loss. Asmodel, the most loyal, knelt before Joanna. When he looked into Joanna's eyes, there was longing and hope. "Will you be the bridge for us, Lady Joanna? Will you save the sky we love?"

"We have lost the sky, Lady Joanna. Without Michael... without the voice of God... what is left for us?"

Joanna closed her eyes, hearing a voice within her—not the gentle voice of an angel, but the echo of thousands of years of power, war, and forgiveness. Michael's core perfectly merged, spreading a new aura that was not like heavenly light, but like a sword of justice born from suffering. "I am not just a successor," Joanna thought, "I am a bridge for all who have fallen. Within this being, I will revive what has died." With a deep breath, Joanna felt a warm flow of power showering over her, awakening a profound sense of responsibility.

However, with each heartbeat, she also felt a weight capable of crushing a soul. "Am I strong enough? Will I falter before this power fully sharpens?" Joanna sensed doubt, but amidst the pressure of uncertainty, a flame of conviction began to ignite. Her mission was not just to replace, but to create something greater.

The vibrations in Joanna's chest peaked. Around her, the remaining angels—both loyal and those beginning to waver—were swept up in a tide of magic and energy that was suffocating. Joanna bowed her head, her body seeming to bear the weight of a thousand old wars. In one breath, a blue-golden light enveloped her. Her hair glowed—not merely light, but an aura of redemption and wrath at once.

In her mind, whispers from hundreds of lost souls united, demanding justice, resurrection, and vengeance. In that instant, Joanna felt the heavy responsibility aligned with every heartbeat. It was as if the world reminded her of how bitter the path must be before peace could be achieved. In the shadows of chaos, she found her strength—a transition from a tormented soul to a leading force.

Behind her, a pair of new wings grew, different from the other angels—larger, sturdier, their feathers not just white, but glowing with gradients of gold, blue, and dark purple. The mark of Michael shone on her forehead, transforming into a glyph shaped by destiny.

Looking up at the dark sky hanging above, Joanna felt that every color in her wings told the story tied to the lost. "Is this what they call destiny?" she murmured. In that moment, she felt Michael's presence, an energy reigniting the flickering flame of her soul, urging her to explore the new path she must take.

Joanna lifted her face, her eyes glowing like two miniature suns. The voice that emerged from her lips was the voice of two worlds—Joanna's human voice, and Michael's divine voice.

"The sky is dead. But a new law will be born from the scorched earth. From this day forth, I—Joanna, the successor of Michael—will be the spearhead and shield of the world. No more miracles without a price. No more forgiveness without blood. Anyone who spills innocent blood, their name will be erased from history."

The aura split the air. The angels knelt in unison, even those who had initially intended to betray. Asmodel bowed deeply, wondering in their hearts who Joanna was now standing before them, bearing an unfathomable burden.

"We... accept your judgment, Lady Michael."

Some angels who had once wavered felt the wave of this new existence. They cried—not from loss, but from finding a new center of gravity that did not come from the heavens, but from the earth and human suffering. In every tear that fell, a new hope was hidden, a rebirth within Joanna, as the new Michael.

In that silence, Joanna felt it—a vessel of the soul full, absorbing sorrow and hope simultaneously. In her heart, she vowed to turn that burden into strength, to transform suffering into beauty, and the tears that fell into light that would guide.

Among the humans, the people hiding in the ruins began to crawl out, their faces filled with hope and fear. They looked at Joanna, not as a distant and cold savior angel, but as the only being capable of feeling their wounds—and avenging them. Each gaze was fixed on their former leader, now in a deeper and stronger form, like a fallen star creating warmth above the darkness of night.

Miel, the last protector who was nearly dead, gazed at Joanna from the altar floor, her lips trembling, awe and vulnerability shining in her eyes. Within herself, she prayed that Joanna, in her transition, would not only bring justice but also everlasting love, uniting the separated souls.

"Will the world... really change now?"

Joanna bowed her head, shedding a single tear—one that mixed with the light of Michael's core. In that moment, the rain of the past and dreams of the future mingled, and she felt connected to every soul before her, a symphony without sound.

"The world will never be the same, Miel. But as long as I stand, no one will be alone."

With Michael's core fully residing within her, Joanna raised her hand—a beam of light sweeping over the ruins, healing some of the people's wounds, calming crying babies, and lifting debris off the victims. But she did not resurrect the dead. The miracle she now possessed was a miracle that knew its limits, a miracle that valued the price of life. In an instant, she felt the weight of this world, and every remaining soul seemed to whisper to her, passing on their hidden hopes and fears. How deep this responsibility was, and how every decision was a heartbeat flowing through her soul.

Before the angels, Joanna issued her first command as the new Michael:

"Today, we are no longer servants of the heavens. We are the protectors of the remaining world. Anyone among you who still holds a grudge against humanity, or regrets this choice, may leave. I will not hold you back. But those who remain, swear: your blood is the blood of the world, no longer the blood of heaven."

One by one, the angels nodded, declaring a new oath—not to a distant God, but to Michael, who now stood among them as a fellow wounded being. In her heart, Joanna felt the anxiety and hope, two forces battling against each other, and she knew every angel before her had a story at least similar to hers. Her subconscious connected with them, recognizing the longing to break free from the shackles of the past and reach for a better future.

Joanna's aura spread, influencing the ley lines of the world. The old glyphs in the Sanctuary cracked, replaced by new motifs—a sign of a changing era. Civilian people, surviving protectors, and even some lost Earth soldiers stood in silence, gazing at the phenomenon.

In her heart, Joanna felt every heartbeat becoming one with the vibrations of the earth. "What will happen to all of us?" she thought, the voice of doubt echoing in the silence supporting hope. A new power seeped into her soul, like a seed waiting to grow in fertile soil.

However, far beyond the sanctuary, the vibrations of this new resurrection of Michael triggered another reaction: ancient beings who once feared the name Michael now stirred, sensing the shift in the order of existence. Earth, Gaia, and Oda held their breath, waiting to see if this resurrection would bring salvation or doom.

At the peak of the altar, Joanna, now transformed into Michael, felt the burden of a leader's responsibility not only on her shoulders but seeping into every pore of her skin. "Is there anything left to save?" her voice whispered, against the gentle breeze, as if nature itself was doubting the future. Within her, she recalled the past that taught her the meaning of sacrifice and hope.

Joanna, now Michael, stood at the top of the altar and gazed at the sun that finally rose.

"This dawn is not a gift, but an opportunity. I will protect anyone who chooses to survive. But the world must choose its own path—I will only be the sword and shield, not a god."

Her new light pierced through the remaining fog and smoke. The angels stood behind her. The people began to bravely emerge from the debris, one by one kneeling and calling out Michael's name—not as a god, but as the new leader of the world.

Among them, Joanna felt a bond that transcended physical boundaries. They were not just followers; they were reflections of her hope. In silence, she vowed not to let her wounds become a barrier, but rather a bridge to understanding the pain of others. Love and struggle intertwined in a spirit that would never fade.

Thus, history wrote a new chapter: a world without the sky, without eternal angels, but with Michael born from the tears of humanity itself.