Chapter 686 Earth’s Weapon Bellator Ultima Unleashed

Far from the battlefield, in the heart of the Earth fortress, the command room was filled with the cold metallic aroma and unspoken tension. In the center of the room, King Ardaius stood surrounded by war advisors and the five main generals—the Five Pillars of Dominion—who had returned with grim reports: the miracles of angels, Joanna's immortality, and the desperate defenses of the sanctuary's protectors. A chilling atmosphere enveloped the place, like dark clouds waiting for lightning to strike, presenting a struggle between anxiety and hope in the minds of the soldiers. Everyone knew that every decision made could be the difference between life and emptiness.

The hologram of the battlefield trembled above the large table, displaying the ruins of the sanctuary, the Earth forces besieged by the last defenses of Oda, and at its peak, the strange light from the wings of Joanna, who had now become Michael. Each image displayed seemed to scream, reminding that hope was dwindling. There were whispers of ghosts from the past seeping into the minds of every general, reminding them of all that had been lost and what could potentially vanish further.

Ardaius gazed at the generals with a firm look, his face as hard as a gravestone. "Our time is running out. The light of the angels has humiliated our technology, their miracles delaying victory. But no miracle can defy the laws of nature—today, we will stop everything." His heavy voice echoed in the silence, each word striking like thunder. He knew that the decision he would make might not only be for the sake of victory but also to save countless souls trapped in the darkness of war.

General Gael bowed his head, his voice hoarse, "Your Majesty, Bellator Ultima Prime is ready. However, that shot will erase more than just the enemy—leyline, souls, even the roots of the sanctuary's history will be obliterated. The world may never be the same." Anxiety covered his face, transparent as glass under the sunlight. He knew there was no turning back after this, and under the weight of that responsibility, cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

Ardaius looked around the room, weighing the gravity of the decision. The worry among the other generals wafted like toxic smoke, making him aware that they were on the brink of a precipice. One wrong step and everything would lead to destruction. "If this is the price to pay, then the world must pay it now." His firm voice pierced through the tension, urging each member to focus their thoughts and prepare for what was to come. In their hearts, every general prayed, hoping this sacrifice would not be in vain and that history would not condemn them forever.

On the high ground outside the fallen city, Bellator Ultima Prime stood tall—a massive cannon adorned with black-red glyphs, pulsing with purple light like the pulse of death. In a rumble that shook the ground, it seemed that every cannon blast revived forgotten memories of past battles. Around it, Earth technicians busily checked the glyph stabilizers and adjusted the focus of the magic core, their faces filled with tension and hope, as if they were resurrecting hope buried in the dust of history.

General Lira, in his battle cloak, led the firing ritual. He stood before the control tower, reciting ancient incantations adapted from technology and magic, his loud voice echoing among the machines and the trembling earth. Every word spoken felt alive, as if inviting the spirits of fallen heroes to witness this crucial moment. "Listen, you who are brave," he shouted, "today we are the determiners, we are the hope amidst the void."

"Bellator Ultima, you are not just a tool. You are the end of human will, the breaker of the apocalypse chain, the eraser of old dreams. Today, let not a single name survive if the world must be reborn in blood."

In the main control room, the core glyph capsule—with the remnants of the souls of thousands of years of war—was inserted into the reactor. In the chilling silence, the clamor of mechanical sounds merged with the screams of the ghosts of warriors who had sacrificed everything. Sirens blared, the sky above the sanctuary began to pale, the dark blue light in the clouds swirling like a vortex of doom. And at that moment, a blinding flash of light appeared, marking the beginning of the end or perhaps, the start of a new dark history.

Meanwhile, in the besieged Plum Blossom sanctuary, the scent of death crept through every corridor. The remaining protectors felt a strange magical aura, their hairs standing on end, as if death approached in a form they had never imagined. The whispers of the wind carried tales of downfall and shattered hope, as if waves of darkness slithered into every corner, erasing traces of previous life.

Akiko, the remaining chief protector of Oda, whispered to the weak Nobuzan in her embrace, "Princess, there is something out there… not an army, not magic… but something that rewrites everything." Akiko's gentle voice, as if bearing a heavy burden, was stunned in doubt. She felt uncertainty enveloping them, even as she tried to maintain the remaining spirit for the survival of Oda.

Nobuzan, with labored breaths and half-closed eyes, tried to sit up, holding back the pain in her abdomen that still throbbed from contractions and wounds. "Akiko, what will we do if our hope is shattered?" Nobuzan asked, her voice almost swallowed by sorrow. Both their hearts trembled, bearing the approaching threat as if it were snatching their souls.

"If this is the end of the world, let Oda die without bowing. Do not give them tears, Akiko. Do not give the world a reason to pity us." That voice, full of spirit, broke the silence. As the protectors listened, the vibrations of hope mixed with tension danced in their chests, assuring that resistance was the last choice left.

Joanna, at the central altar of the sanctuary, felt the wave of destruction approaching. The core of Michael in her chest throbbed fiercely, giving a warning that even angels could not comprehend. Like the roar of a storm, the sense of alertness peaked—there was something threatening, and Joanna felt it in every fiber of her being. She closed her eyes for a moment, praying for the strength to ward off this darkness.

"Not only humans will die today… but history itself," Joanna murmured softly. Her words echoed in silence, highlighting how fragile this world was. She thought of all the sacrifices made, all the hopes that might be lost. All of it seemed like morning dew evaporating as the sunlight began to shine.

The angels, now bowing behind Joanna, tightened their ranks. They felt Joanna's will—half human, half Michael—flowing in their hearts. No one backed down, even though they knew that heavenly power was no longer enough to withstand the disaster of humanity. In the chaos, they united, creating a protective aura that, though thin, still held a glimmer of hope. The awareness of the responsibility placed upon them flowed among them, igniting a spirit that was half extinguished.

The siren of Bellator Ultima roared. General Lira, with trembling hands, pulled the main trigger. A burst of purple-black light pierced the clouds, rolling sound and vibration down to the earth's core. The air froze, time seemed to stop—everyone alive held their breath, aware that this moment would change the face of the world forever. Darkness crept like a shadow, enveloping the remaining hope, as if signaling that this war was the beginning of the end.

From above the sanctuary, a beam of light descended like a giant arrow. As it pierced the walls of the sanctuary, the protective glyphs melted one by one, ancient incantations shattered, the leyline of the world split, and the voices of thousands of souls roared as if ripped from history. "No! This cannot be happening!" shouted one soldier as he watched their hope collapse. In panic, he tried to prepare defenses, but all efforts became futile in the face of this terrifying power.

The wave of Bellator Ultima's energy swept across the area: stones, blood, memories, even the meaning attached to the altar, the plum tree, and the gravestones of ancient samurai—all crumbled to dust. No one could resist this power—not Oda's swords, not the angels' spells, not even Michael's core. The sound of a terrifying explosion shook the sky, creating terrifying ripples of emptiness among the ruined shops. "Hold on!" shouted one of the angels, trying to encourage his companions even as fear enveloped them all.

Inside the sanctuary, time seemed to stop. Joanna spread her wings, protecting the last protectors and Nobuzan with all her newfound strength. But the energy was too overwhelming—the walls of reality cracked, underground spaces were uprooted, and the names of Oda began to fade from the world's memory. "We will not lose!" Joanna shouted, her spirit's push seemed to try to bind the fabric of time that was beginning to shatter. However, despite the courage flowing in every fiber of her being, she felt an immeasurable force threatening to consume everything, including herself.

As the flash of Bellator Ultima faded, the world trembled violently. The Plum Blossom sanctuary was no more—only a gaping black crater remained, marking the place where honor and sacrifice once stood. Gray smoke billowed high, and the stench of sulfur haunted the air, creating a suffocating atmosphere of mourning. At the edge of the crater, Joanna collapsed, her body glowing dimly, her wings damaged, and Michael's aura that once blazed now flickered like a candle in the night. Tears streamed down her cheeks, sorrow and despair mingling, as she could only remember the sound of her once-magnificent wings.

Akiko was found unconscious, Nobuzan's body lay beside her, her breath a thin thread—still alive, but her entire body was covered in wounds that ordinary magic could not explain. The sound of soft gasps echoed, each breath felt like a struggle, as if the world expected them to rise again even in darkness.

The angels rose one by one from the rubble, losing half their strength. They turned their gaze to the sky, hoping that the lost light could return, bringing hope and new strength. There was no longer a voice from heaven—only the whispers of a world that had just lost a piece of its soul.

On the other side, the Earth forces stared at the destruction with mixed feelings. There was victory, there was mourning, and there was an emptiness that they could not fill with laughter or tears. Some exchanged glances, hesitant to cheer for a success that felt bitter.

General Lira stared at the dark crater, his hands trembling. "We won… but for what? Is this the world we wanted?" His skeptical voice echoed, reflecting the doubts haunting the soul of a soldier burdened with many unanswered questions.

King Ardaius in the headquarters only bowed his head in silence, aware that the sins of today could never be erased, even by the history they wrote themselves. In his heart, a sense of regret and anger sank, as if every drop of blood spilled was a shadow of a wrong choice.

As the dust settled, the world felt different. The main leyline shifted, the old glyphs no longer worked, and magic in some places was completely paralyzed. Civilian populations—who had lost families, homes, and even the meaning of the past—crawled out from hiding. They only saw a gray sky and dead land. Silence pressed down, as if the earth itself mourned the immeasurable loss.

Amidst the destruction, Joanna slowly rose. Her body was weak, but her golden eyes remained bright. She stood at the edge of the crater, gazing at a world that she must now protect without full miracles, only with the remnants of strength and human will. Behind her, faintly heard were soft voices—sighs that contained hope and fear, mingling in a melody of sorrow.

"The world has changed. Bellator has erased one chapter of history, but I swear—as long as I stand, no more doomsday weapons will determine the fate of the world. Whoever wishes to survive, let us together write a new beginning, not under the shadow of destruction, but under the light of hope that we create ourselves," she declared with a firm voice, trying to lift the nearly extinguished spirit.

The angels drew closer, some crying, some praying. The people slowly began to light small lanterns, a sign that the night had not fully won. Yet they all knew, the price of peace this time was a loss that could not be measured with tears. In that moment, one voice rose among the crowd, "We will rise! Our history will not end with this bitterness!" That voice thundered, bringing new spirit, though fragile.

And amidst the ruins, the world held its breath, waiting for a new chapter, wondering—was Bellator Ultima the end of everything, or the beginning of a world that finally dared to reject the old curse? The unfinished battle loomed in their minds, a prologue to a new quest. Peace would not come easily, but the courage to dream again might be the first step toward a brighter future.