Chapter 687 Angels Fall in Silence

After the final explosion of Bellator Ultima ripped through the sky of Sanctuary, the world seemed to plunge into a void. There were no victory cheers, nor the roars of pain that usually herald a new chapter of bloodshed. Only the sound of crumbling stone and the whisper of fine dust danced in the frigid air. For a moment, the entire world held its breath, choked by the remnants of magic that still flickered faintly on the horizon.

"What have we done?" Joanna's voice trembled, as if overwhelmed by profound sorrow. She felt true anguish as she recalled the beautiful moments when they had once protected this world. With every word that escaped her lips, a sense of loss gnawed deeper at her soul. "Is this the price we must pay to return to the beginning?"

Above the ruins of the central altar of Plum Blossom Sanctuary, Joanna stood alone, her silhouette enveloped in the pale light of dawn that hesitated to pierce through the mist. The golden-white wings on her back shivered, having lost their heavenly splendor. Dried blood dripped from her singed feathers. Now unprotected—Michael's core had fully become a part of her—Joanna gazed down at the earth, at a world that had just lost the meaning of "paradise." A shadow of the past flashed in her mind; faces she had once loved, their voices trembling with hope, now reduced to bitter memories. "Where has it all gone?" she murmured, her voice heavy with heart-wrenching sadness.

The profound loneliness crept into her heart, filling the void left by this downfall. In the suffocating silence, she felt the gazes of the remaining friends, as if they too shared the same bitter burden. "We… we cannot give up," she whispered, even though her inner self was filled with doubt. The flame of fighting spirit within her still flickered, though its banner was starting to fade.

The remaining angels, no more than five, were scattered among the ruins and the frozen bodies. Zadkiel crawled towards the collapsed wall, her wings broken at the joints, and her once radiant face now reflected the shadows of failure.

"We should have been able to protect them," Zadkiel struggled to encourage herself, her voice hoarse and full of regret. "We should have stopped this destruction." Yet, the inability was clearly reflected in their eyes. Guilt gnawed at her soul, weighing down on her as if the burden of the heavens pressed upon her.

Remiel and Uriel stood beside Joanna, exchanging looks of understanding. With the strength that remained, Uriel raised his voice. "We may have fallen, but we still have each other. In this darkness, we can find light." However, in his heart, he too doubted whether they could produce it. Everything felt so empty. Would his words inspire the revival of the fighting spirit that had vanished?

Joanna surveyed them, as if trying to absorb every remaining presence. "We must fight for the hope that remains, for every soul we have saved," she said, her voice trembling with a conviction that might only be meant to reassure herself. She understood that gathering the courage to move forward was the greatest struggle. "We cannot allow this world to be forgotten like we have."

The remaining angels, no more than five, were scattered among the debris and frozen bodies. Zadkiel crawled to the crumbling wall, his wings broken at the joints, his once-radiant face now a shadow of failure. In his hollow gaze, memories of the hopeful voices that once filled the sky above Sanctuary flooded back. But now, only a biting silence clung to him, infiltrating his soul and dulling the remnants of his humanity. Remiel and Uriel stood by Joanna, their auras nearly extinguished. Both observed the ruins with tear-filled eyes, haunted by memories of the times they had lovingly protected humanity. Only Raphael continued to try to stand, helping one civilian after another left behind in the rubble, despite his own trembling hands and legs. In his heart, Raphael screamed, pleading with a higher power to reach out, but the only response was silence, as if the universe had closed itself off from his cries.

They, creatures once revered in prayers and hopes, have now become silent witnesses to the destruction they cannot halt. In the darkness, Joanna felt a profound emotional upheaval, as if she was bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders. The existence of angels, once symbols of protection and grandeur, now faded into hollow shadows, leaving her as the last remaining messenger, caught in a web of helplessness. The voice of uncertainty carved wounds within her, birthing questions that were difficult to answer.

The sky above the Sanctuary mirrored the death of hope. There were no heavenly songs pouring down blessings—only the occasional rumble of stones echoing from the ruins. It was as if the sky itself reflected the sorrow enveloping the hearts of everyone who inhabited this place. The surviving people began to gather slowly, forming a circle amidst the remnants of the altar, their gazes fixed on the angels with a blend of fear, grief, and anger. In that silence, a sense of mutual support emerged among them, yet it was overshadowed by deep pain.

A mother cradled her injured child, staggering toward Joanna with shimmering eyes. "If even the angels cannot help us, who else can we turn to?" she whispered softly. Her question resonated in Joanna's soul, creating a new wound within. Joanna felt every shattered hope, every longing for help that remained elusive. The moment seemed to ensnare all the emotions that had taken root in the depths of her heart, and she realized she had no answers for the lost hopes.

Joanna felt the weight of that question gnawing at her, causing tears to fall from the corners of her eyes. "Where can a miracle come from if faith itself is fading?" she thought, engulfed in despair. At that moment, she wished she could share strength, but her presence now felt like a candle almost extinguished in the dark. Within her heart, she recalled a past filled with light, a time when she still had hope to save those trapped in darkness. Each breath she took was a cry for the fallen angels, awakened again by a deep remorse for being unable to protect those who remained.

In those moments of fervor, the soft voices of the gathered people could be heard, whispering about the miracles they once witnessed. "The angels will return," one of them said, but the words sounded thin and weak. Joanna bit her lip, determined not to let that hope extinguish, even as doubts swirled fiercely in her heart. She understood that one must not surrender hope, even in the midst of fragile darkness. Only through hope could she think that they might find love again. Although everything seemed impossible at the moment, she promised herself to fight for those who remained.

Joanna stifled a sob, her hands clenched behind her battle cloak. When her voice finally emerged, it was colder than the morning wind:\

"I am no longer a messenger of heaven. I am merely someone who was once loved by Michael. And today, even miracles choose to remain silent."

She tried to steady her breath, feeling the dark tremors swirling within her. Memories of Michael flashed by, as if his shadow whispered comforting words that now felt foreign. There were too many touching memories, too many shattered hopes. What is the meaning of love if that love can only watch the downfall unfold before its eyes?

There was no denying it. Amidst the kneeling shadows of angels, the wails of children and the screams of traumatized protectors filled the space that once was sacred, graced by magic and sacred songs. In the chilling silence, Joanna felt the sorrow seep into the souls of everyone present—each cry of the night weaving them together in an unending web of grief.

Zadkiel struggled to rise, but fell again, blood streaming from his shattered wings.\

"Joanna, why doesn't the sky hear us anymore?" he asked hoarsely, gazing at the dawn that stubbornly refused to break. So many hopes had been severed, and the pain coursed through every pore of his skin.

Joanna bowed her head. Within her, Michael's essence surged like an uncontrollable lava—pain, betrayal, and emptiness fused as one.\

"Because when we accept the world, we also embrace its falls. Michael's essence… is no longer the light binding the sky, but rather a burden that demands a higher price than any sacrifice." She felt the powerlessness enveloping them, an injustice that seemed to summon shadows embracing each of them, breaths heavy with despondency.

The pain pierced Zahdiel's heart as he sat silently in the corner. From his view, the once shining sky transformed into an abyss of darkness, calling forth the lost souls. His body trembled, recalling what he had done to illuminate the world and to maintain the unity of heaven and earth. Now, everything felt empty.

Raphael wept silently, trying to soothe the wounds of a young boy who cried in his embrace. In that hold, he could feel the small body tremble, each sob flowing like an unstoppable river. Uriel gently stroked the head of a young guardian, who was half conscious, whispering silent prayers. In his mind, a wilted hope flickered, yet he knew that this hope had to be revived, no matter the cost.

Darkness continued to envelop the place, as if it were consuming all the remaining light. Joanna lifted her gaze, looking at the gloomy sky above. Perhaps, amidst this awakening, they could find a new meaning. Maybe, there was still light left—a light waiting to be called back. She prayed silently, hoping that old promises could come to fruition once again.

Other angels simply gazed down at the earth, afraid to look up at the sky they once called home. They understood that their fall had spread sorrow to every living human. Among them, a sigh filled with regret echoed, as if mourning a loss that could never be changed. From the frayed edges of one battered wing, an angel whispered, "Do we still deserve to be called leaders when we have failed to protect the weak?"

On the streets, the people gathered around small fires kindled to warm their frozen bodies. The roar of the night wind accompanied the steady stream of tears that rolled down, carrying hope far from them. They embraced one another; some wept for lost family, while others stood silent with vacant eyes, as though their hearts had already died. In the midst of the crowd, an elderly woman squeezed her granddaughter's hand, searching the faces around her. "Where are you, dear angels? Why have your promises not yet come true?"

An old man, the former protector of Oda, raised his wooden staff towards the remaining angels.\

"You came bearing the promises of the heavens, yet now you only bring death. Have the angels too perished, just like all of us?" His voice cracked, as if each word was a burden heavier than his own life. He gazed intently, hoping to find a glimmer of hope among the faces that were nearly desolate.

Some of the people lowered their heads, unable to challenge the despair that enveloped them. However, a teenage girl with short hair stepped forward, her tears streaming down her face.\

"Don't blame the angels. This world was already broken before they arrived. It is we who refuse to help one another—angels only hasten the inevitable destruction." Her gaze was filled with courage, though her voice trembled, yearning for those shaken by grief to see the truth within the darkness.

Joanna overheard the conversation, her heart shattered by a guilt that could not be atoned for with any sacrifice. She recalled Oda's sweet smile and how she had promised to protect all her loved ones. In her heart-wrenching longing, she prayed, "God, what more must I do? They need more than just words."

As dusk settled in, Joanna climbed onto the ruins of the altar, gazing at the crowd that was starting to shift wearily. She raised her hands, and a soft light—not heavenly light, but a warm and mortal glow—radiated from her palms. In that moment, she felt a flow of energy that had long been severed, as if the wind whispered to her about all the souls trapped in sorrow.

"We are not alone," she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible. "Angels still exist, even if unseen. This loss will not consume us forever." She felt courage flowing within her, empowering each step she took to uplift those who remained. With a heart trembling with conviction, she pondered, "What if we could transform this grief into strength? What if we could offer each other hope?"

"I am Joanna Fate, the new Michael. I cannot promise that heaven will help you again. But I can still write the names of those who have vanished. I can still give you a reason to stand in a world that has lost its meaning."

The light in her hands flowed into the ground, forming a simple glyph: a small circle with intersecting lines—a symbol for those who have endured even as miracles have faded away.

However, as the light danced upon the earth's surface, Joanna felt a heavier burden in her heart. Each line that formed seemed to carve memories of the past, a time when miracles still enveloped this world. For a brief moment, she recalled the angels who once stood beside her, gradually fading away one by one, and she felt a profound sadness, like the cold wind turning blue amidst the ruins.

The angels knelt silently behind Joanna, their heads bowed. They accepted their fall, becoming part of the fragile human world for the first time—wounded yet still clutching at the remnants of hope among the ruins. Perhaps transitioning from the heavens to the earth was their destiny, and in that moment, Joanna felt a deep connection with each fallen angel; they were now woven into a new story, one filled with unspoken cries and unyielding hope.

"Are we truly cursed?" one of the angels asked, her voice soft yet trembling with fear. "Is there no way back?"

Joanna turned to meet their once-bright gaze, now dimmed. "We are not cursed," she replied gently, "we are the chosen ones, even though we have lost everything. Each collapse is an opportunity to rise from the darkness."

Night descended swiftly, bringing a chill that penetrated to the bone. The survivors began lighting fires in the corners of the remaining Sanctuary, sharing food, stories, and their fears. Whispers floated among the flames, recounting long-forgotten legends of when angels walked among them, and miracles still existed.

A young protector, having lost one hand and half of his vision, leaned closer to Joanna.\

"What will we do tomorrow, Joanna? Can we still survive?"

Joanna gazed into the remnants of the city walls, then up at the dark sky devoid of stars. Fear weighed heavily on her spirit, threatening to extinguish her resolve. She closed her eyes and prayed to a higher power, hoping to find the right answers. She longed for the moments when the sky shimmered with vibrant colors and the sound of angels sang praises. Yet, reality now demanded courage beyond mere hope.

"We will live. We will endure, not because of angels, not because of miracles. But because this world—just as I do—can still write a new chapter, even when the ink runs dry."

The voice of despair intertwined with a fierce desire to fight shone through her words. Yet deep within, Joanna understood that true strength stemmed from the presence and support of one another. She felt hands filled with hope reaching out to her, as if begging her not to give up.

"We are the souls still standing on this earth," she continued, "Every breath we take is a declaration that we still exist. We will seek the light in this darkness, and if we stand united, nothing can stop us."

From a distance, the sound of Earth's drums echoed once more, a sign that the war was not truly over. Yet tonight, there was no running, no attempts to hide. Everyone accepted silence and loss as the only fair answers. The remaining community gathered in a small circle, their faces weary yet filled with hope, reminiscent of the strength that once united them in goodness.

In the midst of faded hopes, a small child stood before Joanna, her eyes full of questions. "What happened to the angels?" he asked, his voice trembling. Joanna looked down, her heart aching at the profound confusion in those innocent eyes. "The angels have not vanished, dear. They have merely... relinquished themselves for us. They are giving us a chance to learn and grow," she replied, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

At the altar that had been flattened to the ground, Joanna inscribed the names of protectors, angels, and people who had been lost upon the cracked stone. With each stroke, she felt a deeper emotional weight. She closed her eyes, whispering one final prayer, not to the heavens but to the earth—hoping the earth would accept new wounds without demanding more blood. The gentle sound of the whispering wind seemed to respond to her prayer, promising peace among those who had struggled.

At the same time, memories of their time together with the angels resurfaced in her mind. In those bright days, when laughter and joy filled the air, longing could still be disguised by hope. However, now it all felt like an illusion. A cold sweat trickled down her forehead as she tried to recall the loving gaze of the angels, making her certain that the path they chose was a sacred one.

As night fully enveloped the Sanctuary, the last angels lay beside Joanna, embracing silence and emptiness as the end of their duty. The emotional bond felt so exhausting; a bittersweet sensation wrapped around them, with the understanding that they had done all that was possible. "We cannot leave," whispered one of the angels, her voice soft and filled with sorrow. "We will forever watch over you, even if we are no longer visible." Joanna felt their presence, like an unseen shadow that was inseparable.

In the midst of a world that had lost the voice of heaven, humans and angels united for the first time in a silence filled with meaning: a silence that required no redemption, only the acceptance that sometimes, enduring is the highest form of wonder. Joanna raised her hand toward the dark sky, feeling the warm air enveloping her, wishing she could grasp all the hopes and carry them into the souls that were lost. "We must continue to fight, even when we are betrayed," she said passionately, as if the voice of the angel resonated in her ears. "For even in pain, there is beauty to be found."