Chapter 688 Night Raid The Assassins’ Vow

The night fell silently. There were no stars, no moon, only a dark sky that pressed down on every breath. A thin mist crept through the cracks of the Sanctuary Plum Blossom ruins, wrapping the remnants of the world in cold and whispers of death. While the surviving people tried to rest among the rubble and small embers, the ticking of an old clock on the collapsed altar ticked slowly, marking the arrival of something invisible.

In the midst of the silence, black footsteps emerged—shadows behind the cracked stone pillars, sneaking between the sleeping bodies, carrying the scent of poison, steel, and death. The Black Vow, the deadliest assassin squad of Earth, was sent tonight not to wage war, but to end everything: they were tasked with hunting and killing the last womb of the world, silently, without witnesses.

Under the shadow of the cracked Sanctuary walls, a young woman in a black uniform, Mira, stood before her seven squad members. Her eyes were sharp, filled with inner wounds, yet her determination never waned.

"Remember the oath tonight," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "No mercy. Anyone who protects Joanna, the guardian, angel, or the people—kill. If we fail, burn this world before dawn. Our names will be erased from history, but tonight we will be the ones to determine the fate of the world."

One squad member, a muscular man named Draven, looked at Mira with doubt. "But, Mira, are we really ready to erase everything we love?"

Mira stared at him sharply, "We have no choice, Draven. This is the path we chose."

The seven members of The Black Vow bowed, each carrying a glyph dagger, vials of poison, and black arrows. They spread in all directions, creeping in the shadows, ready to take lives with a single silent strike.

At the central altar of the Sanctuary, Joanna was still awake, sitting atop the stone ruins. She heard the sound of soft footsteps, thinner than the breath of the night. The Core of Michael pulsed in her chest—the fire that once was gentle now turned wild, as if heaven and hell were chasing each other within one body.

Uriel, one of the remaining angels, held the wounds in her wings and approached slowly. "Joanna, something is coming from the east and north. I can smell blood and poison… They are not an ordinary force."

Joanna closed her eyes, feeling the flow of aether in the air—the air that once carried hope was now laden with death. She knew, tonight was a night of slaughter, not an open resistance, but the final test for those who wished to survive.

"We must prepare, Uriel." Joanna opened her eyes, looking towards the ruins surrounding her. "If this is the end, then we will fight until our last breath."

However, one by one, the guardians on watch began to fall. Luria, the young guardian who had almost succumbed to despair, now raised her spear trembling at the western gate. She caught a glimpse of a black figure darting by before her neck was slashed by a glyph blade, and blood soaked the sacred ground.

Sabina, who was guarding the people in the basement, heard muffled screams. She quickly raised her sword, but a member of The Black Vow had already broken through, injecting poison into her shoulder before she could scream. With her remaining strength, Sabina closed the secret door, holding her last breath to keep the hiding place of Iris and the small children a secret.

Lyra herself broke into the main altar, her eyes meeting Joanna's. No words, no anger. Just an understanding between two people who had both lost everything.

"You don't have to do this, Lyra." Joanna tried to reach for Lyra's humanity. "We can find another way."

Lyra drew her sword, "There is no other way, Joanna. There is only one end."

Joanna stood, Michael's wings glowing with pale blue light, and the night was split by two determinations that could no longer retreat.

The battle between Joanna and Lyra did not explode in magic or loud explosions. They circled each other in silence, weapons and wings reflecting the light of the newly ignited embers.

Lyra struck first, thrusting straight with speed beyond human comprehension. Joanna parried with her bare hands, allowing the wound on her shoulder to open, blood mixing with the aura of fire. The Core of Michael ignited—not red, but golden blue, a fire that did not burn the world but burned the souls of the damned.

Joanna whispered an ancient mantra of Michael, her soft voice ringing amidst the chaos of death: "Lux Caelestis Ignis—heavenly fire, burn those who no longer know mercy!"

In an instant, the altar and the corridors of the Sanctuary were filled with swirling golden blue fire, forming a circle of heavenly sigils. One by one, the members of The Black Vow hiding in the corridors were burned from within—their bodies collapsed, leaving no ashes. Only the sounds of regretful sobs and whispers of names they had once betrayed remained.

Rina, though her body was burned by the aura, forced herself to endure. She swung her sword, breaking through the wall of glyph fire, but each of her movements slowed as Michael's fire pierced the layers of her soul's defenses.

Joanna looked at Rina, her blue eyes now igniting fire from two worlds. "You want to erase names, Rina? But tonight, only the names of those who love this world deserve to survive."

With a single sweep of her wings, Joanna hurled Rina against the stone wall. Michael's fire surrounded the assassin, burning her sins and grudges until only the fragile remnants of humanity remained—no more hatred, only unspoken regret.

Michael's fire did not only kill but also erased the traces of sin and forced the remaining souls to confront their own wounds. The remaining members of The Black Vow, burned before they could escape, left behind the haunting whispers: "Forgive us, world we have destroyed…"

The people of the Sanctuary, hiding in the dark corners, felt the heat of the fire without wounds, as if that night every fear and trauma was lifted from their chests, replaced by an emptiness and exhaustion that was hard to explain.

The remaining angels—Uriel, Raphael, Zadkiel—knelt beside Joanna. The light of the fire around them faded, leaving behind blue ashes that fell slowly to the floor. They knew, Joanna was now not just a leader, but a healer of the world's wounds.

Dawn approached, bringing cold dew that washed away the remnants of blood and ashes from the altar. The Sanctuary Plum Blossom, which had been struck by the wrath of earth and sky last night, now only left emptiness. The surviving people held each other's hands, gazing at Joanna who stood alone in the middle of the altar, cleansed of stains.

Joanna bowed her head, her body trembling under the weight of the Core of Michael. She knew, the heavenly fire could only be used once—and each time, a part of her humanity burned along with the enemy.

Uriel approached, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You have replaced Michael, Joanna. But do not forget, the world also needs someone who can still cry, not just punish."

Joanna nodded slowly, tears falling for the first time since the night of the fall. She gazed at the sky that was beginning to turn blue, pleading with the world for the remnants of hope to still grow, even if only among the ashes and bitter memories.

"We will rebuild," Joanna whispered, "We will remember all that was lost, and we will fight for the future."

The starless night had passed. Yet in the silence, all who survived knew—every dark night must now be traversed not with prayer, but with the courage to accept a world without miracles again.