Chapter 693 The Court of Misbirth

There is no day quieter than dawn after the last blood has dried in the ruins of Gaia. The morning air feels dull, as if every breath carries the traces of death and the false promises scattered on the ground, waiting to be held accountable. In the ruins of Basilisk, the former palace and grand court of Gaia, now only pillars and dust remain, and the angels gather. They no longer sing; their wings are tainted with the soot of war, their gazes empty—some beginning to lose the light in their eyes, while others simply bow their heads, waiting for a judgment that may come from no one. It is as if every second of silence is a waiting in the ghosts of the past that still linger in the air, overshadowing them with eternal sorrow.

In the midst of the ruins, Joanna stands alone, wearing white armor stained with blood and dust. Her hair flows freely, her eyes—once full of tenderness—now sharpened, slicing through time and sin with a sincerity that has been overlooked. The light of Michael vibrates around her body, but no longer as pure as heavenly: there is a smoldering anger burning within her, waiting to explode and incinerate all betrayal. Behind her stern face lies a myriad of bitter memories of those who are lost, now only to be remembered in the remnants of her soul, forming wounds deeper than the physical.

Around her, the Court of Misbirth has been prepared: a circle of angels, the remaining people of Gaia, and the surviving protectors, all forming a kind of illusory court where history and fate will be judged by hands full of wounds. Their faces express doubt and fear, as if they know that this day of judgment is merely the beginning of a more terrifying trial. Not a single human voice is heard. Only the trembling sound of the wind and the whispers of the earth wait for Joanna to begin the judgment that feels ever closer, like a storm threatening on the horizon, delivering the message that there is no turning back and hope may only be an illusion.

In the shadowy gloom of the sky filled with gray clouds, Joanna steps into the center of the circle, her voice cold and loud: "The world has failed. The protectors have failed. I myself have failed." She gazes at each one—angels, protectors, and the people, her eyes radiating disappointment and cold anger, mixed with deep sorrow, as if the last flicker of hope behind her face has been extinguished. Every corner of that place is filled with shadows of the past, sacrifices, and lies.

"This world is no longer a place of birth. It is a womb of decay, where every child is hunted before they can even cry. If justice is but a memory, then let me be the hammer of its executioner." With a voice that echoes like thunder in the middle of the night, her declaration shakes the souls of all who hear it, piercing through hardened and wounded hearts. The ground beneath them seems to tremble, feeling the mixture of pain and regret.

The angels kneel, unable to argue, while the room is colored with memories of the peace that once was. Some even weep, realizing that the great angel they once followed has now changed—not a savior, but a destroyer of old illusions, a symbol of the hope that now lies buried in darkness.

On the other side, the remaining civilians can only bow their heads. They have seen hope, then lost everything, trapped in helplessness and unspoken pain. They know that Joanna standing before them is the last force capable of determining whether the world deserves to be reborn or buried forever. In each of their hearts, thoughts of a grim future envelop them like fog, suffocating. With every heartbeat, doubt and hope battle, depicting an infinite inner struggle.

As Joanna stands before the Court of Misbirth, the envoy from Earth arrives, shattering the tense silence: General Gael and Lira, two of the Five Pillars, come with a special force, bringing orders—not to negotiate, but to decide everything today. They are like shadows of darkness that envelop the light of hope, creating a tension that steals the breath from those present. The ground beneath them holds every lost sincerity, every suppressed scream.

Gael speaks, his voice heavy and thunderous: "Joanna Fate, you can choose to stand with us—or you will be destroyed like all the wombs we have sealed!" His words are as cold as the morning dew among the ruins, presenting a deadly choice before Joanna, as if the world demands a new sacrifice.

In the overcast sky, dark shadows cover the earth, creating a thick atmosphere of the resurrection of emptiness. Darkness envelops everything, each breath carrying with it the wilted hope. Lira adds, "There are no more compromises. The world has chosen the path of cleansing. No births, no misbirths—only total destruction."

In the midst of the panic, Joanna stares at them without hesitation, the aura of Michael intensifying the air around her. The hissing sound of fire seems to signal that things will never return to how they were. "I no longer bow to anyone—neither heaven, nor earth, nor fate. Today, the true judgment begins."

She raises her hand, creating a pillar of judgment, a beam of fire and light surrounding Gael and Lira, forcing them to bow under the pressure of Michael's existence. In that moment, a sense of helplessness envelops the angels as if dark clouds cover the dawn.

Some angels begin to whisper among themselves, their voices muffled by the weight of uncertainty. A sense of doubt spreads among them, questioning whether they should follow Joanna, who is becoming increasingly cold and absolute. Like lightning in the night sky, Zadkiel approaches, kneeling: "Are you truly going to destroy the world, Joanna? Were we not sent to save it?"

Joanna merely stares at him—cold, without doubt. The look in her eyes is like cracks on the surface of ice that cannot be avoided. "I was sent to judge. Anyone who rejects justice will vanish. Anyone who rejects sacrifice will be erased from history. No birth is more valuable than the justice that has been trampled upon!"

Some other angels weep, their tears creating rivers of sorrow, while some choose to retreat, afraid of Joanna's rise as a full Michael. The people left in the ruins of the inner war clutch their fear of the terror that continues to haunt them.

Among the crowd squeezed into the remaining space, the flicker of hope seems dim in the darkness of fate. Akiko—the last surviving protector of Oda—clutches her trembling hands, as if trying to ignite the spirit that is beginning to fade. She knows that at this moment, a single word from Joanna could determine whether the world would receive the forgotten forgiveness or simply fall deeper into the abyss of vengeance.

An elderly civilian, a mother who lost her child in the siege of Earth, kneels before Joanna, her face lined with the wrinkles of bitter food from the war era. Her swollen eyes gaze sharply, as if wanting to pierce Joanna's soul, which now trembles. "If you want to end it all, end me too. We have no reason to live in this world anymore, unless there is hope that our suffering is not in vain," her voice is loud yet gentle, like the wind whispering among the shattered ruins.

Joanna holds her breath, for the first time feeling unsteady, as if the dance of death begins to drain her strength. She realizes that true war will always demand a price—and now that price is the tears of the innocent people. In her mind, she envisions how each drop of those tears becomes a lit candle, paving the way for charity, but at the same time, waiting for the moment to be extinguished by the blazing ball of hatred in their hearts. As her eyes scan around, she feels the strength and sorrow intertwined in one body, clutching hope in tearing apart the darkness that envelops the shattered Gaia.

In the midst of the heartbreaking ruins, Joanna stands in the center of the court, raising her hand, calling forth Michael's fire from the sky. The sky, which was once bright, is now dark and heavy, as if sensing the weight of the new chapter about to begin. The black clouds part, the light burning the ground with an intensity that evokes both fear and hope. She announces with a voice that echoes like thunder:

"From this day forward, justice will be upheld not by words, but by blood and fire. Anyone who rejects the truth will be obliterated. Anyone who dares to hunt the womb of the world will be burned by the wrath of Michael that now resides within me!"

One by one, angels, people, and enemies fall under the weight of her will. Sweat silently trickles down Joanna's brow, reflecting the heaviness of the decision she must make. In the deafening noise, she lowers her hand, flames erupting among the ruins—not merely a symbol of judgment, but a sign that the Judge of the World has descended directly into the battlefield, ready to seize power and restore the balance that has long been lost.

Night slowly descends, but there are no stars. The world holds its breath, feeling the heartbeat of uncertainty between the seconds of silence and the cries of war that are about to begin. Every corner of the earth trembles as if longing for the past, when hope still burned bright. Joanna is now truly at war—not for heaven, not for Gaia, not for Oda, not even for Fitran—but for the justice she once believed could save everything. In her heart, there is a longing to return to a time when justice was not just an ideal, but a living reality.

In the distance, the drums of war begin to sound, marking the next chapter: the final judgment upon the ruins of the old world. The sound echoes, inviting all who hear to take their positions, reminding them that between light and darkness, choices must be made swiftly. With every beat, Joanna feels the pull of meaning in what she is about to do—this is not merely a physical battle, but also a wager of souls and the fate of humanity.