Chapter 695 Council of Despair

After the great duel, the night turned stiff. The ruins of Gaia and Oda felt colder than usual. There were no stars, no sounds—even the angels had lost their song. The drums of war for Earth had fallen silent, replaced by the creaking of walls and the sobs of the unseen. In the underground stone hall, all factions now gathered, not to negotiate, but to share the thickening despair.

In a corner of the room, the dim light seemed reluctant to shine, reflecting an atmosphere filled with tension and emptiness. All eyes were on King Ardaius, as desire and hope faded, his face mirrored deep confusion, as if questioning every decision made. Fragments of memories slithered through his mind, teasing his heart, evoking an immeasurable guilt.

At the end of the long table, King Ardaius sat hunched over, his head heavy with the burden of defeat. Beside him, Lira and Bronn were half-conscious—the scars from the duel against Joanna burned their skin and souls. There was a faint longing in their gazes, a desire to save the loyalty now trapped in chaos, threatened to be swallowed by the shadows of uncertainty. The advisors of Earth exchanged weak whispers, avoiding the gaze of the King, who now seemed more like a shadow of his past.

On the other side of the room, the protectors of Gaia and Oda sat with their heads bowed, holding back shame and loss. In a silent scream, they shared the unspoken burden of grief, occasionally stealing glances at one another, trying to comfort each other even though words felt too heavy to utter. No one dared to speak of hope. The names Nobuzan and Iris only echoed in secret prayers, for anyone who spoke them aloud might be accused of challenging fate.

The surviving angels, now only four of the Seven Heavenly Angels, stood apart— their wings stained with blood and fallen feathers. They were not only physically wounded but also burdened by terrifying questions about true justice and heroism. Their gazes towards Joanna were filled with suspicion, and sometimes even fear, as if she carried an unbearable weight that would destroy them all.

Joanna stood in the center of the room, her body radiating a faint light from the fire of Michael, yet a dark void circled gently around her— a light that frightened both friends and foes. She felt the pressure of all eyes on her, as if every heartbeat was heard clearly. She spoke softly, but her voice trembled with wounds and fatigue.

"We have lost so much. Not just land and lives, but trust— in heaven, earth, and even in ourselves."

Behind her words lay a deep longing for the past; times when the sky was still blue and not filled with fear. She looked at the angels. "If I am no longer Michael, then who am I to you? If I bleed Fitran, am I the harbinger of doom? Or the only shield left in this world?"

Cold sweat drenched the foreheads of the angels, creating an aura of tension that thickened. No one answered. The eldest angel, Zadkiel, bowed his head and spoke softly, "Heaven gives no answers. We have lost our way, Joanna. We are only afraid of what you will choose…"

His words echoed in Joanna's mind, feeling like a dagger piercing her. Despair began to envelop her. Joanna bit her lip, her eyes vacant. "Choices no longer exist. Only consequences."

In her heart, she felt the weight of this world. Each word spoken seemed to carry a deeper burden. With every wounded soul, she struggled to find hope among the clashing fragments.

In the Earth stronghold, Bronn—despite his severe wounds—forced himself to speak.

"If the angels have become part of the spiral void, then there is no more justice. We now stand on the brink of destruction, not victory." He looked at King Ardaius. "What more can we do? The weapons have failed, the five pillars have crumbled. Even Bellator Ultima is not enough to hold back one person…"

Every word from Bronn flowed like a river breaking through parched land, evoking a longing for a change that might never come. Advisor Faedros whispered, "There is still the final ritual. But that ritual… will burn the roots of the world—not just the enemies, but all living beings."

That statement shook the tongues of every listener. In their hearts, a terrifying gamble loomed: saving a few while destroying everything else. They all grappled with the choice between good intentions and horrific outcomes, trapped in an endless moral labyrinth.

King Ardaius shook his head, tears slowly falling. "The old world is gone. Perhaps this is indeed the end of our generation."

As those words slipped from his lips, it felt like sprinkling salt on a wound that was already deep. King Ardaius gazed far out the window, as if hoping for a light to break the darkness that enveloped him.

In a corner of the room, Luria—the youngest protector—cried silently. She looked at Sabina, who was comforting the people who had begun to speak to themselves out of lost hope. The loudness of those voices seemed to bury all the dreams they once had.

"If Joanna falls, who else will protect us?" whispered Luria, her eyes glazed. In her heart, a gaping fear demanded answers that she could not provide.

Sabina held her hand. "Hope is not always about victory. Sometimes, it is enough not to give in to the night, even though we know dawn will not come." Behind her smile lay an unspoken pain, struggling against a crisis that ran too deep.

Outside the council room, the people whispered: "Better to die fighting than to wait to be burned…" "Joanna is no longer the same, even the angels are pointing fingers at each other…" "Perhaps the earth is indeed tired of humanity…" Each whisper became a silent witness to the pain that coursed through the heart of the city, etching the frustration that lay hidden in the souls of all its people.

Among the angels, the cracks became evident. Remiel quietly spoke with Uriel, questioning whether they should still obey Joanna—or prepare for a final rebellion if Joanna fell completely into the void. In their hearts, that question rolled like thunder in a cloudy sky, creating waves of unexpected worry.

"We are the last song of heaven. But if that voice turns into a scream of emptiness, who will remember our light?" whispered Remiel. There was sadness in his voice, like a rainbow that vanished after the rain; hope lost behind thick gray clouds.

Uriel nodded, his eyes swollen. "Perhaps the world must indeed end, so that something truly new can be born…"

The Council of Despair concluded without solutions, without plans. All factions retreated into their shadows, immersed in fear and guilt. Outside the meeting room, the world seemed to await the next disaster. Amid the fading footsteps, the shadows of hope began to fade, eroded by the waves of despair that surrounded the meeting space.

Joanna sat alone in the corner of the hall, her hands frozen over the now dim sword of fire. She knew that if she chose one side, the world would crumble under another curse. But if she did not choose, everything would vanish into the emptiness she inherited—from both Michael and Fitran. In her heart, the battle between desire and responsibility erupted into an endless storm, each second carrying a heavier burden, as if she were trying to lift the sky that was collapsing above her.

The angels began to soar in the sky, but their wings appeared increasingly dim. Earth tightened its last ranks, deploying the remnants of technology and forbidden magic. Underground, the protectors and civilians wrote wills and prayed to anyone willing to listen. Hope began to fade, amidst heavy breaths, they felt the rumble of threats from above, a sound echoing yet unspoken: that their presence in this world might soon vanish.

At the end of the night, the awaited dawn did not arrive. The world only knew one certain thing: Hope had turned into poison, and despair now reigned as the highest council on earth and in the sky.