Chapter 697 The Eye of Rejection Awakens

The night sky above the ruins of Gaia and Oda resembled a cracked mirror—shimmering yet fragile. After all the machines, fleets, and fortresses of Earth were obliterated by Joanna's wrath, the world fell into a momentary silence. However, that silence felt more like a last breath before an unknown storm. In the air, the scent of rust and dust assaulted the senses—as if the entire universe mourned, inhaling the remnants of what once was, waiting for the right moment to tremble again.

In the middle of the night, an invisible rumble enveloped the land. The sun did not truly rise, the moon did not show its face, and in the sky, a black crack split the horizon—a lidless eye, The Eye of Rejection, opening from the chasm between reality and emptiness. From that crack, whispers surged forth as if from thousands of trapped voices, sending piercing messages of sorrow, calling all souls brave enough to listen to witness the void.

A strange light fell to the ground—not white, not black, but a gray shimmer that made every creature feel seen, judged, and rejected by the world itself. All living beings, whether angels, humans, or remnants of automatons, felt their hearts twisted by something older than history, crueler than war. In that silence, every opened eye felt the shadow of a shattered past—like shards of light caught in darkness, it felt like memories never meant to be faced again.

Joanna stood atop the frozen remains of Bellator, Michael's fiery wings still ablaze. But as the gray light touched her skin, that flame trembled and dimmed. Within her, Michael's heart and Fitran's spiraling emptiness collided—two great forces seemingly squeezed into one mortal body. That weight reminded Joanna of her helplessness, as she realized that between two worlds, she was trapped in an eternal limbo, unable to step into either.

She heard the whispers: "The world rejects you, Joanna. You are neither angel, nor human, nor demon. You are an unwelcome will, and now the world demands retribution…"

Joanna's eyes reflected the shattered mirror of the sky. Suddenly, she lost sensation in her body—hands, feet, wings—everything felt as if it did not belong to her. She nearly fell but held on with the remnants of her resolve. A gentle breeze seemed to wave softly, as if warning her, reminding her of her identity lost among the shards of hope and emptiness. In that void, she felt the whispers of a wounded heart, and a beam of light delivered memories of moments when she was loved and accepted, which now felt so distant.

In her mind, the voices of Michael and Fitran fell silent. For the first time, Joanna was truly alone.

Angels in various corners of the city felt their powers suppressed. In the blowing wind, echoes of anxiety filled the air, creating an invisible resonance among them. Zadkiel and Remiel, who usually summoned heavenly flames, could only kneel, holding their breath under the gaze of The Eye.

Remiel moaned, "Why can't I fly? Why does my magic refuse to return?" This voice slipped from his lips like a sigh of wind, signaling an unquenchable despair. A deep loneliness permeated his words, as if the world had stolen his hope.

Zadkiel gazed at Joanna from afar, filled with pity and concern, "She… is being judged by the world itself." In his gaze, shadows of the past were visible—memories of joy and fear alternating—like a faded painting on the walls of time.

In the remaining barracks of Earth, the surviving generals looked at the changing sky, then whispered to one another: "That is not Joanna's magic. It… is something even the gods fear to name." A profound silence filled the room, where those words hung in the heavy air, igniting doubt in the hearts of the once-brave fighters.

"Seal all glyphs! Protect what can be saved!" Behind that firm command, an inevitable panic surged, as if they realized that the line between safety and emptiness was now thinner than ever. The civilians still holding on in the alleys and ruins of the city felt the air grow heavy. Distant rumblings reminded them of the disaster that had already come, and children cried for no reason, adults embraced one another—no one knew what would be born from this new darkness.

In the basement, the protectors—Miel, Akiko, Sabina—felt the effects of The Eye differently. They suddenly remembered all the sins, betrayals, and failures of the past. Every emotional wound reopened. It felt as if every memory became a sharp shard embedded in their souls, dragging them back into the darkness they wished to forget.

Miel clutched his head, sobbing, "Why do I live when all I protect are dead?" He trembled, like a leaf tossed in a storm, losing grip on the remaining hope. Akiko pressed her bloodied hand against the wall, "If the world rejects us, what is the point of enduring?" Her question lingered in the air, full of despair, like an empty echo in a silent space.

The aura of The Eye pressed down, rejecting, tearing apart the meaning of each person's existence. They knew this was not just a physical war—it was a rejection of the very meaning of life itself. In the silence, this pain was not only about loss; it was about the awareness of profound helplessness, every second felt like a heavy burden that could not be lifted.

From the cracked sky, threads of gray light descended, wrapping around the remnants of buildings and the bodies that lay dead on the battlefield. Each thread revived the shadows of the victims, but not as ghosts, rather as symbols of rejection: the faces of loved ones accusing, small hands pulling protectors into guilt and shame. They seemed to whisper in silence, voicing sorrow and condemnation that pierced the soul.

Joanna saw them coming—shadows of Jeanne, Sheena, even Fitran himself, appearing around her. They did not speak, only stared with empty eyes, as if asking: "Why are you still alive, Joanna? The world never wanted you to exist." In that gaze, there was a whole story buried; they were not just figures from the past, but representations of all shattered hopes and lost dreams, seemingly calling her to face the painful truth.

Joanna screamed, but her voice was merely an echo, unheard by anyone. Her fiery wings dimmed completely, her body frozen by the cold of The Eye. In her helplessness, she felt every heartbeat, a reminder of the life still remaining. Hoping, however faintly, for a miracle amidst the oppressive power.

In silence, Joanna finally remembered all the reasons she endured: love, vengeance, hope that she had once both hated and longed for. Each of those memories haunted her, flowing like tears that could not be contained. Yet beneath The Eye, everything felt small—just a spark in a field of snow that refused to ignite. As the shadows of the past danced before her, Joanna felt the pressure binding her soul grow deeper.

But she remembered one thing she had never forgotten: Fitran's will to exist, even if the world rejected him. That was the light reaching into the darkness, penetrating her soul like a fresh breeze daring to challenge the storm.

With the last of her energy, Joanna stood. She stretched out her hands, staring directly into the gaping Eye in the sky. That dark sky seemed to want to ensnare her, but her determination shone, challenging all the chances that seemed to have vanished.

"If the world rejects me, I reject the world in return. I do not ask to be invited. I do not ask to be accepted. But I refuse to vanish, just because the world cannot bear my wounds and hopes!"

Every word that left her lips was a heartbeat of spirit rising from the darkness. The remaining fire of Michael reignited, faint yet stubborn. Fitran's spiral pulsed in Joanna's chest—not as a curse, but as an identity. With each pulse, Joanna felt her strength returning, as if everything lost was now flowing back into her veins, igniting with an unquenchable hope.

The Eye of Rejection tightened its light, as if wanting to swallow Joanna and the entire remaining world. But Joanna stood amidst the ruins, becoming the only source of light challenging the absolute darkness. Around her, the air felt heavy, filled with sighs and whispers, as if the entire world held its breath just like her.

The angels wept—some in fear, some realizing that their duty was merely to watch the world choose who deserved to survive. Their tears formed a sea of hope suspended between emptiness, inviting the question of why they could not do more.

Civilians watching from the basement witnessed Joanna's small light amidst the gray storm. Some began to pray, not to a god, but to the will to survive that resided within themselves. The whispers of their prayers struck the walls of darkness, rekindling the nearly extinguished faith, as if Joanna's light was a candle piercing the darkness of their souls.

The Eye of Rejection had not yet departed, the world still held its breath, and Joanna stood alone between the rejecting hope and the unhealed wounds. The tension surged in the air, carrying the scent of sweat and fear, as if the world trembled in resignation and fragile hope.

Yet beneath The Eye, for the first time since the war began, someone refused to accept that rejection itself. In her gaze, there was an unexpected courage, as if she had encapsulated all the remaining strength of the world in one breath. With every heartbeat, her mind spun, weighing the steps that would change fate, a decision against the darkness that awaited.