Chapter 535
Hhhh!!
"Anh-Bu-Sisi... Tzadkiel," and the shorter right hand collapsed—not into the widening cracks, but onto its knees. It could no longer bear the weight pressing upon its shoulders, a weight that was invisible yet impossible to ignore, a burden born from the names it had just heard.
"Serve as both judge and executioner, passing judgment upon the most sinful being once every thousand years."
Fhhh!
"Emhtartako... Samael," and the left hand followed, dropping to its knees beside the right hand. Its long arms hung limply at its sides, its sharp claws digging into the ground not to attack but merely to support itself, for it no longer possessed the strength to stand.
"Grant the prayers of all beings and instill hope, love, and compassion within them. And become the antithesis of the prayers, hope, love, and compassion that exist within yourself."
Shhh!!
"Deltusia... Uriel," and the youngest assistant, whose face had finally stopped changing and had become that of a little child no longer crying because it was simply too exhausted to shed any more tears, felt its chest tighten. It was as though an unseen hand had wrapped itself around its heart from within, squeezing with every heartbeat that became slower, heavier, and more deliberate, like the steady pounding of war drums drawing ever closer.
"Guard the gates of Heaven and Hell."
Hooh!!
"Regord... Camael," and high above, Aldraya extended both of her arms to her sides like a conductor about to begin her final performance, a performance that none who witnessed it would ever forget, one that would forever reshape the balance of power throughout the Land of the Gods.
"Govern the subconscious, including the dreams of mortal beings."
Hiiih!!
"Axs-La... Haniel," and behind Aldraya, the eleventh shadow gave a silent nod. It could not be seen clearly, yet it could be felt, like a breeze blowing from a direction where no wind had ever existed before, carrying with it the scent of hope, a fragrance that had vanished from the Land of the Gods ever since King Xavier XVII and Myra Astrielle chose to die together for the sake of love.
"Oversee the rotation between universe boxes."
Boom!!
"Tapsry... Azriel Nostradamust," and the moment the final name left Aldraya's lips—lips no longer cracked but now smiling, not with the smile of victory but with the smile of certainty, a smile born from the realization that she was never alone, that her twelve siblings had always remained behind her despite her decision to leave—something changed within the air itself.
It was not a physical change, nor one that could be seen with the eyes or heard with the ears, but a transformation perceived by the soul, by consciousness, by the deepest part of every being standing upon that battlefield.
"Guard the threads and the Book of Destiny of all creation," Aldraya finished, and for one impossibly long second—too long to be called an instant, too short to be called eternity—nothing moved.
No one breathed.
No one blinked.
Only silence remained, a silence that was full, meaningful, and complete, a silence that felt like a prayer finally answered after a thousand years of going unheard.
"So that the flow of existence... may forever remain upon its destined path."
And upon the fractured ground, among the yawning cracks, the groaning marble pillars, and the leaning columns of atonement, three gods stood—or rather, two gods knelt while the third struggled to remain standing, unable to move because its legs felt as though they had been nailed to the earth itself.
The left hand and the right hand no longer tried to stabilize themselves. They had already surrendered, accepting the reality that they could never oppose the Authority of the twelve Highest Angels united within one body, one voice, and one awakening.
The youngest assistant, whose face now belonged to a small child whose eyes were no longer empty but filled with something it had never experienced since the moment of its creation, something warm and cold at the same time, something remarkably similar to... hope, slowly lifted its head toward Aldraya, who continued floating above with her thirteen fully outstretched wings.
Within its gaze, reflected inside pupils far too large for its skull, it saw.
Not Aldraya.
Not the former Highest Angel.
Not Silvia Cantika Putri, known as the Matriarch or the Mother of Angels.
Instead, it saw a single point—a tiny point, so impossibly small that it resembled the tip of a needle piercing fabric. Yet that point radiated heat. It felt sharp. It felt focused, as though it were taking aim, deciding who would become the very first target of this awakening.
"She's... she's targeting me," whispered the youngest assistant. The voice emerged not from its mouth but from deep within its chest, heavy and profound, echoing like a sound reverberating through an underground chamber far too vast to be filled by a single voice.
And while Aldraya floated high above with her thirteen wings still pulsing and the twelve shadows of her siblings standing faithfully behind her—while the youngest assistant felt the burning point within the former Highest Angel's gaze aimed directly between its eyebrows, while the right hand and the left hand remained kneeling upon the ground with knees that felt permanently anchored to a reality that no longer welcomed them—in the center of a different kind of chaos, where the four symbols continued their slow rotation within empty eye sockets and the exposed spine still pulsed inside a hollow abdomen, the youngest one stood with knees growing weary beneath a burden it had never asked to bear.
Its snow-white hair, normally as orderly as morning mist drifting over a perfectly still lake, had become hopelessly disheveled. Several strands clung to its cold, sweat-covered temples. Its crimson eyes, which only moments ago had burned with hatred, laughter, and memories of a birthday cake as hard as stone, had now grown dim—far too dim—like a campfire running out of wood in the middle of a night that would never end.
"W-What... what are you going to do?" it asked. For the very first time since the battle had begun—since it had leaped with its head downward and feet pointed toward the sky, since it had unleashed seven counterattacks that tore Theo's fingers away one after another, since it had invoked "Sa: Indeterminacy" to rip both of the young man's eyes from their sockets—its voice was no longer flat, no longer filled with forced triumph.
Instead, it trembled.
It trembled like a leaf shaken by the wind during an unusually dry autumn.
It trembled like the voice of a child realizing for the very first time that the birthday cake as hard as stone was not the only thing that would forever remain beyond its reach.
"You're already broken, Theo. Your abdomen is empty. Your eyes are gone. Only two of your fingers remain. I've turned your bones into muscles and your muscles into bones. What can you possibly do now? What could you possibly do against me—the sole ruler of the Land of the Gods, the youngest child who was never loved yet conquered every one of my siblings, the ruler who transformed a cold palace into the hell that I alone command?"
It tried to laugh between those words—a laugh that usually burst effortlessly from its throat, wild and bordering on madness—but no laughter came.
Only a hoarse sound escaped, the sound of someone desperately trying to pull something out from within their chest, only to discover that their chest was empty.
Empty like Theo's abdomen.
Empty like the silence between the words no one had ever spoken when it was six years old, blowing out birthday candles alone inside a cold, lifeless room.
To be continued…