HIGH CARD ALL RAISE (PART 2)
Legend has it that the two strongest beings met on this very land seeking to end the contradiction that was their dual existences.
The channel known as Thrymgap was once the spot where the world’s loftiest peak, Múspellskjálf, stood—where the Old Deus Artosh, god of war, vanquished the Dragonia Hartileif the Final. Dusk had fallen. High above the summit overlooking the world below was the site of this heavenly duel from the distant past, said to have turned the sky red and the earth a deathly blue.
Even to this day, that same sky trembles with incessant thunder over the channel. Within the channel’s endlessly boiling depths lay a lone dragon, quietly biding his time. His white scales shone brilliantly amidst the twilight as he looked up at the heavens, remaining perfectly still. The dragon’s eyes, filled with profound knowledge, caught sight of something up ahead. The bloodred sky showed a single glimmer of light flying toward him like a comet.
It was an angel.
Above the being’s head was a geometric halo, on her back were wings of light—she was a Flügel. The beautiful young girl had long hair that glimmered in all colors of the rainbow and amber eyes that gleamed with volition. She was a single feather, created by the almighty god of war to do his bidding. The dragon called out to the angel; she was carrying some sort of enormous steel mass.
“ Well met, Little Feather.”
Jibril was quivering before the white dragon. Though she was used to his grand physique, she was also captivated by it. Her heart started beating faster. She could barely contain her excitement; her blood was boiling. The yet-unnamed Dragonia teased her.
“Thou art a woman of fine taste, albeit somewhat peculiar. Art thou here for thy sixth defeat, or—?”
Jibril cut him off there, and with a grin on her face—
“ You need not worry, dragon. This will be the last time we meet.”
—she readied the mass of steel into a fighting stance. With her halo now spinning, she prepared herself for an all-out battle. Her opponent, the dragon, squinted his azure eyes and spread his expansive wings so they almost covered the sky. He asked her:
“Little Feather, dost thou know who fought at this very location a long time ago?”
“Of course I do—why do you ask?”
Jibril spoke without the slightest hint of enthusiasm.
A battle between the Flügel creator and the most powerful Dragonia took place over one hundred thousand years ago at this very spot. She’d never given this legend much consideration.
Jibril laughed to herself. This is no legend.
What had their creator discussed with the Dragonia? What was he thinking? What disappointed him? Jibril was curious about these questions, but was there much of a point to knowing the answer? She knew she wasn’t the strongest. Five times she had challenged this white dragon, and all five times she had lost. He was unbeatable—unless he came to blows with Artosh, who could surely vanquish him in a single blow.
So this dragon was nowhere near the strongest being in existence. Hence, the battle about to transpire was going to be very different from the legendary tale that occurred here. This wasn’t a clash between titans. Without a question of who was the strongest, there was no need for answers. It was merely a tale of a hopelessly weak Flügel challenging a hopelessly strong Dragonia—nothing more, nothing less. A fool’s attempt to prove that Dragonias were not in fact superior to Flügel; a hellish duel of a weak opponent challenging a strong one.
Jibril smiled to herself. Most importantly…her pounding heart and surging blood had nothing to do with imitating a legendary tale. The reason she couldn’t stop trembling was simply because…
“I will defeat you no matter how many losses I must face in the process. This battle is merely a game.”
Jibril’s words, which were brimming with ecstasy, caused the dragon to stir and with this minimalistic motion, the sea parted and the heavens burst open. Perhaps he had just laughed, for his voice was rather jovial as he asked Jibril:
“Is that so, Little Feather? Then thou shalt continue to fight me for all eternity, even with the knowledge that thou shalt never win?”
“No, I will show you that it is possible now and today. It won’t be as confusing once I’ve beheaded you. ”
The dragon began to flap his wings, pushing a tidal wave of raw energy against Jibril. He laughed.
“Ours was a fruitful discussion. Prepare to be torn asunder once again, Little Feather.”
“It was a rather meaningless discussion. Are you fine with those being your last words?”
The rumbling, thunder-stricken channel saw a sixth battle between the dragon and the angel most unlike the legendary duel of long ago. The past five battles had ended in the angel’s defeat—all the more reason why this battle needed to be their last.
With utmost confidence, Jibril took up her pen. She turned a page in the journal she had started at some point along this journey. It was particularly full of entries following her fifth and most recent defeat. She recalled the three secret strategies she’d use to eke out victory on this day.
Jibril ran her pen across what was to be the final page in her diary …………
…They really need to do something about the lack of things to do in the Chamber of Restoration. After five losses to that dragon, I’m now spending more time in the Chamber than outside of it. I need to find a way to pass my time, or else the boredom will kill me long before that Dragonia ever can…
…………
“…Again? Not again… You have the worst luck, youngest sister.”
“Oh, if it isn’t Elder Rafil! I have so much free time on my hands that I’ve taken up drawing. What do you think?”
After a year in the Chamber of Restoration, a certain little girl had finally regained consciousness and was scribbling away in a book.
Jibril had once again shrunk after being defeated a fifth time by the Dragonia.
Brimming with confidence, she showed her pictures to Rafil, who couldn’t help but groan in response.
“It blows my mind that you could go up against a Dragonia this many times and still be in one piece… Every time you do this, Azril causes a giant ruckus and creates heaps of problems for us. How about going forward, you try thinking of a plan before—?”
“Hmm? I most certainly do have a plan, I’ll have you know. This time, I was able to hit him directly with a Heavenly Smite.”
You mean you haven’t been able to do that the first four times?
Without picking up on the intense expression on Rafil’s face, Jibril cheerfully continued, “What’s strange is, there was no effect—I mean, I was able to pierce through a few scales…but they grew back almost instantly. It’s as if…time itself was reversed.”
Rafil figured that the Dragonias were probably capable of time control.
“If they had the ability to reverse time, then we wouldn’t be able to kill them no matter how much we threw at them.”
Jibril rejected Rafil’s thought on the spot. The question wasn’t why couldn’t she defeat the Dragonia, but
“Why can we defeat the Dragonia…? Rather—have we actually ever defeated one at all?”
They could manipulate time and space at will and take a full-blown Heavenly Smite virtually unscathed.
“Surely the power of one Dragonia could overcome that of another ?”
Rafil sighed not only did her sister have a plan, she was starting to see a path to victory.
“Well, here’s some bad news—there will be no next time. You need to stop this.”
“…………Pardon?”
“Azril is livid with you—this is an order. She’s forbidding anyone to fight a Dragonia alone. Apparently…disciplinary action awaits anyone who defies this order. At least, that’s what she said. So I thought I’d tell you.”
Rafil turned to leave. She knew her warning would only make Jibril want to challenge the dragon that much more.
After finally leaving the Chamber of Restoration, I was enjoying a little excursion when an Elf hit me with some kind of anti-flight spell. I ended up bumping my head when I crash-landed, and it hurt so much that I blasted everything in sight with a Heavenly Smite. But then I realized too late that doing so meant I had to go back into the Chamber of Restoration. This only made me madder, so I stole the Elf’s entire library so I’d at least have something to do while I was regenerating.
…………
“Again… You did it agaaain?!”
Jibril had finished her previous stint in the Chamber just three days earlier, and here she was in her cute child form yet again. Azril screamed and tore at her own hair. Jibril had used the last bit of her strength to compress the space around her and bring back what appeared to be an immense collection of books.
“Ah, no, this time I Heavenly Smited an Elf. Don’t mind me.”
“Oh really? All’s well that ends well, then. As if! Since when did using a Heavenly Smite cut open a hole in your belly?! Even in your child form, an Elf shouldn’t be too much work for you! So what actually happened?!” Azril demanded that mini Jibril—who sported a gaping hole in her abdomen—answer her.
“Ah, one of them attacked me while I was looking for their library. A multi-layered rite—it was quite the experience. ”
Azril was beginning to develop a headache; talking to Jibril was getting her nowhere.
Right. Multi-casting can be quite pesky.
Using two or more spells at the same time wasn’t that tough. But combining them—now that was tricky.
For example, lighting two small fires didn’t produce a more powerful attack. Multi-casting was more like pouring accelerant on a single fire. Chain-cast spells the right way, and even a Flügel with meager spirit capacity would end up like the one standing before Azril.
“I don’t expect much from a race stupid enough to try and control a Phantasma, but maybe something in these books will give me a hint for killing a Dragonia. ”
Azril narrowed her eyes angrily. “ Jibs. You know I told you not to fight that Dragonia alone anymore…right?”
All Jibril did was shoot her a provocative smile before she made her way into the Chamber of Restoration.
I dived right into the books I’d taken from the Elves only to realize…I can’t read Elven. Why should I have to read their plant language in the first place? I’m starting to feel depressed picturing myself talking to grass just to pass the time, so I think I’ll get some sleep…
Two years passed before I grew desperate enough to talk to grass. I taught myself to read Elven. Boredom can do frightening things to your psyche. I found some notes titled “Why, I’m a genius. ” What kind of airhead writes like this? The notes were so dumb that they ended up piquing my interest.
…Three years later, and I have yet to decode the “I’m a genius. ” memos… I’m starting to feel suicidal. It’s not that I can’t read them, I just don’t know what they mean. I must be dumber than a blade of grass. I thought I’d get down to the grass’s level, but it appears I was never really above it.
I was just about to do something drastic when I came upon a particularly interesting note. The logic involved is far beyond my own powers of comprehension, so I don’t quite understand all the details—but it sounds like the author tried to create their own closed temporal space only for the experimental container to fail. Then they proceeded to toot their own horn despite their failure: “Why, I really must be a genius to have survived that.”
Whatever the case—it looks like I may need to revise my opinion of the Elves. There certainly are some traces of genius living among those plant people.
Having expanded my perspective and learned that there are in fact benefits to speaking with grass, I find myself with one day left in the Chamber of Restoration. What I’d like to do most is head straight for that Dragonia for another rematch, but this time, I’m going to make some preparations. I’ll need three things… I’m fairly sure this will be our last encounter, but I don’t want to take any chances.
…………
What Jibril held in her hands could only be described as, well, a giant mass of steel. Rafil caught sight of the massive hunk of metal that was at least twenty times larger than her youngest sister, who shouldered it.
“Jibril… What have you…got…there…?” Rafil approached Jibril with an indescribable expression on her face.
“Pay this no mind. It’s merely some Dwarf toy I happened to pick up.”
Jibril’s cheerful answer only left Rafil with more questions.
Come to think of it, I did hear something about Jibril destroying a Dwarf armada. Nothing wrong with that. Annihilating the Dwarves? Sounds good to me. Let’s do more of it. Drive them to extinction. I’m all for that. Excellent. Keep up the good work.
The issue here was: What did Jibril plan on doing with that giant piece of scrap metal ?
“You have nothing to worry about—I’m going to win this time.”
Why do I even bother asking? Rafil sighed; her youngest sister was fiercely determined to defeat a Dragonia on her own. Then, a moment later, she realized something.
…She said she’ll win this time… Was she this confident the last five times?
“ Ah, Elder, may I borrow a Dragonia bone?”
What’s she need that for—? Never mind.
Rafil needed to say it, though. She was about to do so when
“ Jibs. I gave you an order.”
Just as Rafil went to warn her youngest sister, she was cut off by an inhuman, malicious voice. Appearing from out of nowhere was the First Number, Azril. The world’s strongest Flügel was glaring at Jibril with an annoyed smile on her face.
“Hmm…? What was it, again? Something about not going up against a Dragonia alone, right?” Jibril flashed a bold, sinister grin. “ Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t recall ever hearing a reason to obey that rule. ”
The instant Rafil saw Azril getting serious, she realized that Jibril wasn’t frustrated with their eldest sister, nor was she being childish or rebellious. She was happy to see Azril like this. It was the perfect moment to test her new strategy, and she couldn’t have asked for a better person to spar with before going up against the Dragonia.
Azril, on the other hand…was worried about Jibril, who was raring and ready to go.
“Jibs… You’re a super-important Flügel… I can’t let you go and get destroyed by a Dragonia.”
Azril then went and said the one thing she should have never told Jibril:
“Sorry, Jibs, but you’re gonna be spending some more time in the Chamber of Restoration. I’ll make sure not to kill you.”
The next moment:
Without even the slightest of motions, a flash of light emitted from Jibril, who was grinning slightly. An entire section of Avant Heim was sent flying along with Azril.
“Nyah?! Wh-what?! Why’d you get so angry all of a sudden?!”
There was an uproar as every Flügel on the Phantasma rushed to see what had happened.
“Azril… Are you insane…?” Rafil asked in utter disbelief. Azril was still shell-shocked. “You’ll make sure not to kill her? Do you know how much of an insult that is to Jibril? I’ll give it to you straight—”
Rafil sounded disappointed with her leader.
“You’ve gone senile. You’re nothing like the Azril who used me to slay an Old Deus.”
Azril didn’t know what Rafil meant, and once again looked over to Jibril, who was shrouded in darkness; she was compressing her wings, her halo, even her spirits so hard that not even light could escape. Should any of the pathetic worms inhabiting the earth’s surface see her in this form—destruction incarnate—they would surely die.
Azril continued to look at Jibril, and she came to the same conclusion she had before.
This isn’t enough.
Regardless of Azril’s high opinion of Jibril, Azril was still stronger than her, no matter which way she cut it. And as the strongest of all Flügel, she knew that Jibril’s attack was not even half as powerful as her own. She also realized something else, something of a contradiction: Losing in battle to her youngest sister was well within the realm of possibility. These two conflicting hunches caused Azril to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. Something inside her—perhaps her instincts as a being created for war—made her aware of another contradiction: The enemy in front of you is weaker than you, but to defeat it, you need to hit it with everything you’ve got.
A full-power attack against Jibril, even though she was the weaker of the two?
Azril didn’t want to kill her; that would solve nothing.
Should I fall back? But if I let her go, the Dragonia will kill her. If she’s going to die anyway, I might as well be the one to—
The thought entered her mind for a moment, but she realized it wasn’t the right thing to do. Azril, slightly ashamed, spoke to Jibril:
“…Fine… I won’t…stop you…”
She drooped her head as she muttered her permission for Jibril to fight the dragon.
Azril knew she didn’t have the right to destroy the Irregular Number, one of her lord’s creations. The crowd of Flügel stared as Azril backed down. They looked disappointed; Jibril looked angry, and Rafil looked disgusted. And then—
“Thou darest abandon a fight in front of thy creator, First Number? Thou hast failed me.”
—Avant Heim—perhaps the entire world—rumbled as the voice of the ultimate being rang out for all to hear. The crowd turned in the direction of the throne room, from where the creator’s holy voice originated. Once he had their attention, he continued.
“ Why dost thou hesitate? This battle is an opportunity to stake thy life against thy opponent’s—a battle where thy soul stands to grow stronger, more refined. Should thou turn thy back on this opportunity, thy wings shall decay upon that same back.”
As one of my Wings, nothing should frighten you more than losing your own.
…………
With her head still hanging low, Azril took a deep breath and mumbled:
“…Then so be it.”
She lifted her head—no one could believe their eyes. Even Jibril, the target of Azril’s gaze, gulped audibly. The Flügel before her looked like a doll, void of all emotions except for the smile painted on her face.
With the exception of Rafil, no Flügel present had any idea who they were looking at. She looked like the Azril they knew, and yet, she wasn’t. Her voice was as cold and unfeeling as a steel blade when she declared:
“One strike. That’s all this will take. It’ll be over before you feel any pain—Irregular Number.”
Then it happened. FWOM!
It was a sound most Flügel didn’t recognize, while others who had forgotten it suddenly remembered: This was the sound of a very frightening power.
In the next instant, Azril appeared in the sky before Jibril with her wings spread out wide. Her halo had expanded many times in size and into multiple complex layers, while her wings had turned black like Jibril’s. Azril’s wings were similarly amassing all nearby spirits until every last bit of light was gone.
Her smile, however, was furious like molten lava. Her battle spirit was completely different from Jibril’s…almost alien. She emitted energy from her body without showing any emotions save for her doll-like smile.
“…Hmph, looks like you have some fight in you after all,” said Rafil. “That’s the big sister I know.”
Excluding Rafil, who found this sight nostalgic, the entire crowd was taken aback by the fearsome show of power in the sky above. It wasn’t just the fearsomeness of the situation that was shocking them. Everyone could tell that Azril was several times stronger than Jibril—no…that her power had exceeded the realm of a Flügel’s
“S-Sister Rafil! Are you sure we shouldn’t stop this?!”
One of the angels teleported next to Rafil, who shook her head and answered: “ Stop what? Why?”
“Uh… Th-that is, I—I mean…is it okay for Flügel to kill each other ?!”
Right. Rafil watched as her two sisters faced off.
She chuckled to herself upon realizing how brutish the Flügel can get, herself included. They steal one another’s kills, squabble over the smallest trifles, and fill their days with warfare… It was the picture of peace. Yes, peace there is peace in being able to fight about what you want, whenever you want to. During a fight like that, “going easy on someone” would only ever be seen as a slight against them.
That was why Jibril was so mad at Azril; it was how this whole situation started. It was never good to start a battle that would only result in death by showing clear intent to kill unless you have a good reason such as using a death to lead to a victory. Any other death for a Flügel was absurd. Their lives were gifted to them by their creator for the purpose of destruction.
“Lord Artosh allowed her to do this,” Rafil explained. “What else do you want?”
All was silent.
What Rafil said was true; there was no reasonable argument. A hush fell over the crowd as all the Flügel watched the two blazing balls of energy in the sky above remain still in a face-off.
Azril waved her hand. With the simple gesture, Avant Heim was enshrouded in a billowing wave of energy. Rafil spoke out as nobody could take their eyes away from the scene.
“Now, Jibril…I don’t see a way for you to defeat this—but…”
Azril was going to end the battle in a single attack, just like she said she would. Everyone knew that; there was too great a difference between the two of them. Even then, Rafil had hope. She continued gleefully:
“…if an attack like this kills you, you’ll never stand a chance against a Dragonia. What are you going to do, O youngest sister of mine?”
It’s been thousands of years since I’ve shown my true power. And against Jibs, of all
Azril stopped herself there. She didn’t want her affection for her little sister getting in the way of annihilating her. Azril told herself again and again—her creator asked for this. All she needed to do was let out one attack, just like she’d said, and everything would be over. Azril tossed aside her emotions and calmly gazed upon her enemy like an unfeeling machine.
The Irregular Number was certainly strong. Their creator’s power never stopped increasing; it was an endless process. So it only made sense that the later a Flügel was born, the more power it had. This was especially true for the Irregular Number, Artosh’s most recent creation. Not only that, the Irregular Number was made with a special purpose.
But Azril knew that Jibril’s power was not great enough. She had less than a quarter of Azril’s strength—and Azril was the strongest Flügel in existence.
Moreover, Jibril was imitating Azril.
She, too, was readying a single attack for her fight against Azril. Sigh. There wasn’t a soul in the crowd who couldn’t see the blatant difference in power between the two.
Despite this, the Irregular Number looked utterly confident. She didn’t even flinch. It was obvious why.
(This is a battle of Heavenly Smites… She’s going to dodge mine, then go for a counterattack… Nyah.)
Should they pit their Heavenly Smites against each other, there was no way the Irregular Number would be able to win. Even if Jibril managed to attack first, it wouldn’t be enough to defeat Azril which meant one thing: Jibril needed to hit Azril after she made her attack, otherwise she would lose the match.
(Might as well say it now—sorry, Jibs.)
A counterattack in these circumstances seemed like the best course of action however. Azril apathetically thought, This girl doesn’t understand how things work.
Against such overwhelming power, there would be no after for Jibril once Azril made her move.
“Like I said…this is a one-hit kill.”
You want to counter my attack? You must be dreaming.
Azril moved her hand slightly to the side and it happened.
In an instant quicker than the passage of time itself, the Irregular Number was engulfed in darkness. Jibril was shocked for a brief instant, unable to parse what had just occurred. The spectators were similarly baffled, but Azril still had on the fake smile. She was laughing on the inside. She’d had a feeling about this for a while that Jibril didn’t know how to wield her own power.
Heavenly Smite.
This attack involved converting your entire body into spirit corridor junction nerves. Once you are filled with spirit energy taken directly from the spirit corridor, you unleash the attack all at once. The absurd power was synonymous with the Flügel; it was their only named attack. Using it came with a price, but it was powerful enough to defeat nearly every possible foe.
There was, however, a clear inefficiency that the Flügel ignored when it came to using their Heavenly Smites. This lay in using all the power they’d collected at once. To make the most of one’s Heavenly Smite, instead of focusing it into a single ray of light, it worked better to just create an explosion.
But that made it impossible to aim, since this strategy dispersed energy in all directions.
Yet Azril had a way to avoid this.
Her Heavenly Smite did not converge into a single beam, nor did it so much as waver.
She took that absurdly powerful amorphous light and brandished it in her right hand—and then the light disappeared.
In the same moment, the darkness that had engulfed the Irregular Number, without making a noise or letting off any light, began to vibrate violently until it burst.
The invisible power rumbled, shaking the air, the very dimension.
A sound rang out, causing Avant Heim and the heavens—the planet—to quake. The resulting black space elicited shrieks from the crowd when they realized what was going on. Azril apathetically laughed to herself.
…She had moved her target and her Heavenly Smite to a sealed-off space: her own pocket dimension. Her Heavenly Smite bounced off the walls, amplifying infinitely within this dimension; she unleashed her Heavenly Smite at full power within the confined space. It was fully efficient, with every ounce of power dedicated to destroying her target.
Heavenly Smites are supposed to implode… It’s that simple Nyah.
Anyone else would see a black orb, but the Flügel, who could see spirits, space, and even the invisible, watched on in horror. After all, they could imagine what was happening within the darkness by the fragments of air whirling violently out of the epicenter.
One of the younger sisters approached Rafil. “—Sister Rafil… Has Sister Azril…always been this—?”
Rafil, who had been watching the same scene, could only laugh to herself as she thought about how she’d always known all too well the answer to this younger sister’s question. That Azril was this…horrifying.
“…You know what an ultimate attack is, right?”
“ Ah, um, pardon?”
The girls were confused for a moment, as Rafil had answered their question with another question, but she went on: “It’s a phrase that lesser beings like Elves and Dwarves tend to throw around. They call all their attacks the ultimate magic, the ultimate weapon—evidently, they think our Heavenly Smite is our ultimate attack. However—”
She paused, then snickered as she pointed up toward the sky.
“—an ultimate attack needs to obliterate its opponent, or else there’s nothing ultimate about it. Take, for instance—what’s above us.”
The black orb, a space cut off from the rest of the world, was only a few meters wide. Azril had fired off her Heavenly Smite within that space—and she was now reduced to her child form after using all her power. But the dark orb continued to rupture violently as Azril watched it with that same doll-like smile on her face.
The crowd could do nothing but cry out in horror. It was just as she said before the fight started, that it would end in one attack.
There was no way to escape its absolute power. Only destruction existed in the pocket dimension Azril had created.
The battle was over the moment she used her attack. It was an ultimate attack in the truest sense—an undeniable truth. The attack brought an end to any battle. It brought an end to everything, and always with one strike. Everyone present was horrified.
Of course they would be. When the angels thought about how Azril could use such an attack, they were overcome with fear. The Flügel. A race made by the god of war, the strongest of the gods. It took them but one wave of the hand to demolish all they laid eyes upon.
What did their god think he would be fighting against to give them this much power?
It was clearly overkill against one of the other races. However, deploying this ultimate attack on an enemy larger than oneself would be pointless. It only worked here because Azril had vastly more power than Jibril—enough to seal her off in a separate dimension. Beings stronger than Azril—such as Phantasmas, Dragonias, and Old Dei—could easily break out of the pocket space, rendering the attack useless.
“She’s the one left in charge of the Flügel—so she’d obviously need a way to exact her might on them,” Rafil continued.
Her sisters all knew this skill was given to her in order to kill another Flügel, should she need to.
The way Azril, who was weakened and in her child form, calmly watched the darkness with an emotionless smile on her face told them this more than anything.
“Fear not… She used it in front of you all for a reason. It’s her way of telling us she hopes she’ll never have to use it on us.”
Think of it as a tiny threat. Rafil chuckled to herself as she shared this with her sisters, but it did little to calm their nerves. They all knew this was just as Rafil described; it was Azril’s ultimate attack. Their lives would end the moment she used it on any of them. It didn’t matter if they knew about it beforehand—there was no way for any of them to defend against it. Azril having access to such an irrationally powerful attack meant one thing for her sisters:
Don’t fuck with me.
A warning in the clearest sense of the word.
Is that really Azril?
The entire crowed doubted their eyes as the angelic child waited to confirm Jibril’s death. But Rafil picked up on something else, and with a big smile on her face…
“I should mention—the phrase ‘ultimate attack’ is reserved for our Lord and our Lord only.”
“ What?”
No matter how powerful Azril may be, unless the ultimate attack was produced by their creator, there was always a flaw, a way to counter it.
An ultimate attack could only be deployed by an ultimate being. There was always a way to circumvent anything less than ultimate. The attack they were watching was no different.
“Well…how should I put this, Azril? I know—you should be happy. Looks like you got some of your charisma back.”
“S-Sister Rafil… Are you l-laughing?”
She was. The moment Azril used her ultimate and final attack, Rafil caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye, something that made her have to keep herself from laughing the entire time. Rafil could no longer keep it in, though, and laughter burst out of her like a breeched dam. How disrespectful of Azril, she thought as she snickered to herself. Azril called this her ultimate attack. It was precisely why
“Azril, this is exactly why you’re Azril…… Sigh… Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
Their creator probably thought this was hilarious, calling an attack not strong enough to kill him “ultimate.”
Then something happened.
With the exception of Rafil, it was something nobody understood. A beam of light was erupting from Azril’s chest—it had pierced her from behind. Azril’s face looked pitiful—it was as if the doll mask had fallen off—then everyone heard a familiar voice that made them go weak.
“Yes… That’s it… That dopey face of yours…suits you so well, Azril…”
“Wh…what happened ? Why’s there a hole in me?!”
Seeming to have appeared out of nowhere, there was the figure who had stabbed Azril from behind.
It was Jibril, who was clearly on her last legs. Every Flügel in the crowd heard the two sisters’ exchange and thought
Oh, that was Azril all along.
“Whaaat, uh… Ah-ha-ha, ha-ha, J-Jibs… What did you do to me…?”
…Where’d her charisma from before go? Ms. Serious Azril was no longer there. It was the Azril everyone knew, the one whose dopey voice and dry laugh never failed to ease her sisters’ tension. She sounded like she was in pain.
Azril had used her Heavenly Smite at full power on a pocket dimension she created. It was an attack she was sure would bring her target certain death. Jibril’s attack pierced her now-childlike body, reduced to this size by the lack of any energy after her attack. Jutting out from her, under where her doll-like smile once was. Stabbed by the person she was so certain she had killed that it almost brought her to tears.
Jibril answered Azril’s question from behind her:
“…You got too full of yourself, then got stabbed from behind by the Flügel you were looking down on… That’s all…”
Jibril didn’t feel like sharing what she’d actually done.
“What was that you said? ‘One strike. That’s all this will take. It’ll be over before you feel any pain’?”
Jibril spoke weakly as they both fell lifelessly from the sky, with Azril still impaled. Jibril had a firm smirk on her face as she continued:
“You were so sure of yourself before—I need to know how you feel now. ”
She wouldn’t get the answer she expected, though. Azril responded with her usual goofy smile:
“Hee-hee-hee! Jibs! You’re alive! I’m sooo happy!!”
…………
The crowd of Flügel watched wearily as the two sisters plummeted to the ground…and muttered to themselves in relief:
“Oh, hey, Azzie. Welcome baaack.”
“……What?! I—I lost?! How did that happen?!!”
The battle ended with Jibril’s life intact.
Azril was annoyingly nyahing as she stifled a laugh and buried her face into the ground to hide her happiness. She started flailing her arms and legs like a small child throwing a fit—well, she technically was a small child—as if her loss had just hit her.
“Azril…you sure are something… All that charisma you just showed, only to make them forget it by turning back into your usually useless self.”
Rafil’s words went unheard by Azril, who was whining away on the ground. “Whyyyy…?! I-I-I…I’m supposed to be the strongest—hic, hic—I’m nothing without that! How did I…lose…?”
The question asked by a somewhat deeply depressed Azril was answered by an unexpected peer.
“…Fret not…Azril… You were stronger than I could have ever imagined…” The frail voice continued. “…You beat all my trump cards…I had set up for that giant lizard…save for one…”
It was as if Azril was lifted out of hell and brought up into the heavens a huge smile was on her face in response to receiving some respect for once.
“Nyaaah?! Jibs is praising me?! This calls for celebration! Let’s throw a parade—”
“If only…you weren’t so…stupid…” Jibril smiled, making sure to drag her sister back down to hell, where she belonged.
“Nyaaaaaaaaah, I’m gonna cry! No one can stop the tears from— Gyanyaaaah?!”
“…I’ll stop them. Get a clue, you absolute dunce…”
Rafil drop-kicked Azril to end her crying. She sprang back up like clockwork. Though she had used all her power and had been stabbed, there was something markedly cheerful about her tone
“Nyah! So Jibs beat me?! How’d that even happen?!”
Azril then looked over at Jibril and gasped. Jibril was also in her child form. She was completely devoid of spirits, much less than when she usually reverted to her child form. She was swaying back and forth; parts of her body were missing. It didn’t look like she would be able to maintain her child form for much longer.
What did she do? How did this happen to her?
“…We need to get her to the Chamber of Restoration before these wounds are no longer treatable ”
“Nyah! I’ll save Jibs! Everybody hurry, I—whoaaa, the sky is spinning…”
“The same goes for you, you dolt! You have a hole in you! Somebody hold her down!!”
Rafil picked up Jibril and left the commotion centered around Azril behind as she thought:
What did Jibril do?
She had an idea, though it wasn’t possible for Jibril to break out of the pocket dimension Azril had created. Azril’s Heavenly Smite, unleashed in that confined space, was an ultimate attack—or at least it should have been, but Rafil had been able to see something else from this distance. Within the span of a second, probably less, she saw Jibril’s shocked expression when Azril sealed her away. However, just beyond that, Rafil believed she saw a second Jibril at the same time. This was why she never feared for Jibril’s life—but how did she do it? Was it a doppelgänger? No, that didn’t explain how she was able to escape Azril’s pocket dimension. So there was only one other explanation. Rafil had an idea of what her youngest sister did, but the question still remained: How? In other words
“She warped through time… Flügel shouldn’t be able to do that—so how did she pull it off?”
Flügel common sense dictated that space wasn’t continuous. It was in a state of constant flow, like waves in the ocean. Flügel were able to open holes in these waves and travel through them to move to a predetermined, absolute distance. Rafil knew that time worked in a similar way as space did—she had fought enough Dragonias to recognize that they moved through both time and space simultaneously. Unlike space, time didn’t move in a wave motion…or did it? At least, Rafil and other the Flügel didn’t think so.
(Did she figure something out…? Something about how dragons are able to shift through both time and space?)
Rafil didn’t think it was possible, but it was the only explanation for what she had just witnessed. It wasn’t that far-fetched, either—Jibril had, after all, gone up against this Dragonia five times already.
“She may have found a way to beat someone stronger than her.”
Rafil still didn’t have any idea what it cost Jibril to pull off such a feat, or how she did it in the first place.
I’ll need to ask her when she gets out of the Chamber—oh, almost forgot.
“By the way, Azril. I’m gonna give her the Dragonia bone like I promised. You don’t mind, right?” Rafil asked her older sister, just to make sure.
“Uggghhh… Waaah… Jibs… Urrrgh…” Azril blubbered as she was forcibly taken into custody.
Rafil took her response as a yes
Everything I’ve done has been for this day, this moment. I don’t intend to write anything further in this journal, so I’ll end with one heartfelt wish—all I desire:
“I, a Flügel, have defeated a Dragonia.”
…………
Jibril scrawled one last sentence, then closed her journal and flew toward the dragon she could see in the distance. It wasn’t her utmost determination or desire that drove her, but her will. After losing five times, and going in for her sixth try, she remembered the question she had when she first fought against the white dragon, on that fateful day that felt like so long ago.
“Why did I lose?”
It was a question with an answer so painfully obvious that she didn’t understand why she even thought it in the first place, but the real essence of the question was
Just what is a Dragonia…? Jibril wondered. Then the dragon called out, like a trumpet heralding the start of battle. He spoke in his language, which caused all things in nature to yield to his will.
“EXPLODE.”
If he commanded the word “die,” the world responded with a “yes, Master.” Those who exercise dominance over their slaves don’t ask them to do things, they command them. The Dragonian tongue was revered as the universal language or the language of creation. It was the edict of a ruler. Should a Dragonia command people to destroy themselves, then those far and wide shall obey the command, without any way to resist. Jibril knew this more than anyone, as she had firsthand experience with how almighty they were. All matter the dragon saw was turned into a white light. It was absurd and unreasonable, but it was how the world worked for them. Jibril had been sucked into this unreasonable cycle.
( Azril really is an idiot…)
She laughed to herself; now was the perfect time. She opened up a hole in space in front of her.
The fight would end the moment she used the attack, eh? I can’t believe she considered that an ultimate attack.
Jibril had already survived a similar attack the first time she went up against the white dragon. She had survived through five ultimate attacks now.
She knew there was no such thing as an ultimate attack. And the white dragon knew—this angel wasn’t going to heed to his command words like heaven and earth did!
In that very moment, the dragon’s tail came swinging toward Jibril at an incomprehensible speed, especially considering the size of his body. It sounded like planets colliding when it hit the ground, producing a massive sound that resonated throughout the entire sea. In a flash, the dragon’s tail parted the heavens, earth, and ocean. The shock wave likely pushed several races closer to extinction with the damage it brought them. Nevertheless, the white dragon seemed to be enjoying their battle.
“My. Most impressive, Little Feather—thou hast become light.”
The Dragonia was using two mighty attacks at once: speaking in the Dragonian tongue and swinging its tail at the speed of light. Jibril was able to dodge both of these with grace—she looked at the white dragon with a giant grin on her face.
“I appreciate your kind words, but—it’s actually quite easy once you know what you’re doing.”
Just as Rafil had predicted—it was possible to dodge the Dragonia’s commands by teleporting through space and time milliseconds after they were spoken. The dragon’s tail was just barely manageable by freezing time in certain spaces. The Dragonia watched Jibril and let out a mighty laugh.
Temporal and spatial shifting.
It goes without saying that a normal Flügel would never be able to do such a thing. It simply wasn’t possible. Should they try, the same thing that happened during Jibril’s fight with Azril would surely happen now. They would use more energy than it took to use a Heavenly Smite and start losing their physical body.
But doing it in this spot was simple. Jibril knew how to do it here after fighting against the Dragonia five times. Dragons moved through space and time by leaving it behind them. Shifting up to them wasn’t possible, which meant that dragons were in a never-ending state of distorting the space and time around them. Using the waves created by the dragon made it easier to move through time and space. That was how Jibril managed to keep up with him.
That is what it meant to be a dragon—it was the nature of the Dragonias. Jibril’s fight with her sister was nothing more than a warm-up.
So what is a Dragonia? They are gigantic beings capable of commanding more spirits than the Flügel, who were created by the world’s strongest god. It could hardly be called magic with how overpowering their language—the words of which commanded nature—was.
Jibril remembered the first time she was faced with the dragon’s impossible power. She knew the moment she was ripped to shreds by his words that she couldn’t defeat him. It was the one opponent that made her feel like she was fighting with her creator. She was hit with a realization, or an instinct—perhaps a form of common sense—which dictated that she wouldn’t be able to do anything to the dragon, no matter what she hit him with.
Despite this, she tried again and again to kill him. She struggled with the feeling of helplessness she felt that very first day they battled.
The notion that it wasn’t possible for her to defeat him. How come the Flügel could kill something this incredibly powerful when they were in a group? How come if there were fifty or one hundred of them, they could defeat the Dragonia? There was something absurd about it.
So Jibril promised herself. If that was the extent of the dragon’s power, then she alone would defeat him. That very dragon went on to defeat her five times, with about as much effort as it takes one to whip away dust. It was a contradiction. A contradiction with only one answer, and that was
“I should apologize for the lackluster performance I showed you in our first five fights.”
Jibril gave a deep bow for the dragon.
If the Flügel really were powerless compared to the Dragonias, then they shouldn’t have been able to fell one no matter what their numbers were. The reality, however, was: They could. The weak defeated the strong; there was only one answer that made this contradiction possible. It was the source of the confidence Jibril had that neither Rafil nor Azril understood.
Seeing as the Flügel are capable of vanquishing them in battle, Dragonias were never that strong in the first place.
“I’m not used to fighting a cheat of your caliber… I promise you’ll enjoy this battle.”
Jibril asserted that the Dragonias were simply cheating at their fights. The white dragon looked pleased.
“Oh-ho Thou callest us Dragonias swindlers?”
“Your strength is without principle and providence. It is based on trickery, nothing more than a sleight of the hand.”
Without principle and providence, in other words, their strength wasn’t actual strength. Removing their tricks would fix the contradiction. To put it simply
“If I can expose and destroy the trickery on which your strength is based, it should be quite easy for me to defeat you. Today, I’ve come to reveal your tricks. ”
The dragon looked interested in Jibril’s theory. He went on to ask her:
“Is strength without principle and providence not true strength?”
“Correct. With the exception of Lord Artosh, all creatures throughout the entire world are but weaker beings. If there’s a way for one to overcome the other, it would be based purely on trickery. Please watch as I proceed to show you each of the tricks you rely on.”
The dragon was silent for a moment before he burst out in billowing laughter.
“Indeed thou knowest so much, and yet, thou fail to realize how much thou knowest. This pleases me; I look forward to thy little show.” The dragon spread his wings and gazed upon Jibril with his azure eyes, and continued, “The future is yet to be seen, but should thou defeat me, thou shalt know. Go and sing before thy creator what thou realize, and what notions thou reject.”
I look forward to when thou dost so.
A whirlwind of destruction formed under the dragon as he flapped his massive wings. He appeared to be happy, but it didn’t seem like he desired to speak with Jibril any further, and he prepared for battle.
Jibril still had no idea what this dragon was talking about. Before her was a being worth fighting; therefore, she wanted to fight it. To Jibril, there was no point to war or battles beyond that.
A battle that would change all logic as it was understood at that time began in the next moment.
Wings of a tiny angel clashed with wings of a giant dragon.
As if they were recreating the legend from so long ago, their clash went beyond the sea where they battled and shook time itself. The dragon used its tail, claws, fangs, and words to fight against the Flügel. The angel responded by evading, blocking, and parrying his onslaught of attacks.
The battle tore through space and twisted through time, sending the world into a screaming frenzy. It was a phenomenon that far surpassed human knowledge, to the point where it couldn’t be called a battle. Those who could distinguish between this clash and the one between the unrivaled god of war and the supreme Ruler of Dragonia knew that only gods themselves were capable of such destruction.
The sea beneath the two foes boiled over, and the mountains came crashing down with the sky.
All light disappeared in a single flash, without leaving a trace. The sight was apocalyptic, as if heaven and earth were collapsing—you had to wonder how someone capable of comprehending such destruction would describe it.
The dragon continued his onslaught of fatal attacks without signs of stopping, but not a single one reached the angel. Some might call it a miracle that she was able to keep up, but the dragon and the angel both knew more than anyone:
She was barely putting any effort into it at all.
The gap in power was still evident, but the little angel gracefully weaved her way through her opponent’s attacks, using his power against him. Every time the dragon slipped through space and time, the angel demi-shifted through each wave, just barely escaping death. It was almost ironic; the incredible power of the dragon was what protected the angel.
Thus the dragon couldn’t help but admire her; he was moved by the fight.
It was hard to believe that such a small being, created by the incarnation of emptiness, could come up with such ingenuity.
“Incredible—astounding, even—but alas…”
The dragon was laughing.
“Thou hast not come here to dodge my attacks, hast thee, Little Feather? Is it time for the reveal thou spoke of?”
He sarcastically pointed out how Jibril had yet to launch her own attack. The comment clearly bothered her.
“You’re quite the chatty lizard… Did anyone ever teach you something called a climax?”
She snapped back with some sarcasm of her own, but she definitely wasn’t in as good a spot as she wanted to be in.
She wasn’t contending with the dragon at all.
The source of this destruction was a mighty dragon unleashing an onslaught of attacks and a tiny angel dodging said attacks for her life, nothing more. Jibril was using the dragon’s power against him to nullify his attacks, but doing so was like walking along a tightrope; there was no room for misjudgment.
From the dragon’s perspective, no matter how hard the angel tried, she wasn’t strong enough to defeat him.
He was certain of this after their previous five battles.
Even if neither of them landed a finishing blow, he had a great advantage, since Jibril needed to use significant energy to dodge the attacks he effortlessly threw at her. Should the fight push on—eventually time itself would determine the winner. However—Jibril had a way to reverse this outcome.
“…Authors typically structure their writing with plot development followed by a climax ”
Though she was dodging for her life, Jibril never lost the smile that showed her confidence in her victory.
“I’d say we are just about at the point right before the climax, where the plot falls apart…” She was laughing. “You exist on multiple planes of time, don’t you?”
The dragon was shocked by her assertion. He was at a loss for words.
“What’s this? Did I hit the nail on the head? What an interesting little discovery I’ve made. ”
Jibril had uncovered the essence of a Dragonia’s life. They inhabited not only the present, but in the past and the future as well—across three points in time. They were multi-temporal interdimensional beings. This was the secret for their never-ending life and ultimate power that rivaled that of an Old Deus. They didn’t live on points of time and space, but throughout it on the whole. Attacking them at one point did nothing, since the wound would instantly heal thanks to their existence in past and future points. Their power, which also existed across multiple planes, could be harnessed infinitely on the plane where they were fighting. A Dragonia’s body was nothing more than a vessel for multiple points of time and space to converge—a Deflation World. However—
“ How didst thou come upon this realization, Little Feather?!” the dragon demanded, unable to hide his surprise.
—there was no way for her to know this. Even if she did know, she couldn’t possibly comprehend it.
That wasn’t just for the Flügel; the same went for all living beings that inhabited the present. And yet, it was during this almost legendary fight when she reached a conclusion unbefitting of this frenzied world
“I figured it out from the stupid look on your face. Thank you for playing along with me this far. ”
Now the dragon was truly lost for words.
She had been bluffing.
The dragon was stunned by the truth. She had tricked him into admitting the essence of Dragonian life by having him react to her question.
Jibril found a small protrusion of earth where she gingerly landed. Hiding the fact that she was on the brink of death, she addressed her foe:
“Now, I’ll tell you the reason I haven’t attacked yet, as you so kindly pointed out earlier.” She tried her best to speak as leisurely as possible. “I know that a single attack is not enough to vanquish you. It’s why I needed you to wait, and for that, I apologize. Now it’s time for the grand unveiling you’ve so eagerly been waiting for. You may want to grab a tissue, for what you are about to behold will shock and amaze you ”
She gave a delicate curtsy for the dragon.
“I’ll attack twice if my first attack isn’t enough. And if you’re still standing, I’ll attack thrice. Behold as I defeat you in not one, not two, but three ultimate attacks.”
It wasn’t her unfulfilled desire or boundless determination that drove her, but her will. Her will to show the First Number, and the dragon standing before her, that nothing was ultimate.
“Brace yourself for a threefold ultimate attack!”
That brings us to the climax you’ve all been waiting for.
The battle was moving faster and faster until it was three attacks away from the finish. She had already jotted down the conclusion of the battle in her journal—she was going to kill the dragon with the next three attacks. With unwavering purpose, she treaded the path of logic to make it all the way to this final moment. Forget about the Jibril who would hang her head low the moment the battle finished—the final act began with the dragon who had existed for an eternity learning what pain was for the first time.
No matter what time even meant for a battle like this, Jibril’s next three attacks all happened at nearly the same moment.
The first attack.
Jibril weaved her way through time and space to appear behind the dragon. In her hands was a giant metal mass. She was going to try and behead him.
( These dragons exist in multiple planes of time and space? That makes absolutely no sense !!)
She had many hunches that led her to this theory. Like how the dragons bent space-time, or how they moved, or their seemingly limitless power. And her biggest hint of all defeating an all-powerful enemy by merely teaming up against it was more than enough to prove that something was up. That there was a trick to the Dragonias’ power; it was all a farce. However—seeing her foe unable to hide his shock when she mentioned this theory was all the proof Jibril needed to believe it was true. Her theory: If I can reveal the trick behind the dragon’s power, I can defeat him.
Jibril was going to copy the Elves and divide her spirit corridor by duocasting to create the biggest effect as possible with the minimal use of spirits. She was going to use the power she developed when she defeated Azril—the power she had sucked up from her and stored in her giant metal sword. Her weapon began to hum.
It was a piece of the Dwarf airship Grytha, the quote-unquote sword Jibril had ripped off the ship. Originally a cannon created to pierce the Elves’ defensive magic, it was just as primitive in the way it functioned as the Dwarves themselves. The cannon had multiple seal runes etched into it, through which the spirit energy flowed to create a thin stream of hyper-dense spirits, dense enough to penetrate the Elves’ magical barrier.
That’s it. It was as simple and brutish as that.
(I wonder what’s going to happen when I pour Flügel spirits into this thing how thrilling!)
Jibril was quivering with excitement as she finally used the weapon, which successfully pierced the dragon’s hide. She plunged it into him, thus affirming her theory. Her strongest Heavenly Smite barely did anything to a single scale—which would recover instantly after the attack—but her makeshift sword pierced his hide like a knife through butter. However, it didn’t take long for her weapon to start melting.
“You would stoop so low as to use Dwarven tools, Little Feather? Nonetheless—thy attack shan’t reach me.”
“I didn’t think it would. Don’t get ahead of yourself—we still have two more attacks coming,” Jibril replied confidently.
Nonetheless, she fully realized that her chances of winning within this compressed version of time were slim. It was a hopeless wager, like putting all your money on a pig winning a horse race.
However—it was all or nothing. The fact that there was even a chance was more than enough of a reason for her to place her bet!
“Now surprise me with thy next two attacks ”
And an instant later, he was indeed surprised.
The second attack.
Jibril couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He’s going to love this.
It was why she had saved as much energy as she could up until that point. She was going to put her full power into a Heavenly Smite aimed at the spot where she had impaled the dragon with her makeshift sword. The chuckle was at the thought of the dragon perishing.
There were two reasons the white dragon was overcome with shock. The first wasn’t from the Heavenly Smite that had connected with him, but the fact that something within him had become the catalyst of her Heavenly Smite.
“ Is that a bone ?!”
Indeed it was.
Jibril had embedded the bone she’d borrowed from Rafil into her sword. The immortal bone—so strong, not even a god could destroy it—was the catalyst for her Heavenly Smite. It opened a hole in the dragon large enough for her Heavenly Smite to travel through. It was as if that was the point the dragon finally realized what was happening—there were pangs of fretfulness that could be heard within his voice. Jibril flashed a slight grin.
She acquired her next sliver of hope: This attack ever so slightly increased her chance of victory. Dragonias inhabited the past, present, and future. Their power bounced off the walls of time, growing to infinity. Jibril didn’t need to know how this worked. The very principle of it was enough of a foundation for her theory as to why the Dragonias can be overwhelmingly powerful, but not undefeatable.
They reverberate and amplify their energy—which exists simultaneously in the past, present, and future—into a single point in space-time: a Deflation World. If this is the trick to how they function, the same logic can be applied to destroying them. A Dragonia’s body is a reverberation of their power through multiple planes of time and space; therefore, their power is infinite. This would mean it shouldn’t be possible for anyone or anything to ever overwhelm their power effectively.
The same should be true for all of the Dragonias the Flügel had vanquished in the past, and for all Dragonias to come. All of their victories to this point were due to one thing: that a Dragonia’s body accumulates too much power and destroys itself from the inside…!
If a Dragonia’s body is capable of infinitely reverberating its own power between the past and future and into the present…what happens when there is a chink in their impossibly tough armor—their isolated husk of space-time?
A small hole—a wound—is all it would take, and any attack that penetrates that tiny spot would also reverberate infinitely. That explained why it took one hundred Flügel to defeat a single dragon. The problem was finding a way to penetrate their armor; after that, they needed only to add but a drop of energy for the dragon to implode.
This brings us to the second reason the dragon was in a state of shock. Not only did his reaction affirm the theory spelled out above—he was also reacting to something else. Upon firing off her second Heavenly Smite, Jibril was reduced to her child form. What could she possibly do for a third attack?
Jibril smiled. Oh, it’s coming.
The tiny Flügel, who was plummeting toward the earth, as she hadn’t the energy left to fly, held her hand across her young chest.
“Surely you didn’t think Dragonias were the only ones capable of a self-sacrificial attack like your Far Cry?”
Most dragons would say yes, because it was the truth.
It wasn’t possible for other beings, whose existence didn’t rely on such trickery as straddling multiple planes of time and space, to use a skill like a Dragonia’s Far Cry. Jibril didn’t know how it worked, but she knew that if she used the magic the Elves had developed to try and control living beings like Flügel and Phantasmas on herself—on her own core—she could duplicate a Far Cry’s effect.
She knew that destroying her core would cause her to self-destruct, and that she could aim the damage where she wanted to. It was more than enough to suffice the drop of energy needed to send into the hole she’d created and thus destroy her opponent.
The third attack.
The Flügel don’t normally name their attacks. They exercise their power, control the space around them, and destroy whatever appears in their path. There wasn’t any real technique to it; therefore, their attacks weren’t worth naming. To a Flügel, attacking was like breathing. But Jibril would use this Smite just once, and on a Dragonia that pushed her this far. She thought it was only appropriate to name her ultimate attack out of respect for her opponent.
“That brings an end to my third attack, which I call—Absolute Smite—and an end to our battle.”
Jibril had forcefully rewritten the magic used by Artosh to create the Flügel. Had Azril been there, she probably would’ve reprimanded the act as blasphemy against their creator.
“ Will thou not vanquish me?” the dragon quietly asked, to which Jibril cocked her head in confusion.
She remembered a particular phrase in one of the Elf books she’d read while killing time in the Chamber of Restoration: “Let your enemy cut your flesh so that you will smash his bones.” At the time, she felt bad for the low-intelligence race and how pitiful of an idea it was to do so. However, if her one and only desire was to truly prove it was possible for a single Flügel to defeat a Dragonia, then
“I have vanquished you. What difference does it make if a small footnote says I died in the process?”
Jibril needed to be prepared to have her own bones smashed.
She didn’t care whether she lived or died so long as she vanquished a Dragonia on her own. Even if she perished, only one thing mattered—her victory.
Jibril’s body began to shine brightly.
“ Incredible.”
The Dragonia praised Jibril as she lit up the sky the same way she had many times before. Her third and final attack was going to pierce through the dragon’s body, a vessel in which time and space converged. She only needed a tiny amount of energy to make it into said vessel, where it would amplify infinitely, eventually blowing the dragon’s head off. But Jibril never witnessed this, for at that very moment, she lost consciousness…
“ Did I fail?” Jibril whispered to herself in disbelief.
She could tell she was alive by the faint sensations she felt on her back and the red sky that reflected in her eyes. She no longer had the energy to move; she couldn’t feel her arms and legs—she might not even have them anymore.
I’m alive.
Jibril was furious and full of despair at this fact—not to mention filled with crippling frustration. Her being alive meant she failed to successfully rewrite her final spell, which would use her life to take the Dragonia’s.
“Little Feather. Thy light burned brighter than the sun.”
It sounded like she’d failed. She could barely hear the Dragonia’s voice; he seemed very far away.
“…It seems I lost my gamble at the very end… What a pitiful finish…”
At the end of the day, Jibril was a Flügel. The magic she tried to rewrite was created by Artosh, the god of war, the strongest of the gods. She knew it wouldn’t be able to defile the sacred sanctuary where the core of this magic lay. If she were to make an excuse for herself it wasn’t possible to test rewriting the spell out. Her only option was to wing it during the fight. She lamented her final gamble.
“Behold, Glorious Feather—behold with utmost pride as thy enemy perishes.”
She turned her head—surprised that she could still use her neck—to the direction the Dragonia’s voice was coming from. Her vision was blurred, but she could make out the Dragonia’s head—it was dissolving into light that disappeared into the sky.
“Be proud, Little Feather. Thou hast vanquished me. This is my parting gift to thee.”
Jibril was overcome with pride, just as the Dragonia commanded. She was filled with an intense sense of accomplishment. She had done what she set out to do.
That fact alone was enough to fill her with so much euphoria, she went numb. She was then gripped with an intense fatigue, and slowly fell asleep. As her eyes began to close, she knew she wouldn’t likely wake from this slumber…
She didn’t rewrite the spell exactly as she’d aimed to, but she did manage to defeat the Dragonia. Now all her spirit energy was falling apart. She could feel herself melting away into nothingness…
Jibril knew she was dying. Her consciousness began to fade, but the dragon continued:
“There was once a soul who asked the heavens what true strength was.”
“…Sounds like someone with too much time on their hands…” Jibril answered in a raspy voice, and, for some reason, the dragon let out a loud roar of a laugh.
“ I believe it was thou who claimed strength without principle and providence was true strength.”
“I said no such thing. I was only agreeing with you…”
“Then I have a new question for thee: Is there any meaning to meaningless strength—that is, strength without principle or providence?”
“A meaning to strength without meaning…? Are you really going to talk about this in our final moments ? Fine, I’ll oblige. You should be thankful my patience and generosity know no limits.”
Jibril scoffed.
“ My answer is: I could not care less.”
“ ”
“Every being on this entire planet is weak compared to Lord Artosh.”
Jibril looked at the crimson sky, filled with debris, and slowly continued.
“I challenged a being stronger than myself, lost a few times, but eventually emerged victorious. And I enjoyed every moment of it, every minute of my life while I was on this adventure, and our final battle—what a battle it was. I will remember this battle even after I die. I believe you will, too. That’s all I need to feel fulfilled in life. Nothing else really matters to me—do you disagree?”
Jibril’s words made the Dragonia wonder if she would never learn the answers she sought. Or
“Here is another question: Having honed thy skills and knowledge to defeat me, do you now believe thou art stronger than I?”
“Would you call someone a monster for having slain a monster? I don’t think so. In fact—”
The dragon was certain of something from the way Jibril flatly rejected his notion.
“—I don’t think there’s even a point in trying to figure out who the strongest is.”
Not only did she realize the big answer, she cast it away without knowing how valuable it was: Everything about Jibril rejected her creator. She would probably never realize that she herself was precisely what the god of war so desired.
She was following the path of a weaker being.
“I’ll have you know that I’m actually one of the more modest Flügel, with a strong grasp of common sense.”
.
R-right.
The dragon could almost hear the world sharing his reaction. But the Feather continued:
“You, on the other hand, were completely nonsensical, probably due to your ridiculous strength—that was also the reason for your defeat. All I had to do was pierce a little hole in your defense. You brought defeat onto yourself—my own power had little to do with it.”
“…………”
“If there’s ever a next time for us, here’s some advice…” The Feather sighed. “You ought to learn a little more modesty. Without that, it was easy for someone as sensible as me to defeat someone as nonsensical as you.”
The Elves and Dwarves she’d exterminated in order to achieve this victory were collectively rolling in their graves. “What the hell is common sense?!” they screamed.
Nonetheless, relatively speaking, the Flügel really did have a certain amount of common sense when it came to war.
“Verily. Thou speakest the truth.”
The dragon beamed.
Jibril thought about asking him what he meant by that, but she stopped herself. She had a feeling those words weren’t meant for her. So instead, she asked him something else.
“ Can I ask you your name?” She lay motionless on the ground, almost pleading with the dragon. “If I am to die…then as you wish, I want to die with the pride of knowing I defeated you… And I can’t take full pride in myself if I don’t know your name.”
The dragon agreed wholeheartedly and answered in a quiet voice:
“ Liechengerte, Follower of the Ruler Reginleif the Enlightened.”
“…Liechengerte… A light so far away…”
Jibril said the name over and over under her breath, before clenching her teeth and saying it one last time. The dragon smiled with a sense of satisfaction and turned to face her.
“Little—nay, Glorious Feather. Thou shalt not perish. Thou shalt live to see further days. One day, though, thou will fight an even weaker being. And when that day comes, thou shalt realize what it meant to defeat me. Until then, be proud of what thou have done today. It brings…greater meaning…to my…existence…than there could ”
ever be.
His words evaporated into the wind, leaving behind nothing but undying bones.
Jibril chuckled to herself. Even in the very end, the Dragonia made little to no sense. Yet, amidst her sense of overwhelming accomplishment was the slightest doubt—that the dragon had abandoned her. Loneliness flooded her when…
“Nyaaah?! There’s a dead Dragonia here JIBS! JIBS, YOU’RE—! CALLING ALL FLÜGEL!!! DEMI-SHIFT TO MY LOCATION IMMEDIATELY!! THAT’S AN ORDER!!! WE’RE GONNA HEAL JIBS ON-SITE! JUST DEMI-SHIFT AV’N’ HERE, WILL YA ?!”
…suddenly, a shrill screech reached her ears, so irksome it instinctively made her grow weary. That was the last thing she remembered before she finally lost consciousness.
So I, um…survived.
The last line I wrote in this journal makes me want to bury myself in a deep hole. I think I’ll be more careful about what I write in here moving forward…
P.S. I have the most annoying older sister in the world.
…Jibril was flipping through the journal she’d sworn to never open again when she noticed the aforementioned annoying older sister.
“Azril, would you please let go of me?” she asked, her voice cold as ice.
“That’s gonna be a no.”
It took her four years to regain consciousness, and it was going to take another six years to make a full recovery. Azril was there in the Chamber of Restoration, latched onto Jibril.
“I hafta stick to you to make sure you don’t go off and do anything ridiculous again! What were you thinking, trying to rewrite your core magic like that?! That was amazing, though, killing a Dragonia by yourself and all. I spoke with the girls about where the best place to hang that dragon’s bones would be, and we decided that once you’re outta here, we’re gonna throw a parade to celebrate your recovery! But I’m sticking by you until then. Do you know how incredible a feat it is to take down a Dragonia?! It’s quite the accomplishment!!”
From the moment Jibril woke up, Azril hadn’t stopped talking to or hugging her. Normally, she would chase her eldest sister out of the room, but Rafil was there to stop her.
“Jibril, don’t even think about it. This sister of yours literally spent the past four years clinging to you while you were asleep. Until you get all your strength back—I’m thinking another two years at least—she’s gonna be stuck to you like glue.”
Jibril almost felt like passing out again.
She managed to pull herself together and heaved a sigh. “Ugh…forget Annoyril. Why are you here, Elder Rafil?”
“‘Annoyril’? Is that supposed to be me?! That’s a little blunt, wouldn’t ya say?!”
“Hmm? Is there a problem with me wanting to see my youngest sister, who’s accomplished an incredible achievement that I’m very proud of?” Rafil ignored her older sister and patted Jibril on her head. She smiled and continued warmly:
“ You sure are something, Jibril. Don’t do something that insane ever again—but still, you’ve done well.”
Jibril looked up at Rafil; she was so cool. “Sister Rafil… I’d rather you be the leader of the Flügel.”
“What?! Why?! And did you just call her Sister Rafil?! No fair! That’s it! I challenge you to a duel, Raf—”
Azril didn’t know this as she whined away, but just outside their room was a crowd of Flügel, and each of them agreed with Jibril’s sentiment.
The moment was cut short when the air began to vibrate, quietly, like a distant earthquake. No one there could ignore the extraordinary power that affected itself on the room. The cramped room—which changed to an expansive space—and the commotion it contained found itself hosting a towering man with an imposing appearance, as if he had been in the room since ancient times. The three girls froze up when they saw him. The god of war, the Ultimate God, their creator, Artosh, had appeared before them.
He who hadn’t left his throne in hundreds, perhaps thousands of years was making a personal visit to the Chamber of Restoration. His arrival must have had an impact on time, or space, or the law of causality, because the room they were in had expanded to hundreds, thousands of times its original size. Having seen their creator stand for the first time, they felt like mere insects in his presence.
“ I hear thou vanquished a dragon, Irregular Number.”
Artosh proudly gazed upon his angelic servants, who were frozen in disbelief.
“What shalt thou do next, my Wings? Wilt thou hone thy strength until thou can vanquish me?”
He spoke with a kind tone, as if that was what he wanted her to do. Azril, Rafil, and all the Flügel listening couldn’t believe their ears; they were on the verge of fainting.
“ It may be blasphemous of me to question you, Lord, but I must insist: Did you come all the way here to ask me that? Was it always that easy to get you to stand up?”
Some of the Flügel actually did faint when they heard Jibril’s response. Even Azril was beginning to dip in and out of consciousness, but Jibril wasn’t finished.
“I couldn’t possibly compete with your divine strength, Lord. I am still a weakling.”
She spoke with pride in front of her creator.
“I will one day prove I can drag you from your throne by myself so for now, please take your seat on the throne where you belong, Lord.”
Sit down and shut up.
The rest of the Flügel proceeded to swoon at Jibril’s blatant challenge to their creator’s authority.
“HA—HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA !!”
Artosh let out a boisterous laugh like he had never before. He grinned from ear to ear as he addressed Jibril in a markedly savage tone:
“ Very well. I’ll be waiting atop my throne Godspeed to thee, my beloved weakling.”
He then disappeared, and the room reverted back to normal. He left behind an infinite number of questions and
“…Jibs…that—that was…”
“ Huh?”
Jibril looked at her oldest sister, whose eyes were lit up like light bulbs as she shouted.
“You made Lord Artosh smile! And a fighting smile at that!! Does this mean you’re gonna fight Lord Artosh next?! Where do you get the guts to do that? That tiny journal of yours is gonna get massive!!”
“Azril, please calm yourself. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“N-no, Jibril… This is a fight too great even for you—” Even Rafil was caught off guard by what just happened, as were the rest of the Flügel who had been listening. Chaos broke out as the angels—now a mixed bag of envy, astonishment, and admiration—set Avant Heim alight with their chatter.
He was all by himself, seated on his throne, resting his hand on his cheek, as always. Artosh muttered to the powerful dragon he once vanquished from the top of the world in a legendary battle:
“…Hartileif, O Final one: I see our discussion was indeed fruitful—and yet, it truly wasn’t.”
They say dragons can see through the crevasses of time. There wasn’t a doubt in Artosh’s mind that Hartileif knew this day would come. In which case, what he’d told Artosh turned out to be incredibly true—but it was also something Artosh never wanted to hear.
That pathetic dragon, the one Artosh had almost forgotten he’d ever fought—that very dragon had challenged the god of war knowing he was weaker than him, but he didn’t have the mettle to try and overcome him despite his weakness. If you know you are weak, shouldn’t you try to push forward regardless?
He should have greeted the strongest being with open arms. Artosh would never understand Hartileif, who had accepted his death gracefully.
Challenging the strong is all I desire, yet it is also why I cannot attain happiness…
“And yet the day I await may not be so far off.”
It was the year the Great War would come to an end twelve years later. But the god of war, even with his divine knowledge, had no way of knowing this.
Artosh quietly sneered as he imagined the battles that awaited one of his Wings.
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