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Chapter 15 — The Honored One
Australia, 15:00. The sun glinted off the glass towers of Melbourne, reflecting off the streets filled with buses, cars, and pedestrians oblivious to the chaos looming above. The hum of everyday life masked the tension rising in the city—a tension that would be obliterated in an instant.
It began with a low, eerie hum, the air vibrating with unnatural energy. Then came the flash. A Rank 1 Angel, smiling as though the carnage was a game, materialized above Federation Square. Its skin gleamed pale, almost translucent, and its three eyes glowed faintly in calculated rhythm. Down below, Gregory Alan, the cybernetically enhanced human, met it mid-air with a speed that would have broken ordinary bones. Every strike from his reinforced limbs shattered glass and bent steel. His father's twisted genius had molded him into a weapon meant to rival angels. Yet Alan's genius came with flaws—he was a protector of Australia alone, blinded by loyalty to territory over survival.
The clash began violently, a dance of ice and metal. Alan's blades clashed against the angel's icy tendrils, sparks flying in arcs that lit the nearby streets. Cars flipped. Shops shattered. Civilians screamed. Despite Alan's skill, each move carried collateral damage—a city being demolished under their combat. He gritted his teeth, dodging a sweeping ice strike that would have impaled him moments before. His cybernetic eyes flared red as he calculated angles, anticipating the next strike.
The Angel laughed—a melodic, chilling sound. "You fight well, human, but you're still just a toy."
Alan growled, muscles flexing, and retaliated with a spinning strike that shattered a section of the angel's arm. But it barely reacted, pulling itself back and circling like a predator enjoying a cage match.
Then, the world froze—literally and figuratively. Both combatants halted mid-air, suspended as if the universe had paused, eyes drawn upward.
From the skyline, two figures descended, moving with a grace that defied gravity and expectation. Kazuo—nonchalant, almost bored—drifted down first. His baggy trousers and combat boots contrasted sharply with the massive blade strapped to his back. A form-fitting top clung to his lean, godlike frame, highlighting a body that seemed sculpted from light and shadow itself. Beside him hovered Seraphiel, golden aura flickering faintly, her expression calm and unreadable.
Alan's jaw dropped. "That… that's an angel." His voice trembled—not with fear, but with awe. He'd faced Rank 1 Angels before, but this… presence was different. Palpable. Weighty. Commanding.
The Rank 1 Angel, Ketrah, blinked twice, its third eye narrowing. Its voice was sardonic, echoing across the street like cold thunder. "The disgraced one," it hissed, pointing at Seraphiel. Then its gaze slid over Kazuo, recognition—or was it calculation?—flickering across its features. "You must be the so-called Honored One, or his reincarnation at least."
Kazuo said nothing. His expression betrayed no reaction, no awe, no emotion beyond a faint tilt of the head. Then, with a movement too fast for the eye to follow, he flashed behind Ketrah. In an effortless motion, his hands wrapped around the angel's neck. A flick, a twist, and Ketrah's body erupted in flames of pure incineration, leaving only ash drifting in the Melbourne wind.
Alan stared in disbelief, feeling the weight of his inadequacy hit him like a tidal wave. "How—how is that even possible?" His cybernetic enhancements allowed speed, strength, and precision, but even he could feel the gap. The difference between engineered power and the raw, natural supremacy of a hybrid ruler was horrifyingly clear.
As casually as they appeared, Kazuo and Seraphiel took off, vanishing into the stratosphere like shadows against the afternoon sun. Melbourne lay in ruins, smoke curling from shattered streets, but Alan's attention remained fixed. He clenched his fists, a mixture of awe and rage flooding him. For the first time, he saw what real Angelic ability was—untamed, effortless, and absolute.
Then something shifted. From the remains of Ketrah's incinerated body, the Angel core pulsed. Its voice whispered—not loud, but echoing in Alan's mind. "Do you wish to kill that abomination?"
The question struck a chord. Alan felt it stir something within him—a dangerous thirst, a desire for more than human limits. For a brief moment, he imagined wielding such power himself. And he answered.
He fused with it.
The energy surged violently through his body. Lights, shadows, ice, fire—coalescing into a being far beyond human. And as it did, Kazuo and Seraphiel, flying toward Russia, paused mid-flight. Even from hundreds of kilometers away, Kazuo felt the pulse of unnatural energy, familiar yet alien.
Before they could react, Alan—or what Alan had become—stood before them. His movements were no longer his own; Kang's presence dominated, using Alan's body as a vessel. The world seemed to quiver as Kang's essence flowed through every fiber of Alan's cybernetic and human form.
And then it happened.
In an instant, Kang's hand ripped through Kazuo's chest, tearing the organ from its place. A moment of silence followed, the kind that would have killed any ordinary being. But Kazuo didn't even flinch. A faint, bored sigh escaped him as his chest healed instantly, the wound sealing as if it had never existed.
Kang's voice rumbled, layered over Alan's body, a mix of amusement and irritation. "I don't know how much this vessel can withstand… but I intend to play with my brother while it lasts."
Kazuo's expression remained neutral. Calm. Controlled.
"You and I sharing a soul does not make you my brother," he said quietly. Each word was deliberate, precise, dismissing Kang's claim. The subtle provocation did not go unnoticed. Kang's aura flared violently in response, dark energy searing around Alan's body.
He poured exactly 0.89% of his full power into the vessel. The transformation was instantaneous. Alan's body expanded, muscle and bone reforming into a 6'9" tower of dark energy, five wings sprouting from his back. His skin was an obsidian hue, veins glowing faintly with golden energy. Three eyes opened, glaring like suns, and a golden halo shimmered above his head. His bulk was both muscular and streamlined—a deadly balance.
"Shall we play?" Kang asked, voice calm but deadly, emanating through the battlefield like an echo from eternity.
Kazuo's eyes flickered once, crimson gleaming faintly. Seraphiel floated at his side, golden aura pulsing like warning beacons. For the first time, the air itself seemed to shiver in anticipation.
The city below, even in ruins, went silent. No birds. No sirens. The wind itself felt held in suspense.
And in that silence, one truth became evident: the rules had changed. The casual city fight was no longer just a test of strength. It was a confrontation of gods masquerading as humans and angels, a battle that would shape the destiny of continents—and perhaps, the world itself.
Kazuo adjusted the massive blade on his back, letting it hang loosely. He didn't rush. He didn't panic. He simply waited, bored almost, as the dark, hulking figure of Kang prepared to strike.
Seraphiel's hand brushed his shoulder. "Ready?" she asked softly, almost like she were discussing a stroll instead of facing a Ruler-infused vessel.
Kazuo's response was a faint shrug. "Always."
And then, as the first wings of black energy swept toward him, the air split, the city trembled, and the final showdown began—not of humans, not of angels, but of beings older than Earth itself.
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The end.....