Crowley's ecstatic proclamation of victory shattered the stunned silence that had fallen over the arena, jolting the audience from their mesmerized state following Artoria's devastating attack.
"You can survive that kind of assault?!" voices erupted from the stands in disbelief.
"Does this mean Crowley will actually win in the end?"
To be honest, after witnessing such an incredible display of power, most spectators had found themselves rooting for Azrael. There was something universally appealing about watching a talented young man overcome seemingly impossible odds through determination and skill.
"It's hard to say," one viewer reasoned aloud, his voice carrying across the hushed stands. "Azrael still has three cards active while Crowley only has one remaining. I think Azrael can still pull through."
Other observers began analyzing the battle from a purely tactical perspective, weighing numbers and visible capabilities.
"That attack must have consumed enormous amounts of energy," another spectator pointed out grimly. "And look, the sword in that knight's hand has completely disappeared."
The observation sent a chill through the audience as the implications became clear. The weapon that had unleashed such world-shaking power was gone, leaving Artoria apparently defenseless.
How could they not see the stark reality of the situation? If Azrael possessed no other hidden trump cards, the balance of victory seemed to be tilting inexorably toward his opponent.
Crowley's face radiated pure euphoria, his excitement so intense that his breathing became irregular and labored. When Artoria's devastating light cannon had first descended, he'd already surrendered to despair, convinced that defeat was inevitable.
But fortune had smiled upon him. Meng Po had not let him down. After enhancing her teammates' defensive capabilities, she had successfully preserved his final hope at the cost of three precious cards.
And that hope happened to be his strongest trump card.
[Goddess of Vengeance·Melinoë]!
At the cost of her allies' destruction, she would now wage desperate battle against overwhelming odds.
"No matter how cleverly you scheme, you still can't overcome the fundamental difference in our cards' quality!" Crowley panted heavily, the thought echoing triumphantly through his mind.
Countless vengeful ghosts and Demons now swarmed across the battlefield, their spectral forms creating a nightmarish landscape of supernatural malevolence.
Fubuki gritted her teeth as she channeled her telekinetic powers to resist the relentless assault of wraiths surging around their position. Invisible barriers of psychic force held back the worst of the supernatural onslaught, but her defenses were clearly being tested to their limits.
That was all she could manage. Her offensive capabilities had always been relatively modest, and while she could successfully protect Nel and Artoria within her defensive perimeter, she lacked the power to launch meaningful counterattacks.
Meanwhile, Artoria found herself in an extremely compromised position. Without Caliburn in her hands, her combat effectiveness had plummeted dramatically. There wasn't even a makeshift branch available on the devastated battlefield to serve as a temporary replacement weapon.
Was Azrael truly about to lose?
All his friends and acquaintances watching the broadcast couldn't suppress growing feelings of despair. Victory had seemed within reach just moments ago, but now the situation had taken a sharp turn for the worse. The arrogant young man who represented everything they despised was apparently about to claim triumph.
In the distinguished guest section, the Cambridge Chancellor couldn't hide his disappointment. "Is it really too difficult for Azrael to overcome someone like Crowley?"
In his professional assessment, Azrael had essentially been defeated. While Fubuki's telekinetic whirlwind defense was undeniably impressive, maintaining such large-scale protection required enormous mental energy expenditure from her summoner.
Crowley no longer needed to do anything active, he could simply rely on his vengeful spirits to gradually drain Azrael's reserves through sustained harassment until complete exhaustion set in.
At this critical moment, only Master Lucian and Zidaine remained calm, both men watching the unfolding scene with curious anticipation rather than concern. They were waiting patiently for Azrael's final trump card to reveal itself.
Far away in his underground lair, Memphis observed what appeared to be Azrael's imminent defeat and sighed softly. "My lord, I respectfully request that we lower Azrael's priority rating. Perhaps we shouldn't waste so many resources on him after all."
Jin nodded with apparent indifference. "Let's wait and see. There may still be unexpected developments."
Not being present at the battlefield, he naturally couldn't detect the subtle abnormalities surrounding Nel's spiritual signature.
In the arena itself, Azrael remained completely unperturbed despite the focused attention of thousands of spectators. His expression showed no anxiety or desperation as he smiled gently and spoke softly to Nel.
"Do what you can, Nel."
Nel's face showed traces of confusion and panic. She didn't understand what Azrael was asking of her.
While Azrael had always been kind to her and had played with her faithfully during their time together, facing the terrifying monsters across the battlefield still felt overwhelming and impossible.
However, feeling the warmth and comfort flowing from Azrael's heart through their spiritual connection, Nel's small hands gradually clenched the corners of her tattered white garment.
At that moment, Crowley's arrogant voice cut across the battlefield like a blade. "Azrael, why don't you simply admit defeat?"
"You can't possibly win by dragging this out any longer, so wouldn't it be better to surrender with some dignity intact?"
"Don't worry, the compensation promised by our Mizuno family will absolutely be honored in full."
Azrael glanced at his opponent with speechless exasperation. The battle wasn't even concluded yet, and Crowley was already celebrating victory.
Declaring triumph in the middle of the match is asking for disaster, Azrael thought with dark amusement. I'll make sure you regret that premature gloating.
Nel's dusty and dirt-stained face gradually revealed an expression of fierce determination. "Although I don't fully understand what you're asking of me, Azrael-Nii, Nel will try her absolute best!"
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she ran toward Fubuki and Artoria's defensive position.
Everyone watched this scene with complete bewilderment, unable to comprehend what the small figure intended to accomplish.
"Is the mascot actually going to fight?" someone called out with pity in their voice. "It really seems like Azrael has exhausted all his options."
"How tragic."
"Does he really have the heart to send such an adorable little thing into mortal danger? This is getting dark."
However, the experienced masters in the guest section had finally begun paying serious attention to Nel, the card they'd previously dismissed as mere decoration.
"What possible purpose could Azrael have in deploying her at this critical moment?" the Riverstone president voiced the question troubling most observers.
Master Lucian and Zidaine naturally refrained from answering such speculation, since they themselves didn't know the specific capabilities of Azrael's mysterious fourth card.
Tense silence enveloped the VIP section as no one could explain Azrael's apparent desperation move.
"Unless she isn't actually a mascot at all," the Cambridge Chancellor's voice broke the quiet with a statement that shocked everyone present.
In his distant cave, Jin adjusted his sitting posture and observed the screen more carefully. After a long moment, he smiled knowingly and addressed Memphis. "It appears you were mistaken, my dear subordinate. This Azrael may still possess another trump card."
Memphis frowned as he studied the television broadcast, his tactical analysis failing to account for this unexpected development.
On the battlefield, Nel's face showed complete nervousness and uncertainty. Although she'd promised Azrael that she would do her best, she genuinely had no idea what that meant in practical terms.
But at this crucial moment, she didn't want to see Azrael lose. She couldn't bear the thought of him being hurt by the terrible people on the opposite side of the arena.
Finally, she seemed to sense something calling to her from the depths of her soul.
"BANG!"
Pink smoke instantly filled the entire battlefield, obscuring everyone's vision in a cloud of supernatural mist.
The audience stared at the mysterious phenomenon with growing confusion and anticipation.
Crowley, however, felt immediate alarm. The scene unfolding before him triggered every combat instinct he possessed, warning him of approaching danger.
The smoke gradually dissipated, revealing that the small girl had completely vanished.
In her place stood a mature woman with flowing emerald hair, a double-pointed lance held confidently in her hands. Her previous childlike innocence had been replaced by the bearing of a seasoned warrior.
"Don't worry, Azrael," the woman's voice carried clearly across the arena with quiet confidence. "This will be over soon."
A gentle breeze swept across the battlefield, revealing the number "3" tattooed prominently on her back, a mark that spoke of authority and deadly capability.
"What's happening?!" voices erupted from the stunned spectators.
"That wasn't a mascot at all!"
The audience members who had been preparing to witness a massacre found themselves filled with renewed hope as they processed this dramatic transformation.
In the arena, Nel opened her mouth wide, and pale red energy began gathering with terrifying intensity.
The next moment, she fired the concentrated blast directly toward Melinoë's position.
A deafening explosion suddenly thundered across the battlefield, the sound waves so powerful they threatened to rupture the eardrums of everyone present.
However, when the smoke cleared, the experienced masters in the guest section couldn't hide their disappointment.
"Is that really the extent of her power?" the Cambridge Chancellor exhaled slowly, his voice heavy with resignation.
The Riverstone president rolled his eyes at his colleague's reaction. The man had gotten his hopes up and was now acting disappointed despite witnessing something remarkable. While the strength demonstrated by Azrael's card still seemed insufficient to defeat Crowley's remaining powerhouse, it was undeniably impressive for someone of her apparent size and previous behavior.
Master Lucian studied Nel's spiritual signature with growing interest. "Why does her energy feel similar to Azrael's other death-affiliated cards?"
He was thinking specifically of Yoriichi and Unohana Retsu, both of whom carried comparable mystical resonances.
On the battlefield, Nel regarded Melinoë with an expressionless face, noting that her opponent appeared only slightly disheveled by the attack rather than seriously damaged.
Without hesitation, she positioned her double-pointed spear horizontally before her chest in a ritual stance.
"Declare, Gamuza."
As she spoke these words of power, massive waves of light red spiritual energy erupted from the ground beneath her feet, creating a pillar of force that stretched toward the heavens themselves.
The transformation began immediately. Nel's human legs merged and elongated, taking on the powerful hindquarters of a magnificent antelope. Her upper torso remained humanoid but gained incredible definition and strength, while her spiritual pressure increased exponentially.
The Third Espada had finally awakened to reclaim her true power.
Across the battlefield, Melinoë's crimson eyes widened with the first genuine concern she'd shown during the entire encounter. The spiritual pressure emanating from Nel's Resurrección form was beyond anything she'd expected from what appeared to be a child.
"Impossible," Crowley whispered, his voice barely audible above the roaring energy. His mind raced to process what he was witnessing, but the reality defied all his previous assumptions.
Nel, or rather, Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck, the former Third Espada, fixed her transformed gaze on her opponent with predatory intensity.
"Now then," she said calmly, her voice carrying the authority of her true rank, "shall we begin the real battle?"
The lance in her hands hummed with deadly energy as she prepared to demonstrate why she had once held such a prestigious position among Hueco Mundo's elite.
The crowd fell into absolute silence, finally understanding that they had been witnessing merely the prelude to something far more magnificent and terrible than they had ever imagined.