This is North America, West Coast, New York, Times Square.
As everyone knows, in Manhattan's Times Square, where every inch of land is worth its weight in gold, even a small advertising slot commands an astronomical price that most people around the world can only dream of.
In the past, Times Square was always a spectacle of flashing lights, hosting colorful building light shows. The towering skyscrapers resembled massive "canvases" made up of dazzling neon light advertisements and television-style display boards. The patterns on these canvases changed constantly.
They would practically split a single advertising screen into multiple segments, with every ad's airtime calculated down to the decimal of a second—because time was money.
But today, the usual cover girls, sports celebrities, product promotions, and political campaign ads beloved by New Yorkers were all gone.
In their place was an unprecedented sense of uniformity. Even the NASDAQ screen outside the stock exchange halted its real-time financial updates.
Not just Times Square—New York State, the United States, Canada... nearly every science-dominant city broadcast the earthshaking battle over the South Indian Ocean simultaneously.
All entertainment facilities ceased operation.
"My fellow citizens, free people of the world, it is with great regret that I say this war is beyond our power to handle. Guilt and anger weigh heavily on my chest, but I am sorry—faced with this situation, I am powerless. I cannot even offer a single effective solution."
In the top right corner of the screen, the President of the United States was giving a national address.
"Even though our allied forces hold clear superiority on conventional battlefields, the Roman Catholic Church and its affiliated nations continue to resist stubbornly. The instigators of this world war have revealed themselves: the leader of God's Right Seat, Fiamma of the Right, and his allies."
"I know many harbor doubts about how hastily this war began. The devastating consequences—we all feel them more deeply than I can say. But is that not the pride of free people? Our rejection of the old order of the Roman Church!"
"All men are born free."
"Shall we hand over that freedom? Allow the shackles of the dark medieval ages to once again fall upon the children of liberty? Let our wealth be plundered, our children enslaved, our land stolen—and even the first nights of our wives and daughters be claimed by those barbaric clerics and monks?"
Not a word about finance, race, gender—none of the usual political talking points. Gone too were the flowery rhetoric and impassioned tones of early war speeches. This time, the President spoke with grim and somber words.
And because of that, his message struck even deeper.
Right on cue, as the President's speech ended—boom!
On screen, waves of flame surged forward, forging a real-world hell.
Islands and coastal lands sank, the roaring tsunami engulfing all in its path.
Mountains burned, seas boiled. Massive fissures stretched for hundreds of miles, unfathomably deep. The vast ocean split open as lava and scalding heat burst from beneath the earth, swallowing islands whole.
New footage appeared—South Indian Ocean, off the western coast of Australia. Waves hundreds of meters tall pounded the crimson land, crashing down with mountainous force. The impact flung scorching, deadly boulders into the sky, raining down like meteorites.
Madagascar Island—from ten thousand meters above, the tsunami appeared as a visible white line, slamming into the shore with a deafening roar.
This was a cataclysmic battle. Dazzling flames lit up the world, illuminating heaven and earth with godlike—and devilish—fury.
It was clear that once World War III ended, the maps surrounding the Indian Ocean would have to be redrawn.
The monotonous night sky was stained crimson by the collision's "sparks."
And that same crimson glow reflected on countless pale faces watching their screens. Men, women, the elderly, children—no one was spared.
People were at a loss.
-The sound of people gasping filled the air. People muttered people muttered "Oh my God" over and over, repeatedly drawing crosses over their chests.
The idea of the world's destruction echoed in everyone's minds. A sense of despair spread like a plague.
Just as emotions reached a boiling point, the President's tone suddenly shifted. "But God loves mankind—He has even sent us His angel. The decaying Roman Catholic Church, Fiamma of the Right seeking revenge, the blasphemers who defile the people, have lost Heaven's favor."
At that moment, on the giant screen—
The sun's solar flare shone with immense divine punishment. A burning holy figure appeared high above, like the true arrival of the Lord.
The sea and sky were split apart. At the meeting point between heaven and ocean, the sky was dyed a dazzling crimson gold, while the sea rolled with a dark and murky hue.
A sharp, unmistakable contrast.
The holy angel even took a brutal hit from the devil shrouded in black mist just to calm the seething seas and the erupting underwater volcanoes. At that moment, the people cried out in heartbreak.
Devout believers covered their mouths, eyes brimming with tears.
The camera zoomed in from afar on the tall, thin figure suspended midair, sneering with a chilling grin. The man was wreathed in black mist, and within the dark depths of his emaciated frame, a pair of faintly blood-red pupils glowed.
That bone-chilling stare, the "keh keh keh" raspy voice, the howling winds and ghostly wails surrounding him—
No one needed to ask who the villain was. Could the radiant, majestic sun angel be the evil one?
"God loves mankind. It is the Roman Catholic Church that twisted His revelation for its own gain. They even usurped God's authority, trying to become false gods to enslave humanity!"
Someone roared in rage, "They are the blasphemers! Abolish the Roman Catholic Church! They're not worthy!"
"Ridiculous! How could the angel lose?! That false god is unworthy! He's using the angel's kindness to protect mankind for his own gain!" Another man tore off his Saint Peter's Key necklace—a symbol of the Roman Catholic Church—and hurled it to the ground.
With someone taking the lead, the public's emotions exploded in an uproar.
"Abolish the Roman Catholic Church!"
Prayers and devotion toward the angel, hatred and revulsion for the "devil," both reached a crescendo simultaneously.
And once the crowd was fully incited, the first man who shouted disappeared silently into the throng, pressed his earpiece, and said, "Mission complete."
At the same time, more cities under scientific control launched a wave of public opinion. Opposition parties and media outlets—normally fond of playing devil's advocate—were now shockingly in sync. Tycoons and lofty senators issued rare, clear statements.
Humans follow the crowd.
More and more people, guided by this wave, laid all blame for the outbreak of World War III—and their personal suffering—at the feet of the Roman Catholic Church. Especially Fiamma of the Right and that false god!
Right then, an official statement from the Russian Federation completely ignited the world's fury and resentment.
"We can no longer allow this meaningless war to continue."
"After carefully reviewing Academy City's terms, we have agreed to attend talks. The details will be negotiated later, but I can guarantee—Russia will not be harmed."
"We have no excuse for this historical mistake. At the very least, what we can do now is end this abnormal situation as soon as possible and restore the world to the peace it once took for granted."
...
"After all is over, we are willing to accept any sanctions."
"As of now, I declare that Russia will immediately cease all military actions against Academy City and its allies. And declare war on the Roman Catholic Church and Fiamma of the Right of God's Right Seat!"
—Krans R. Tsarskiy
Supreme Archbishop of the Russian Orthodox Church
In plain terms: Russia had just officially dumped the blame.
Yes, yes, all the blame was pinned on Bishop Nikolai Tolstoy. He was supposedly deceived and manipulated by Fiamma of the Right, who stirred the malice in his heart. He imprisoned the Supreme Archbishop and usurped his authority to wage war.
Mm-hmm, to save face internally, the Russian Orthodox Church even lightened Tolstoy's charges slightly—dumping more of the blame squarely on Fiamma of the Right.
Thus, the Russian Orthodox Church became the victim, even a righteous ally. Academy City accepted them. In other words, the only obstacle to global peace and freedom now was the Roman Catholic Church—Fiamma of the Right and his accomplices.
And so, while the war raged on, Ollerus—who sought to stop Aleister's plan and save Fiamma of the Right, thinking he was protecting the world—found himself completely stunned.
As a magician who had nearly ascended to the throne of Magic God, Ollerus had a keen sense for the world's malice. Many powerful forbidden rituals on the magic side required a balance of malicious and benevolent belief.
But what the hell was this?
The global war still ongoing... sure, he understood the rising malice. But why was that malice now targeting him? And growing deeper?! What did I do?! I only just came out of seclusion!
"Selene, what did you do?!" Ollerus ground out the furious words through clenched teeth.
He was genuinely angry now.
With his usual restraint, even Selene's mocking or insults would not normally provoke him this much.
But this? This was more than verbal abuse or a physical blow. It was a sharp knife driven straight into his chest.
For someone who lived by the principle of "extending a helping hand to those in need," being hated—truly loathed—by so many was hard to stomach.
Especially when the malicious thoughts included so many children's pure "I hate you" and "You're the bad guy"... Even the simple, hostile emotions from dogs and cats barking and growling at him broke Ollerus' composure.
"Perhaps because you're standing against me," Selene said with a smug smirk, crimson eyes gleaming with pride. She readily claimed credit, swelling with satisfaction.
"After all, I'm so well-loved. My enterprises provide millions of jobs around the world, indirectly feeding over a hundred million people. Countless corporations partner with me, spreading benefit across massive supply chains. And you? What have you contributed?"
Tilting her head, Selene cast a sidelong glance at the furious blond man before her and raised the Voidstar Anchor.
Vmmm!
Crackling fire arcs illuminated an aura of invincibility. She lunged in, the golden shaft spinning. With power from her core, she shouted, "You want to compare yourself to me? With what? What reason do people have to support you? What right do you have?!"
A soft chant rang out, followed by a thunderous boom!
A massive, bottomless crater appeared on the ocean's surface. In a stunning display, no seawater or mud was blasted outward by the impact—everything simply ceased to exist!
Even the surrounding space rippled with distortion!
"I..."
In that instant, Ollerus' rising momentum collapsed. He was blown back over ten kilometers, the surrounding air scattering like crushed sesame seeds.
Like a thunderclap from a clear sky, it detonated in his mind, leaving him stunned and paralyzed.
He had lived quietly in Milan, Italy, helping others and doing good deeds. Among stray animals and street folk, he might have been someone—but compared to Selene's globally sprawling empire?
Who was he, really?
Fighting Selene was essentially opposing half the world.
And that wasn't far from the truth. Selene's methods were extensive.
Though she always scoffed at public opinion, one couldn't deny that in a world without absolute authority, public sentiment mattered.
To be fair, Selene meshed far too well with American capitalist forces. No one else could manipulate things this cleverly. Even Accelerator or Kamijou Touma couldn't pull this off.
Hyper-scale pharmaceutical, aerospace, and military-industrial conglomerates.
Why were the scientific nations' media so obedient? Because the big boss said so. Who dared to object?
For minor players, Selene wouldn't bother. After all, this wasn't her empire. She exercised restraint. But those capitalists, tycoons, and local gangs—did they still want money? Status? Favor?
One wrong move in the morning, and by afternoon you're gone. By evening, your assets are divided.
On the fortress of the "Star of Bethlehem."
"Selene... so this is your game? Playing both black and white?"
Aleister opened his eyes. The adjustment to the "Fish of the Supper" ritual was now complete. To him, the most difficult condition—uniting the world's hatred—had already been accomplished effortlessly by Selene.
After the C-Document was destroyed, he had expected Selene to use some unprecedented psychic power to manipulate the emotions of two billion people to meet the spell's conditions. That would have been very her. Entirely plausible.
She always had new tricks up her sleeve.
"Very well, then. Let the ritual commence."
"My hundred-year wish, at last!"
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