Chapter 831: A Beam Struggle Should Look Like a Beam Struggle! Divine Strike VS Heavenly Strike
Originally, everyone thought the battle between Jibril and Artosh would be an epic, world-shattering, filial father-daughter clash.
But reality painted a different picture.
The two exchanged their first punch.
The air detonated.
Space itself warped and tore, spiderweb fractures spreading across the fabric of reality.
Under the sheer kinetic force of the impact, both figures were thrown backward.
Artosh dug his heels into the sky, halting his momentum. The arrogant smile had vanished from his face.
Something was wrong.
He lowered his gaze to his trembling arm, his mind churning with disbelief.
Had Jibril always possessed this level of raw physical strength?
She had actually shattered his defensive aura and physically shaken him.
In the past, such a feat would have been absolutely impossible.
Of course, as a god-slaying weapon forged by his own hands, Jibril was never weak.
Even if she had not yet reached the ultimate standard of true god-slaying, her combat parameters were terrifying.
A mere five percent of her full power possessed enough kinetic force to cleave an ocean in two. At one hundred percent, she could evaporate that entire body of water in an instant.
She had once taken the full brunt of a hydrogen bomb blast head-on and emerged without a single scratch.
, she boasted an incredible, blood-soaked track record. She had single-handedly hunted and executed entities from the Phantasma, Dragonia, and Gigant races—beings that stood far above the Flugel in the grand racial hierarchy.
Naturally, this recklessness came at a cost; she had sustained critical injuries requiring extensive repair spells exactly one hundred and sixteen times.
Beyond pure destructive capability, her utility was unmatched.
Jibril was flawlessly fluent in the languages of all sixteen sentient races.
She had mastered over seven hundred distinct dialects, including otherworldly tongues and ancient scripts, absorbing the vast knowledge they contained.
This immense intellect allowed her to physically manifest the highest-grade sealing magic ever woven by the Elves—the Eternal Fourth Protection—channeling it directly through her core during a simple game of materialization shiritori.
Then there was her mobility.
The wings at her waist seemed far too small to keep her body afloat, let alone propel her.
But in truth, she moved at speeds that defied physics.
The vast majority of her movement relied on spatial transfer.
She could instantly teleport anywhere within her line of sight.
Even beyond her visual range, as long as she had visited the location before, she could jump there without restriction.
Traversing a precise distance of 4527.21 kilometers took her exactly 0.023 seconds.
By any metric, the former Jibril was already a terrifying force of nature.
Yet, she had still been leagues away from challenging a true god.
Especially Artosh, the God of War, the strongest of the Old Deus and her very creator.
However.
Right now, a single, casual punch from Jibril had left his arm numb.
Artosh stared at his hand, his pupils shrinking in rare, unadulterated shock.
'This power... it is far too strong!'
Truthfully, even Jibril herself was caught off guard by the sheer force behind her knuckles.
She stared at her hands, her golden eyes widening. She had never expected the power absorbed from the essences she had so eagerly consumed to provide such a massive boost.
Instantly, her confidence in committing patricide skyrocketed.
A wicked, bloodthirsty grin curled her lips.
"Ah, my dear father! I shall now bestow upon you the ultimate end with my absolute strongest power!"
"Strongest? Heh. Jibril, you really dare to make such a claim."
Artosh was not angered by her arrogance. Instead, a fiery excitement ignited in his eyes.
He could finally confirm one absolute truth.
The Jibril standing before him was a genuine threat, an existence truly capable of fighting him to the death.
"Then I have no choice but to answer with my own strongest strike."
Even if this battle was to be decided in a single, cataclysmic clash, it was enough to make the God of War's blood boil with ecstasy.
He had zero patience for convoluted schemes or drawn-out tactical maneuvers.
What could possibly be more satisfying than a direct, overwhelming confrontation of pure power?
And when it came to their absolute strongest attacks...
For Artosh, it was the Divine Strike.
For Jibril, it was the Heavenly Strike.
They were truly father and daughter, cut from the same battle-crazed cloth.
Facing one another, they completely bypassed any warm-up or tactical probing, instantly entering a full-blown beam struggle.
A colossal wave of crimson light erupted from Artosh, meeting the apocalyptic black torrent unleashed by Jibril.
The moment the two energies collided, the heavens and the earth lost their color.
The sky was violently torn asunder, revealing the dark void beyond.
The shockwave hammered the earth below, flattening mountains and instantly scorching the terrain into a barren, glass-like wasteland under the sheer, ungodly heat.
"Shuvi, Couronne, put these on. Protect your eyes."
Ren calmly pulled out several pairs of dark sunglasses, handing them to the girls beside him.
The blinding radiance radiating from the beam struggle was intense enough to permanently blind a normal person.
"Oh! Oh wow, it really does not hurt to look anymore!"
Couronne slipped the sunglasses over her face, her eyes wide with utter amazement.
What kind of magical artifact was this to completely filter out such a world-ending glare?
"Couronne, you look very cool."
Shuvi adjusted her own shades and gave her a mechanical, yet earnest, thumbs-up.
Azriel stepped forward, her wings twitching with nervous energy.
She looked up at the sky, her voice laced with deep concern. "Ren, can Little Ji really defeat Artosh?"
That was the God of War.
As the first Flugel ever created, Azriel understood Artosh's terrifying might better than anyone in existence.
He was an entity that stood absolutely at the apex of this world.
Ren offered a relaxed, confident smile.
He pointed a finger toward the apocalyptic clash of crimson and black in the sky. "Azriel, do you see it? Everything up there portends Little Ji's absolute victory."
Azriel blinked, straining her eyes against the glare.
Aside from a world-destroying stalemate that looked like it would shatter the planet, she saw absolutely nothing else.
"Could it be... Ren, can you see Artosh's power waning?"
Ren shook his head, his tone filled with absolute certainty. "It is the positioning."
"Positioning?"
This time, it was not just Azriel who was confused. Think and the others exchanged baffled glances, their minds swimming with questions.
"Exactly."
Ren pointed directly at Jibril's silhouette in the sky.
"The position Little Ji is standing in right now is exactly where the scales of victory tilt."
Inside the Chat Group.
Everyone watching the live broadcast was equally bewildered by his cryptic statement.
[Misaka Mikoto: What does that even mean? Shouldn't victory and defeat be determined by actual combat strength?]
[Stella Vermillion: Of course it is about strength. Whoever hits harder wins, whoever is weaker loses. That is the fundamental truth of battle.]
[Erza Scarlet: Perhaps Ren has perceived a hidden gap in their power that our eyes cannot catch.]
[Shiroyasha: Hmph, that is his little girlfriend, or little star-slave, or little servant, or whatever. In short, Ren is so fiercely protective of his women that he absolutely will not let anything bad happen to her.]
[Rory Mercury: Aww, Brother Ren really cares so much about all of us.]
[Tatsumaki: Hmph! I do not need his care at all!]
[Seitenshi: Being cared for by someone is a very happy thing. Does Tatsumaki really dislike it that much?]
[Tendou Kisara: Hehe, can you not tell? She is just saying one thing while meaning the exact opposite. A textbook tsundere.]
[Tatsumaki: N-No way! Shut up!]
[March 7th: Ah, this... It is indeed very classic.]
[Ch'en: So Ren already knew that Jibril would win from the start. He is just teasing them to build suspense.]
[Ren: My dear little Ch'en, you cannot just go around exposing me like that. When I return to Terra, I am going to spank your bottom, you hear me?]
[Ch'en:!!!]
If anyone else in the world had dared to say such a thing to her, Ch'en would have already drawn her blade and cursed them out with a string of colorful Lungmen profanities.
But the one who typed those words was Ren—the man who had already explored deep into her dragon's den and conquered her tiger's lair.
A wave of intense shame, mixed with a sickeningly sweet warmth, surged through her entire body. Her face instantly flushed a brilliant, glowing red.
A phantom itch tingled across her backside, making her shift restlessly in her seat.
And the most embarrassing part of it all was... Fumizuki was sitting directly across from her.
Watching Ch'en squirm in her seat with a crimson face, Fumizuki took a slow sip of her tea. As a married woman who had experienced her fair share of romance, she instantly recognized that specific, amorous look in the young dragon's eyes.
But... directed at whom?
Ren was not even in the room, was he?
Could it be that Little Ch'en could get this worked up and flustered just by missing him?
This was truly an eye-opener. The usually strict, by-the-book Madam Ch'en was surprisingly passionate once her heart was finally unlocked.
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