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Avant Heim—the celestial, floating city of the Flügel.
It was the domain of Artosh, the God of War, and the race he forged in his own image: the Flügel.
Ranked sixth among the sixteen Exceed, the Flügel were born from the will of Artosh—living weapons with the faces of angels, created for the sole purpose of death and slaughter. In the Great War, they were, without a doubt, one of a handful of truly terrifying races.
After all, Artosh's original intent in their creation was to forge beings capable of slaying other Gods.
Though they never quite reached that pinnacle, it was a testament to the immense expectations he had placed upon them. And the Flügel, born from such ambition, were undeniably powerful.
The former capital of the Elves had been obliterated by a single Flügel—a stark reminder of the unbridgeable chasm between the sixth and seventh ranks of the Exceed.
The Flügel responsible for that Act of Destruction was Jibril.
In the original timeline, Riku, desperate to conceal his plans from the other races, had used the Black Ash to mask his movements. The toxic substance had ravaged his body, leaving him on the brink of death. Schwi, to protect him and continue their mission, had ventured to the front lines alone.
There, she encountered Jibril.
Schwi's unique personality, so different from that of other Ex-Machina—had caught Jibril's attention.
And in the end, it led to her death at Jibril's hands. Though, before she perished, Schwi had uploaded her data to the Ex-Machina collective, instilling in them a love for Riku and a willingness to aid his cause, ultimately bringing an end to the Great War.
It was an ending that had always filled Mika with a sense of profound tragedy. Jibril, a beloved character in the main No Game No Life story, had become infamous for that act.
But it was because of that very event that Mika knew she would appear here. He had placed surveillance devices across the front lines, patiently waiting for her arrival.
And now, she had come.
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"Go, Alfia. Go and have your battle with that Flügel."
Within the void outside the Elven capital, Mika gave the order.
Alfia's eyes gleamed with excitement.
Ever since she had learned her target was a Flügel, she had been eagerly preparing. She, too, wanted to test her strength against this unique and powerful individual.
It had been a long time since she had faced a true challenge. Her duels with the other Saints had become predictable; they knew each other too well, the thrill of the unknown long gone.
But a Flügel... a completely unknown opponent... this was different.
"Then I'm off—" she said with a smile, her body already shifting into a combat stance. The Cancer Gold Cloth materialized around her, its golden plates gleaming in the ethereal light.
It was no longer the Libra Cloth she had once worn. Mika, having acquired his own, had entrusted the Cancer Gold Cloth to her. Its legacy, its power, was a far better fit for her.
After all, Alfia was still a spiritual entity.
And the Cancer Gold Saint's techniques were designed to target the soul.
With a final glance at the surveillance feed, Alfia vanished, teleporting to her destination—the place where Jibril was about to descend.
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"Hmm, where should I go for some fun?"
Jibril soared through the sky, having just left Avant Heim. She was bored.
As a race created by the God of War, the Flügel were inherently warlike, their very being infused with a lust for battle. In appearance, they were angels; in nature, they were demons.
With no battles to fight, they were restless.
And Jibril was the most restless of them all.
But just as she was about to begin her search for entertainment, entertainment came to her.
She felt it—a sudden, intense gaze locking onto her. She immediately tensed, her senses on high alert.
On the ground below, a figure in golden armor stood waiting.
"Oh? A challenger?" A cruel smile twisted Jibril's lips.
"How bold of you," she said, descending slowly, her voice laced with a condescending amusement.
It had been a long time since anyone wants to challenge her.
Her reputation, after all, preceded her. The destruction of the Elven capital had made her infamous.
"But I admire your courage," Jibril continued, her smile widening. "I've decided. After I kill you, I'll take that armor of yours and add it to my collection. How does that sound?"
Alfia remained silent. To her, an enemy's words were nothing more than the barking of a dog. To be swayed by them, to let them affect her state of mind—it would be a disgrace.
Through her mask, she observed Jibril, whose demeanor was casual, almost playful.
Her mission was clear: push Jibril to her limits, force her to use her ultimate technique, Heavenly Smite, then feign death and vanish.
Mika's own preparations were far from complete; the final confrontation with Artosh was not yet at hand.
Therefore, Alfia's mission was not to win. She had to lose.
But first... she would enjoy a good fight.
'She's strong... at least as strong as I am.'
'But before we begin, a little test.'
With that thought, Alfia stepped into the void and vanished, leaving a bewildered Jibril standing alone.
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"Did... she just run away?"
Jibril stared at the empty space where Alfia had been, a look of utter confusion on her face.
'Didn't she challenge me? Then why did she run? This makes no sense.'
'Is she... toying with me?'
The thought annoyed her. Though, she had only been contemplating for an instant, she quickly noticed something amiss.
A faint trace of her opponent's aura lingered in the air, a deliberate trail leading... somewhere.
"An invitation, or a trap?"
The question was irrelevant.
She would accept.
Jibril was confident. She didn't believe her opponent posed a real threat. In their brief encounter, she had already determined that the woman wasn't from any of the races ranked above the Flügel. And if that were the case, what was there to fear?
Not that it would have mattered. Jibril had faced and killed beings from the upper ranks before.
With a flick of her wrist, she tore open a rift in space and stepped through.
Following the trail Alfia had left, she soon found her.
Even from a distance, the golden armor was a beacon in the void.
"So, this is the place you've chosen to die?" Jibril's voice was filled with a mocking amusement. "Or have you set some kind of trap? Go ahead, spring it. I won't mind. After all, it's just a little trick."
She still didn't see Alfia as a true threat.
She couldn't sense the immense power contained within the golden armor. Unlike Alfia, who had already experienced this world's power system and could easily gauge Jibril's strength, Jibril had never encountered Alfia's.
And Alfia's control over her own power was so precise, so absolute, that it was practically undetectable.
This was why Jibril was so arrogant. After all, the Flügel were a race that reveled in slaughter.
"A little trick, you say?"
"Then try this."
Faced with Jibril's casual disdain, Alfia finally spoke. Her voice was the prelude to the storm—a golden fist that followed an instant later.
"What—??"
A wave of pure, primal danger washed over Jibril, and she instinctively threw up her strongest defensive barrier. It was an instinct honed through countless battles.
It was just enough to save her.
But the force of the impact was immense, sending her hurtling backward through the void.
"She actually blocked it?"
A thrill shot through Alfia, her eyes gleaming with an excitement she hadn't felt in ages. She had finally found a worthy opponent.
The nature of the Cosmo system, its reliance on light-speed attacks, had always been a source of frustration for her. It was a power that often resulted in "first-strike kills." If an opponent couldn't withstand a light-speed punch, there was no fight, no challenge.
But now, she had found someone who could.
"It seems I can finally fight without holding back."
With that thought, Alfia vanished, closing the distance in an instant, her next attack already on its way.
On the other side of the battlefield, Jibril, having been sent flying by Alfia's attack, had already analyzed its nature.
"A punch at Lightspeed?"
"And from the looks of it, there was no wind-up, no preparation. Was that... just a normal attack?"
"If it was... then this is going to be fun."
She quickly stabilized herself, her earlier arrogance gone, replaced by a surge of pure, unadulterated battle lust. An opponent who used Lightspeed as a basic attack—she had never encountered such a being before.
But that only made it more exciting.
However, before she could even savor the moment, Alfia was upon her, another Lightspeed punch hurtling towards her.
Jibril, having already anticipated this, her own physical and mental faculties enhanced to their absolute limits, teleported out of the attack's path.
Even so, the shockwave from the punch grazed her arm, drawing blood.
But she didn't care.
She was in a state of absolute focus. Minor injuries were irrelevant.
"Enhance, enhance, keep enhancing!"
Her eyes were fixed on Alfia, who had paused her assault. Jibril knew that her top priority was to match her opponent's speed. Even if it was just to dodge. If she couldn't keep up, all her other abilities would be useless.
So, she had to enhance her reaction time.
Continuously.
Then, she would match it.
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