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This wasn't Jibril's first dance with a Lightspeed opponent.
In a world teeming with Gods, each forging unique and bizarre abilities throughout the long, brutal war, she had seen it all. She had faced combatants who wielded Lightspeed before.
But they were different.
Those warriors had always treated Lightspeed as an ultimate technique, a final, desperate gambit. After all, speed was power—the ultimate expression of it.
But the warrior before her now used it as a basic attack.
Jibril had seen it in that first, casual punch. Her opponent's true power had to be far greater, far more dangerous.
"But this... this is exactly what I wanted."
A state of near-maniacal ecstasy gripped Jibril. An enemy like this was a first. And a first meant an unprecedented, intoxicating novelty. The Great War had dragged on for an eternity.
Jibril had faced every race, memorized every technique, cataloged every weakness until the battles became a tedious, predictable routine. She knew what her enemies would do before they even moved.
The thrill was gone.
Only when a race developed a truly novel ability could she feel even a flicker of that old excitement.
But Alfia—this mysterious figure wielding a power system she had never encountered—was the very definition of novelty. The sheer newness of it all sent Jibril into a state of pure, unadulterated bliss.
With a flick of her wrist, Jibril unleashed a storm of magical formulas, a torrential downpour of destructive power aimed at Alfia. In an instant, she had shifted from a defensive posture to an all-out assault.
Her combat experience screamed the appropriate countermeasure.
To fight a Lightspeed opponent, reaction time was everything. If you couldn't react, the battle was already over. While a speed-type warrior might not have an overwhelming advantage against an equal, against a weaker foe, it was absolute annihilation.
And Jibril had a formula specifically for enhancing her reaction speed—a lesson learned the hard way from a previous encounter. It was the kind of experience one accumulated to survive.
"As long as I can react, I can use spatial transfer to evade," she thought, her mind a whirlwind of calculations. "Lightspeed is fast, but it's not faster than teleportation."
"You've had your fun. Now it's my turn!"
With a flicker, Jibril teleported, appearing instantly behind Alfia, a devastatingly powerful spell already coalescing in her hand, ready to be unleashed. A direct hit would put even Alfia in mortal danger.
But Alfia was no amateur.
As a Saint who could wield the Light-Speed Punch with casual ease, her own reaction time was on the same level.
She had been wary of Jibril's spatial transfer from the moment she had been located. Her Nen—now fully integrated into her Cosmo—was spread throughout the surrounding space, a silent, invisible web of detection.
The instant the spatial fluctuation occurred, before Jibril had even fully materialized, Alfia knew.
A Gold Saint technique was already waiting...
"Rozan Hyakuryuha!"
A hundred fangs of pure Cosmo erupted from her fists.
Though she was now the Cancer Gold Saint, she had spent far more time as the wielder of the Libra Cloth. Its techniques were second nature to her.
"What—?!"
Jibril was stunned. But there was no time for shock. The moment the hundred Dragons appeared, she initiated another spatial transfer, desperate to escape.
Her reaction was blindingly fast. Though her mind was still reeling from the surprise, her body—honed through countless battles—acted on pure instinct. That muscle memory saved her life, pulling her from the epicenter of the attack.
But she wasn't completely unscathed.
————
Three of the Dragon fangs had struck home. And just three were enough to inflict grievous injuries.
"Your body is quite durable," Alfia commented, observing her handiwork with a faint, appreciative smile.
That praise, of course, was not a taunt. It was a genuine compliment.
Even a Gold Saint, wearing a Gold Cloth, would be hard-pressed to withstand such an attack. For Jibril, without any armor or defensive abilities, to take three direct hits and only be moderately injured... Alfia had never seen anything like it.
Of course, if her opponent didn't see it that way, that was hardly her problem.
Alfia had already sized her up. Jibril was arrogant. Such a compliment would likely be taken as an insult.
Alfia was looking forward to that. After all, Jibril's earlier mockery was still fresh in her mind. Alfia was petty. She never let a grudge go unpaid.
As expected, Jibril's face darkened.
Such "praise" was an insult she could not accept.
————
"She really knows how to run her mouth, that woman!"
Jibril gritted her teeth, her mind a whirlwind of analysis. She knew Alfia was responding to her earlier taunts, but as the one on the receiving end, she was far from amused.
But she was no fool. She pushed her anger aside and focused on her next move. She would not lose here.
'From the looks of it, she was prepared for my spatial transfer. Her earlier retreat must have been a feint to test my abilities. So she didn't set a trap. She intends to defeat me in a direct confrontation? I won't let her have her way.'
As she healed her wounds, she continued to evade Alfia's relentless assault, all while formulating a new strategy. Jibril's combat prowess was on full display.
Though the Flügel were arrogant towards weaker races, they held a deep respect for the strong. They were a race that respected power.
Therefore, against Alfia, who was currently dominating her, Jibril felt no hatred.
Only a burning desire to fight.
"If tricks won't work, then I'll just have to crush you with raw power!"
Jibril roared, and the air around her crackled with energy as countless magical formulas materialized.
A saturation bombing of raw power.
Alfia, not to be outdone, responded in kind. A flurry of light-speed punches filled the pocket dimension, intercepting every spell.
————
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The battle reached its climax.
Saturation bombing.
Teleportation and pursuit.
Close-quarters combat.
The two warriors were masters of their craft, their every move a display of skill and precision. This was a duel of intellect as much as it was a clash of power.
And in this high-stakes dance, they both felt a surge of exhilaration. They grew stronger with every exchange.
The battle raged for hours. In the realm of Lightspeed, they exchanged billions of blows, and the strain was beginning to show.
After all, neither of them had yet reached the realm of the Gods. They were not the tireless, "great beings" of this world. They still had limits.
Standing at opposite ends of the pocket dimension, they both gasped for breath, recovering, analyzing, searching for an opening.
As the battle-lust subsided, replaced by cold, hard reason, Jibril knew she couldn't continue like this.
She would lose.
She had yet to break through her opponent's defenses.
The golden armor was simply too strong. She had landed countless blows, yet Alfia remained unharmed. On top of that, the armor seemed to possess some kind of ability to nullify her spells.
She, on the other hand, had been injured repeatedly, only surviving thanks to her powerful regenerative abilities.
In a way, their roles were clear: Alfia was the shield, and Jibril, the healer. This was why the battle had been such a stalemate.
But a victor would eventually be decided. Alfia was slowly but surely learning the limits of Jibril's healing.
Jibril, however, had yet to find the limits of Alfia's shield.
Alfia hadn't even shown her health bar yet.
If this continued, Jibril would be the one to fall.
She had to end this now.
She needed to unleash her strongest attack, a single, devastating blow that would shatter Alfia's defenses and annihilate her completely.
And she had just the technique.
An ability possessed by every Flügel.
Heavenly Smite.
It was an all-or-nothing attack. To use it would leave her in a weakened state for the next five years, unable to fight.
This was the end of the battle. If Alfia survived, Jibril would be the one to die.
But she had no doubt.
She had absolute faith in Heavenly Smite.
"It's time to end this," Jibril said, her voice a low growl as she raised her hand, an immense power gathering in her palm.
"This is the final blow."
"I am the Flügel, Jibril. You must have known that. So, who are you?"
"My name is Alfia," she replied, her voice calm.
Faced with Heavenly Smite, Alfia made no move to attack. Normally, interrupting an opponent's ultimate technique was the logical choice. And she had the ability to do so.
But she wouldn't. She simply stood there, watching.
Her mission, after all, was to force Jibril to use this very technique.
Her mission was complete.
"What an exhilarating fight."
Beneath her helmet, a smile touched Alfia's lips. This battle had been a welcome release. She had gauged Jibril's strength; she was roughly at the mid-tier of the Eighth Sense, still a ways from Alfia's own level.
The battle had been exhilarating, but she hadn't even gone all out.
But she wasn't disappointed. A stronger opponent awaited her:
The Gods themselves.
"Heavenly Smite!"
Jibril's roar echoed through the void as she unleashed her attack.
Alfia glanced at her one last time, a faint smile on her lips. "Farewell, little Flügel."
Then, she vanished into the light.
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