Chapter 40: Battle against the “Angel”

The holy aria filled the sky, the deformed angel hovering, its grotesque white mass writhing, eyeballs blinking erratically.
Its slug-like form twitched, adapting to this world.

Yin Qingle, still catching her breath from her outburst, froze.
Her fear and exhaustion vanished, replaced by a vacant, puppet-like stare.
Her eyes locked on the angel, lifeless, as if the chant had stolen her mind.

“Tsk,” Jiang Yuxin muttered, displeased.
Her mental barrier snapped up, an invisible bubble shielding them from the chant’s hidden corruption.

Without a word, she sent a sharp thought into Yin Qingle’s chaotic mind: Wake up.

Yin Qingle shuddered, yanked from a nightmare.
Her eyes cleared, fear and confusion returning as she glanced at the angel, then at Jiang Yuxin’s icy expression, unsure what had happened.

Jiang Yuxin ignored her, her mental power surging toward the angel.
Like the shadow monster from the school, it was hollow—no thoughts, no emotions, just a void.

It’s the same. No… it’s the culmination.

“Don’t stand there!” she snapped at Yin Qingle.
“Attack it! Don’t let it escape!”

Yin Qingle stared at the sanity-shattering creature, fear paralyzing her.
She raised her trembling hands, but her unstable emotions faltered her power.
A weak crimson beam shot out, missing the angel entirely.

Jiang Yuxin’s brows furrowed, her patience gone.
“Forget it.”

Her mental force, stronger than ever, seized Yin Qingle’s body.
Yin Qingle’s vision flashed; she was a passenger in her own form, aware but powerless.
Fear was crushed by Jiang Yuxin’s absolute control.

“Borrowing your body,” Jiang Yuxin’s voice echoed in her mind.

“Yin Qingle” moved.
Her arm rose, fingers splayed, aiming at the angel.
Crimson energy gathered, not wild but precise, forming a meters-long spear radiating destruction.

The angel sensed the threat, its eyeballs swiveling toward her.
Its chant sharpened, unleashing a mental shockwave to disrupt her.

Jiang Yuxin’s barrier absorbed it like a sponge.

“Go.”

The spear shot forward, a blood-red streak piercing the angel’s core.

A silent, soul-rending scream erupted.
Its white mass churned, flesh writhing to heal the wound, but the crimson energy corroded it relentlessly.

Jiang Yuxin didn’t stop.
She swept Yin Qingle’s arm, the spear dissolving into hundreds of fist-sized energy orbs, flashing red.
They enveloped the angel, exploding in a barrage.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The sacred pillar of light shattered.
Chunks of white flesh and broken eyeballs rained down, vaporizing mid-air.

Jiang Yuxin sneered, wielding Yin Qingle’s power like a toy, testing its limits—destruction, disintegration, annihilation.
The raw force thrilled her.

Yet the angel’s vitality was unnatural.
Despite its ravaged body, it regenerated, new eyeballs sprouting.

“Ugly,” Jiang Yuxin muttered.
She clasped Yin Qingle’s hands together.

The orbs merged into a crimson energy net, ensnaring the angel.
Its threads cut deep, aiming to slice it apart.

Sensing death, the angel’s body contracted.
Its remaining wings flared, eyeballs blazing red.
The cross-shaped crack in its core widened, revealing chaotic darkness within.

A world-shattering roar erupted—not sound, but a tsunami of spirit and reality.
A visible white shockwave tore across the rooftop, cracking the floor and collapsing distant ruins.

The energy net dissolved under the impact.
The angel, desperate, became a streak of white light, fleeing into the clouds faster than it arrived, vanishing.

The sky’s gap closed, the light and chant fading, leaving silence.

Jiang Yuxin, having shielded them with a crimson barrier, released Yin Qingle, staring coldly where the angel vanished.

It escaped.

Yin Qingle collapsed, gasping, drained from her power’s overuse.
They couldn’t pursue without flight.

—

Archive Room

Chen Dongyang noticed Yin Xiran’s pallor and sweat.
Despite her confident facade, she was shaken.
What forged her strength at sixteen?

“What’s up, Classmate Chen?” she teased, catching his stare.
“Mesmerized by my heroics?”

“No…” he mumbled, blushing.
“Should we go? Jiang and your sister might worry.”

Her smile widened, but she turned to the music box, brushing off dust.
“This from the music classroom?”

“Same one,” he confirmed, noting the rose pattern.

She opened it.
The dancing figurine was gone, leaving a cracked base.

“Was it always like this?” she asked, serious.

“No, it had a ballerina,” he said.

They exchanged a look.
The missing figurine, the shadow, the music box’s return—it was no coincidence.

“We need to find Jiang and Qingle,” Yin Xiran said, gripping the box.
“This is tied to everything.”