Above the Ocean
“HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME!”
Gabrielle’s voice tore through the sky.
“ME! AN ARCH-PRIESTESS! A SEVEN VIRTUES! AN ARCHANGEL!”
She hovered above the burning sea, wings spread, halo blazing, fury radiating like a second sun.
Her roar rolled outward in waves.
Three Kilometers away, inside sealed cockpits, Crown Flight heard every word.
“Damn,” Crown Leader muttered, “she’s loud.”
“I SWEAR I WILL CUT EACH OF YOUR DEMON DICK! DEMON ASS! DEMON EVERYTHING! AND THROW THE PIECES BACK TO THE FUCKING DEPTHS OF HELL!”
The shouting did not slow.
It did not pause.
It escalated.
“That’s… not a very holy language,” Crown Leader muttered flatly.
---
Dawn Base, Air Operation Center
“AND THEN I WILL FIND YOUR PARENTS! SHOVE THEIR DEMON ASS WITH MY HOLY FUCKING BEAM! MAKE THEM FUCKING REGRET BIRTHING YOU INTO THIS WORLD!”
The entire outburst blasted through the speakers of the AOC.
Every demon stared at the monitor in silence.
General Fujin slowly scratched his cheek.
“Does… being a priestess or angel not require a personality test or something?”
General Hanz folded his arms, watching calmly.
“Either that,” he said, “or their bar is lower than ours.”
---
Bashington DC, The Black House
“AND DO YOU THINK I’M DONE WITH THAT?! OH NO-NO-NO! I WILL GO TO HELL, FIND YOUR FUCKING PIECES, MOLD THEM, AND SHAPE THEM INTO A FUCKING DICK STATUE!”
Solo blinked at his laptop.
Once.
Twice.
Then he leaned back slightly.
“…Wow,” he muttered. “She really is the goddess incarnate.”
Stan’s voice crackled through the conference line.
“So petty.”
---
Outer Wesroth Ocean
Gabrielle was still shouting at the sky.
Still pointing upward.
Still vibrating with divine rage, wings flaring, halo blazing like an offended sun.
“AND YOU KNOW WHAT I’LL DO WITH THAT MOTHERFUCKING DICK STATUE?! I’LL DISPLAY IT IN THE MOTHERFUCKING CAPITAL AND MAKE EVERYONE LAUGH! WHY?! BECAUSE IT’S SO FUCKING SMA—”
KABOOOOOM
“EEEEEEEEKK!”
The explosion slammed into Gabrielle mid-rant, sending her spinning like a thrown doll. She flew backward and smashed into a massive chunk of airship debris floating on the ocean.
She bounced once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then she stopped.
Silence finally returned to the battlefield.
“…Hufft,” Crown 5 exhaled through the comm. “Finally. Some quiet.”
“Crown Five,” Crown Leader said, his voice carrying the exact tone of a tired parent who had explicitly said not to touch something, “no one told you to shoot.”
“Sorry, Crown Leader,” Crown 5 replied, sheepish. “She sounded like my crazy ex.”
A pause.
“Is she still alive?” Crown 5 muttered, glancing down toward the ocean.
But Gabrielle was gone.
The debris where she had landed?
Also gone.
“…What?” Crown 5 said slowly. “She’s gone?!”
“CROWN FIVE! ABOVE YOU!” Crown Leader roared through the comm.
Crown 5 looked up.
Gabrielle was floating directly above him, wings spread, halo glowing, casually holding a massive slab of airship debris with one hand. One. Hand.
“Oh my god…” Crown 5 whispered. “You’re also as scary as my ex…”
“I guess,” Gabrielle said coldly, eyes glowing, “I’m starting with you.”
She threw the debris.
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“5! EVADE! EVADE!” Crown Leader shouted.
Crown 5 slammed the control stick left, the Raptor banking violently. The chunk of debris missed him by only a few meters before smashing into the ocean, erupting into a massive splash that sent waves rolling outward.
“Tch,” Gabrielle muttered, hovering calmly. “Still fast like a cockroach.”
“All units,” Crown Leader snapped, voice sharpening, “engaging positions!”
---
Celeste Kingdom, St. Divinicus Basilica
Inside the radiant halls of St. Divinicus Basilica, light reflected off gold, marble, and stained glass depicting a thousand holy victories.
At the center of it all, Camael and Sachiel stood around a glowing mana-comm crystal.
“Sir,” a voice reported from the crystal, “our sky force will arrive within twenty minutes.”
“Please hurry, General,” Camael said, his brows furrowed, fingers gripping the pedestal. “We’ve lost contact with Sister Gabrielle and the airships.”
“Yes, sir. My men are heading there as fast as they can.”
The transmission ended.
Camael leaned heavily against the pedestal, worry finally breaking through his composed facade.
“Please calm yourself, Brother Camael,” Sachiel said gently.
“How can I calm down?!” Camael snapped. “It’s the demons themselves ambushing Sister Gabrielle! And the report says they’re fast—faster than anything we’ve ever seen!”
Sachiel remained still.
“It is true,” he said calmly, “but do not forget—Sister Gabrielle is an archangel like us. She could defend herself easily against a thousand knights.”
Camael exhaled slowly.
“…You’re right, Brother Sachiel. Perhaps it’s just been too long since any of us fought. It makes me jittery.”
“That is understandable,” Sachiel replied. “But Sister Gabrielle—she carries the voice of the Goddess.”
He paused.
And his tone turned cold.
“No matter how fast the enemy is, it will not matter if they cannot reach her. No living thing can resist her mind when they hear her voice.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“And her holy shout,” Sachiel finished, “can be heard for many kilometers.”
---
Outer Wesroth Ocean
“WHY NONE OF YOU COME ANY CLOSER?!”
Gabrielle’s scream tore through the sky, her voice carrying for kilometers, bouncing off clouds, water, and divine ego.
But unfortunately for her—
There was absolutely nothing within those kilometers.
KABOOOOOOOM
“GAAAHH!!”
Except the incoming Murican missile.
“COWAAARDS!!!” Gabrielle screamed at the empty sky, wings flaring as the explosion tore against her glowing shield.
---
30 Kilometers Away
The Raptors had returned to their natural state.
Invisible.
Unreachable.
Cruel.
The kind of predator that didn’t roar, didn’t circle, didn’t posture—only reached out from the horizon and erased things.
Crown Leader watched his radar calmly as a missile blip closed in on the target.
The missile disappeared.
The target did not.
“Crown Leader, good hit, good hit,” an AWACS officer reported over the comm.
“Watchtower, this is Crown Leader,” he replied evenly. “Requesting tango status, over.”
“Crown Leader, be advised,” the AWACS answered, voice professional and cold, “visual indicates her magic shield is weakening. Recommend resuming suppression, over.”
“Copy that, Watchtower,” Crown Leader said without emotion. “Crown Two and Three—send another AMRAAM.”
“Copy that.”
“Rifle, rifle, rifle.”
Two more missiles dropped from the Raptors’ bellies and vanished toward the horizon, silent and inevitable.
---
Bashington DC, Foreign Minister's Office
Meanwhile, the church and the Celeste Empire also tries to fight back on a different channel.
“I DEMAND YOU STOP YOUR ASSAULT AND PULL BACK YOUR FORCES, DEMONS!!”
The shout blasted from the mana-comm crystal, loud enough to rattle the desk.
Hannya, acting Foreign Minister of Murica, sat calmly in her chair, hands folded, tea still steaming beside her.
“Oh?” she replied gently. “And why should we do that?”
Her counterpart on the other side of the crystal—Celeste Empire’s Foreign Minister—looked one breath away from having a stroke.
“As far as we know,” Hannya continued, voice polite and razor-sharp, “our engagement is happening outside your airspace. We are also still at war with Dwargonia. So we are, technically, breaking neither your laws nor any international laws.”
She leaned closer to the crystal.
“And please don’t forget, Mr. Minister,” she said, her tone turning cold, “we do not have diplomatic ties. Your empire has repeatedly refused to acknowledge Murican sovereignty.”
“You—!” the minister snarled. “You demons dare ignore a CELESTE EMPIRE DEMAND?! THE BIGGEST POWER IN TALVARIS?!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Minister,” Hannya replied smoothly, “but the only party that can issue demands to us right now is Dwargonia.”
She smiled.
“The owner of those airships. And its contents.”
The smile sharpened.
“Unless…” she added lightly, “the Celeste Empire would like to explain its interest in those airships. Which I’m sure the Dwargonians would be very eager to hear that explanation as well.”
“You! You lowly demon!!” the minister began to scream.
“I believe that will be all,” Hannya cut in pleasantly. “Have a nice day, Mr. Minister.”
She ended the transmission one-sidedly.
The mana-comm crystal dimmed.
Hannya leaned back in her chair, picked up her tea, and took a slow sip.
Still warm.
She smiled quietly.
A small victory—but one she very much deserved after the endless Murica–Dwargonia mess.
---
Outer Wesroth Ocean
There was no more shouting.
Only heavy, ragged breathing tore out of Gabrielle’s chest now.
Her body was a ruin—bruises layered on burns, burns layered on sweat. One wing hung at a wrong angle, feathers shattered and useless. Blood slid down from her forehead, down her arm, dripping into the ocean far below.
She hovered through sheer refusal.
WHOOOSH—
“GRR!”
Her archangel senses screamed as another flying spear tore toward her. She twisted away, wings snapping painfully as she fled—but as always, the thing followed.
It always followed.
She couldn’t outrun it.
Again.
And the worst part—
At the very last split second, when the missile’s nose was almost touching her, her body would jerk away. Instinct. Reflex. Pulling her just enough to avoid direct impact.
KABOOOOOOOM
“GAAARRH!”
The explosion still came. Even without touching her.
She couldn’t understand it as she had no understanding of the concept of proximity fuse.
Her mana shield shattered again, the shockwave ripping through her body like a unholy hammer. She was hurled dozens of meters through the sky, tumbling until she barely stabilized herself with a broken wing.
“No… no… this can’t be happening…”
Her voice trembled, disbelief choking it.
“What kind of fight is this?! I don't even have the chance to use my power?!”
The archangel was breaking.
She could see where the missiles came from.
But that was all.
No enemy. No presence. No target.
Only death, delivered from nothingness.
Defense was all she had left.
And even that was failing.
Her hands trembled as she tried to summon another mana shield. Light flickered in the air—a thin, fragile layer of shield that refused to form.
It vanished.
She was out of mana.
“Shit… shit…”
Fear finally reached her eyes.
Real fear.
Her face darkened as she realized the next strike would kill her.
Then—
VOVOOOOOOOOOOMMMM
A horn echoed across the ocean, deep and majestic, rolling like thunder from the northwest.
Gabrielle turned her head.
The horizon was turning white.
Silver.
Holy.
Celeste sky ships, gleaming in formation. Griffins screaming through the air. White wyverns beating their wings. A wall of Celeste power flooding toward her.
Relief broke her face.
“Haha… hahahaha…”
Her laugh was broken, hoarse, desperate.
“Oh thank you, Goddess… you always bring your servant salvation.”
She dashed and fled toward them, burning the last of her remaining energy for speed.
---
F-22 Raptor, Crown Leader
“Crown Leader, be advised,” Watchtower reported, “tango is fleeing fast toward Celeste backup. Speed approximately eight hundred kilometers per hour.”
Crown Leader whistled softly.
“Almost reaching the speed of sound,” he muttered. “But still not fast enough.”
“Copy that, Watchtower,” he said calmly. “Time to close the curtain.”
He flipped the missile safety lock open.
The cockpit hummed softly—eager.
“All Crown units,” he commanded, “prepare to fire all remaining AMRAAM.”
“Copy that.”
“Roger.”
“Roger that.”
“Heheheh, hard copy, Crown Leader.”
A pause.
“On my mark.”
His thumb pressed the trigger.
“Ripple. Ripple. Ripple.”
FWOOOOOOOSHHH
Twelve AMRAAM missiles dropped away.
Below them, white smoke trails painted the blue sky—long, elegant lines of white death stretching toward the fleeing angel.
