Round 40: Angel and Dragon

In the mountain ranges that pierced the sky like axes in the north, fierce winds howled. The heavy snowflakes falling from the leaden sky could no longer be called snowflakes at all—they were part of a brutal cold storm composed of hailstones and frost blocks, each at least the size of a bowl, covering everything in their path. A roar different from that of a blizzard grew louder as it approached. By the time the two fighters, who sometimes hovered in midair, sometimes landed on the ground, and sometimes collided with the mountain walls, creating dust clouds even larger than those from the snowstorm, their roar had drowned out all other sounds. Silver blades flew through the snowstorm-like waves, cutting apart everything in their path—snowflakes, rocks—and sparking dazzling flames when struck by the roaring steel monsters. The chainsaw sword struck the metal woman’s shield time and again until it shattered. The steel warrior rolled many times through the deep snow, protected by the blade-shaped wings, until she finally stopped against a rock buried under the snow. 47 descended in front of her and stepped on her. The air turbulence caused by their battle rushed out of the valley behind them—a snowstorm so intense it resembled a cold volcanic eruption. Strangely, despite such fierce combat, the warrior still exuded a frosty chill, her star-like blue eyes devoid of any expression, as if the steel killer, radiating heat from friction and wielding a roaring chainsaw sword, was merely an ordinary obstacle in a mission. “It’s over! Do you think this is some amateur version of ‘Contra’ where you can keep going indefinitely?!” 47 swung his chainsaw sword wildly, causing the snow around him to explode as if blown by a fan. “Where did you put Little Red Riding Hood?” He had been thrown from Deep Flow City’s underground to this desolate place covered in snow by a portal created by divine mist. Once again, he cursed this deceitful skill of “space transfer.” Little Red Riding Hood was missing, and Morriel, who was supposed to be in Skull Port, was also unknown. All that remained was this seemingly “related” iron girl, who kept entangling herself with him like a T-X… But he couldn’t blame her—47 knew very well what creatures like him were meant for. “I hope your central system is in your head. Mine is…” 47 thought for a moment. “Okay, I admit I don’t know where it is.” The chainsaw sword crashed down on the warrior’s chest, sending shards flying. It seemed only a matter of time before 47 cut her into pieces— The situation changed suddenly. Amid the flying snow mist, countless blades of various shapes formed a blooming flower of destruction. “Another trick?” 47 roared as he endured wave after wave of attacks, being pushed far away by the expanding storm of blades. The storm carried flowing silver flames that gradually transformed into a dazzling, mesmerizing light. The silver fire used by Xinbu to try to bind the steel woman was a mysterious energy granted by the goddess of magic—now absorbed and transformed by the woman herself.

Each flying blade absorbed sunlight while reflecting it off one another. Thus, the tornado formed by the blades resembled a sacred column of light. The surroundings grew darker, not illuminated by this beam of light; even the surrounding snow was cast in a gloomy shadow. The storm embodied by the warrior was absorbing light—integrating the most primal natural energy into her body. Amidst the swirling white mist, a brilliance emerged that could shock anyone. The light flowed, outlining the massive figure of the metal woman. Six pairs of wings, either spread or folded, surrounded her perfectly radiant body, each feather a blade gleaming with a cold light. The woman had empty hands, yet lightning crackled between her slender fingers, undoubtedly containing unimaginable power. The metal woman gazed down at 47 with her star-like blue eyes—deep, indifferent, emotionless. “Do you think you’re Unit-01?” 47 sighed, watching as a storm capable of tearing everything apart erupted around the steel angel. The snow was compressed into sharp ice crystals as hard as metal, expanding outward from the massive metal woman. Even the rocks beneath the snow, hardened over millions of years of harsh winters and bearing thick ice sheets, could not withstand it—cracked into countless fragments indistinguishable from ice shards, which exploded and spread in the wind and snow, filling the ruined valley. “Why does every protagonist refuse to die obediently in front of the boss, only to unleash their ‘small universe’ at the end?” A deafening mechanical roar came from the ice-blade storm, followed by two giant steel fists—47 in his giant form lacked the grace of the metal woman; the numerous blades and serrations on his arms proved only one thing: he existed to obliterate all obstacles. The metal angel floated lightly like a feather, turning sideways to block 47’s fierce strike. Her steel wings transformed and reconfigured, with blades overlapping to form a dazzling metal shield. The impact of the fist against the shield created visible shockwaves that pushed the air around them, sending the woman flying far away—the dents on the shield were clearly visible. More wings joined together, not only repairing the shield but also expanding it into a heavy tower shield that covered most of its front. Pulses of lightning and flame rained down on the shield, their terrifying power melting even its intricate chain-like edges. Everything else engulfed in this molten breath was shattered into primal particles, reduced to ashes. The breath pushed the metal angel away, boiling the entire valley. The hot air even rose into the sky; from afar, white mist surged upward, melting the falling snow and forming thick clouds over the battlefield.

The steel dragon roared as it took to the air, preparing to launch a second bombardment once it could use its breath again. Then it was struck by a beam of pure light, spinning and tumbling in midair, with black smoke bursting from every crack in its scales.

The metal woman flew out of the still-hot smoke, holding a shield in one hand and a beautiful spear that seemed to be crafted from sterling silver wrapped around crystal in the other. A glowing light flowed back and forth along its long tip—this must be the spear that emitted that deadly beam earlier. At that moment, she resembled a holy knight fighting against an abyssal dragon.

The dragon rose, wings flaring with fire and black smoke, all its thrusters at full capacity. But it wasn’t trying to escape—it suddenly turned around after the steel angel caught up and dove down at her. Forty-Seven opened its massive mouth and bit hard at the woman’s wrist holding the spear, folding its wings to cover her, while its metal spikes extended in rows, piercing her body as if inflicting the “Iron Virgin” torture.

The dragon and the angel crashed to the ground together, creating a huge crater. They struggled fiercely; the metal woman used her blade-wings to cut through Forty-Seven’s body and try to escape, while Forty-Seven reverted to his giant form, grabbing her hand to restrict her movements. The chainsaws on his arms clashed with her wing-blades, sparking like waterfalls—still holding her firmly in place with his spikes.

Unable to break free, the woman finally raised her spear high into the sky. The cold wind between the mountains vanished, the falling snow stopped, and even the brightness that should have been everywhere in broad daylight disappeared—only that spear of light pointing at the sky remained.

A cold, sharp energy like starlight pierced through, causing countless shockwaves that led to metal fatigue and broke most of Forty-Seven’s bone parts—she finally pushed him away, but at the same time triggered the spike bombs embedded in her body.

Shockwaves that shook the entire mountain range, along with continuous explosions, resembled a small nuclear blast. Every peak collapsed into avalanches, and every piece of ice shattered. Fortunately, this was already the far northern region far from human activity; otherwise, who knows what kind of disaster would have occurred. As for whether any other creatures would be caught up in this battle—“Our world, their battlefield”—that was something impossible to predict.

“Fighting me? Do you think I’m as easy to deal with as a windmill?” Forty-Seven staggered to his feet, each step extremely heavy, completely ignoring the burning, cracking, and crumbling rocks around him.

Forty-Seven was severely damaged, and even the self-repair capabilities of his “Divine Armor” were of no use.

Yet he still seemed in better condition than the metal woman lying on the scorched ground. Perhaps it was because he was stronger, but discussing who was more durable among such super constructs seemed a bit strange.

The spike bomb destroyed most of the Steel Warrior’s body. This “Product No. 47” specialty weapon, which used concentrated primordial magical energy within steel as an explosive mechanism, was almost as powerful as the multi-barreled short-range missiles once used by No. 47. The fact that such an “ancient” weapon could still be standard equipment in an era where people were already fighting with magnetic energy weapons and plasma cannons proved just how formidable it was.

The woman lay there, scattered and broken, looking like a toy doll that had been badly damaged. Her surroundings were filled with sharp fragments of metal, some of which still trembled as if trying to reassemble themselves before shattering loudly at No. 47’s feet.

No. 47 panted heavily, each breath intensifying the smoke burning on his body. He stepped closer to the woman and pointed at her with his right arm. Two thick barrels, combined together, protruded from under his armors, also covered in smoke and flames.

The metal woman struggled to lift her head, with snowflakes falling on her tattered steel wings. The blue light in her eyes had faded to a faint glimmer, and sparks erupted from every wound on her body.

“Tell me, Keri,” No. 47 said, rotating his dual-barreled arm cannon. “Where did you take Little Red Riding Hood?”

There was no reply—only a mechanical, cold gaze, no different from the light from a flashlight or searchlight, something No. 47 had seen countless times before.

“Bang!”

Without wasting any more time, he fired both barrels at the metal woman’s head. A wave of flames, mixed with thick smoke, erupted, engulfing her face—and also spewing out in large quantities from the cracks in No. 47’s right arm.

Although this blast would surely cook a living person to death, its destructive power was barely significant against warriors like No. 47 and “Keri.” The metal woman’s face was merely slightly blackened; otherwise, it was harmless.

“Is this world also built by the lowest-bidding contractors?” No. 47 complained, out of habit. He felt his energy was almost exhausted—to deal a fatal blow to the Steel Warrior, he would need to find another way.

He tried to conjure a chainsaw fist. Amidst a loud, grating noise, the sharp teeth on the chain rotated for a few seconds before emitting a high-pitched screech and stopping.

Damn it. Like trying to untie one’s belt after getting married. No. 47 bent down and struck the warrior hard, driving her upper body into the rock—only to dislocate his own arm in the explosion.

“Are you mocking me? I’ll fight you!” No. 47 raised his foot, determined to put an end to her first—he hated the look in her eyes.

A thunderous roar came from beneath the ground. No. 47 lost his balance and nearly fell on the Steel Warrior at his feet.

What was going on?

The ground made the kind of crushing sounds one hears when ice caps melt. It shook, and a huge crack, as wide as a mountain stream, appeared between No. 47’s feet, seemingly leading straight into the abyss.

Perhaps that final strike from Forty-Seven was the last straw that brought this battlefield to collapse. Maybe the mountains had their own will, deciding to teach those two who had wreaked havoc on them a lesson—whatever the reason, an earthquake struck, and the mountains collapsed.
Forty-Seven’s turbines spun uselessly, scattering debris but not enough to lift him off the ground. Feeling the ground beneath his feet give way and watching rocks pour down from the cliffs beside him, Forty-Seven could only helplessly admit that what had happened many times before was happening again—inevitably.
“Really? Going underground again?”
Moriel stared grimly at the spot where Forty-Seven had disappeared—now nothing but a dim void.
“You evil red-robed female mage, why did you stop us…” Fiona protested angrily, but Milia stopped her.
“Miss Moriel just wanted to save that girl named Kairo,” Milia said weakly, her face pale. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Where did they go?” Chloe sheathed her sword and touched her hair, which had been cut off by “Kerry,” frustrated that she might need to change her hairstyle.
Himb approached.
Moriel watched her warily, lowering her hand so she could quickly draw her magic staff to defend herself. Though Himb seemed tired from using the legendary “Silver Fire” at full strength, she still wouldn’t take any chances—after all, she was a formidable enemy to the red-robed mages.
“Who knows where they went…” The Storm Queen’s hair became messy again as she glared at the spot where the portal had disappeared. “We must admit that Lady Mist has taken another step closer to her goal.”
“You shouldn’t have interfered, Miss Moriel,” Zhen said coldly, her glowing wings gone. “If we can bring Lady Mist to the Temple of Glory, perhaps the great Amunra will have a solution.”
It was hard to imagine that someone as icy as her could worship the sun god.
“Bring Kairo’s body to the temple and ask your god to revive her?” Moriel sneered. “As far as I know, even the holy maiden Catherine never got such treatment.”
“You—” Fiona was stopped by Milia, who forced her to swallow her accusations.
“Well, it’s done now anyway,” Chloe said, clapping her hands and acting as a peacemaker once again. “At least we’ve weakened Lady Mist significantly! Whatever she tries to do next will be much harder! By the way, Moriel, didn’t your iron warrior go with them? Don’t worry, we’ll try to contact him when we get back—then we’ll have a plan!”
Mentioning Forty-Seven made Moriel slightly uneasy, but she quickly regained her composure. Forty-Seven didn’t need her to worry about him, nor did she need to worry about that fool who ran around everywhere—probably he wouldn’t worry either.
“Yes, Miss Moriel,” Milia said softly, stepping beside the female mage. “We’ll definitely be able to save your friend from Lady Mist’s grasp… Thank you for saving me earlier.”
Moriel hummed lightly and waved her hand in response.

Chloé should be able to stand by her side, and Milia will also persuade those two silly girl companions. Himb is distracted over there… It seems the situation isn’t as bad as she initially thought.
She tried to sense the direction of forty-seven in her mind—vaguely, it seemed to be in the north.
A cluster of magical energy was approaching rapidly—Morril opened her eyes and watched that direction warily.
A faint light appeared in the darkness.
Everyone noticed it, and it circled around the women before landing in the palm of Himb’s outstretched hand.
It was a magically created sound sprite, usually used for long-distance communication when no communication spells had been prepared in advance. It was immune to most types of harm, could accurately locate its target, and knew how to avoid danger on its own. Even if captured by someone else’s spell, it would only emit meaningless high-frequency sound waves if the listener wasn’t the intended recipient, potentially causing lasting tinnitus for those with ill intentions.
Himb brought it to her ear. The tiny humanoid figure in the flash twitched a few times, flashing messages only she could hear, before dispersing into streaks of light and vanishing.
After receiving the message, Himb glanced at Morril.
“Archmage Dailuo invites you to the Crystal Tower to discuss some matters. Sacred warrior girls, I think you should return to the Glorious Church as well.”
With that, she disappeared in a small whirlwind—without caring whether others would follow suit.
“Let’s go, Morril!” Before the female mage could carefully consider why Dailuo would suddenly seek her out, Chloé had already come over and taken her hand. “The air here is so dirty… Lady Laila’s tea is really good!”