Chapter 516: Taking control of all the shores
On one of the main shores of Ocenis stood another angelic city. It matched the grandeur of the one Ouroboros had demolished: towering walls, gleaming spires, and wide avenues designed to evoke awe in all who beheld it. A rigid caste system, enforced by the city’s angelic overlords, divided the populace into tiers. At the top of this cruel hierarchy reigned the angels, revered as divine protectors and saviors.
Yet, all of that shattered less than an hour ago. Where once angelic patrollers and high-ranking heretics marched in displays of dominance, now black-armored warriors of the Xaos Kingdom filled the streets.
At the heart of the devastation, near the ruined central plaza, lay Shamira, leader of the angelic host. Tendrils of crackling lightning bound her limbs, rendering even her enhanced muscles useless. She could not so much as twitch a finger, much less conjure a healing spell or holy shield to free herself. The same dreadful energy coiled around the dozens of angels who had once enforced her will. Shamira looked on, her eyes wide with terror, as her subordinates convulsed on the ground, each helplessly pinned like insects under glass.
"I’ve never quite understood why you angels are so arrogant."
The voice that intruded upon her silent horror was deceptively calm, laced with curiosity and scorn in equal measure. Shamira turned her gaze with difficulty to see a small, bright-yellow cat strolling across broken cobblestones and the unconscious bodies of her fellow angels. Its size was laughable—barely half a meter tall—yet Shamira had witnessed the creature transform into a serpent of lightning and flame more than four hundred meters long. The memory was enough to send fresh tremors of fear down her spine: that colossal form had devastated her best warriors with shameful ease.
"Your battle skills and numbers," the small yellow cat continued, "are worse than what most demon hordes bring to the table. And those ’heretics’ you recruit to serve you? Nothing but incompetent garbage that break at the first sign of difficulty."
Jormungandr cast a disinterested glance at Shamira, as though he expected no reply. Then he shifted his attention to a tall, broad-shouldered young man who approached, boots crunching through shattered stone and glass.
Despite his youth, the man stood over four meters in height, muscles rippling beneath his black armor, an aura of High Champion-level power radiating from him. Yet, for all his imposing presence, he lowered his head the instant he reached Jormungandr, bowing as one might before a king.
"Lord Jormungandr," he said, voice tinged with deference. "We’ve secured the city and taken control of its populace. How shall we deal with the heretics?"