Chapter 125
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 125
Chapter Title: 12th Floor - Angel Impact
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In the Labyrinth, attribute attacks surprisingly hold little meaning in the early stages.
The early part of the Labyrinth—which by no means guarantees a fair start—is harsher than the later stages in some ways.
What effect could a [Fire Bolt] from some fledgling human mage possibly have on an ice-attuned dragon?
Because of this, the Labyrinth's power creep only evens out somewhat after the kingdom sections.
It's from that point onward that an attack's attribute begins to matter.
Meanwhile, the so-called higher races generally have attributes baked right into their very beings for their attacks.
Angels, as one would expect, wield light.
Light is strong against impure things like undead or demons.
It's also useful for clearing away dark-attuned environments or spells.
On top of that, being light, it's handy for simply illuminating the dark.
And so, the city drowned in darkness became blanketed in light.
The city—which had never truly seen light except at the moment of its birth—groaned in agony.
The concrete, unaccustomed to the glare that so vividly exposed its ashen hue, found it utterly alien.
Mold creeping in the corners, cracks spiderwebbing through surfaces, dark stains smeared everywhere, structures twisted from impacts.
A century after its birth, the city confronted its own bare face after so long... and, unable to bear the shame, it began to tremble.
Fortunate amid the misfortune: the Impact's position was on the airborne landmass Sharkma had raised, formed like a floating island.
The massive strike that hit it dead-on couldn't propagate directly through the ground as a medium.
That was why the entire city didn't collapse outright.
What had transpired halted every battle in its tracks.
All eyes went blinding white.
Before physical devastation, the searing magic power smothered any other spells.
Angels are a race specialized more toward warriors than mages, yet they aren't short on magic power.
The Girl's assault brimmed with an immense volume of it, and any magic power not deliberately attuned simply overflowed as light.
Light-attuned magic power differs slightly from ordinary light.
On a small scale, no difference—but when it's on a massive scale, it takes on tangible substance.
Dazzling radiance poured forth like cascading water. Sharkma's floating island sat at the epicenter of the light's waterfall.
The corporeal beams surged like rapids, flooding the city's labyrinthine alleys. All shadows were swept clean.
The fights, frozen for a moment, resumed in a new direction.
Instinctively, everyone fell back a step, probing to grasp what had happened.
Magic detection proved useless. Magic power clogged every nook and cranny, rendering echolocation moot.
Escape spells fared no better.
The city, already saturated with Sharkma's magic, now mingled with the angel's distinctly attuned power.
The density grew so thick even untalented hunters could sense it crystal clear.
Not even shamans could wrangle their magic on the fly in such conditions.
A few weaker spirits buckled under the torrent and got yanked back to the spirit realm.
Physical sight offered no help either.
Even squeezing eyes shut and shielding them with hands, the light pierced through.
Eyelids were no barrier at all.
No one could see a thing just yet.
At least hearing held up.
As survivors scrambled for a way out, bone-chilling sounds of destruction reached their ears.
The physical shockwave first pulverized the floating isle.
Debris—shattered down to what looked like mere gravel—rained down, slamming the surface below.
Of course, the air-propagated blast hit first.
Structures directly beneath crumpled like they'd been squashed by a giant's foot.
Those off-center from ground zero took glancing blows and toppled.
Lighter ones lifted into the air, hurtling off to distant spots.
Fairies too close by mostly left no trace.
The instant the shockwave hit, their bones and flesh disintegrated on a physical level.
Such potent kinetic force naturally converts to heat as well.
Mangled remains ignited in the blaze and vanished.
A few at greater distance, gifted with skill, managed barriers to weather it.
They couldn't hold position, though.
Carried off by the expanding blast, they pinballed away like golf balls.
Even so, most stayed out cold.
Barring rescue, they'd collapse from soon-fatal wounds or perish on impact from the fall.
The initial wave scoured clean the zone once shrouded in living darkness.
Flattened bare—no structures left—and around the epicenter, subsidence cratered deep and wide.
Neighboring sectors chained collateral from toppled buildings.
Flammable installations detonated, setting the ashen city—once thought vehicle-free—ablaze.
Farther out mimicked a hefty quake.
Ground heaved; shaky edifices crumbled.
No full cascade, so shapes held.
All havoc passed.
Yet the light permeating every corner lingered awhile.
In this ever-night planet's barren city, daylight briefly dawned.
Sharkma had no clue what had befallen him.
He grasped only that he'd died once.
Plain liches don't rate as higher races. Only demi-liches above them do.
Their chief divide isn't raw stats, but immortality.
A demi-lich bounces back instantly if its LFV stays intact—even if the body evaporates clean.
Unlike standard liches, who might take decades or centuries.
So Sharkma peered out his window.
His magic tower's central district lay far from the tightened encirclement.
A bit rattled, but unscathed.
The whole central zone fared likewise.
Outward view, though: devastation.
Smoke rose; one sector vaporized outright. Surroundings effectively erased.
Springs or stairs inside probably fine, but excavating's a chore.
Worse, who knew how many fairies perished.
And Sharkma still couldn't pin down what occurred.
This wasn't a usual vantage overlooking the cityscape.
The initial glare faded, but it was daytime—long unseen.
Light spells doom for undead regardless.
Freshly reformed bones prickled with ache all over.
Light everywhere—light, light, light.
Barrage? Nah. No ordinance like this exists.
Skyward scan: no warships.
Magic, then?
Not quite. City lights flowed more like a deluge than spell residue.
Possibilities flickered through his mind.
Why mattered less than what. It happened; identify it.
The mage's icy logic culled options, zeroing the likeliest.
"An angel? Why the hell?"
Now the why hit.
But no ally, clearly. Time to prep against an angel.
Wind time back slightly—to when it still hung suspended.
In halted flow, the Girl alighted atop the airborne isle.
"Landing" ill fit. Impact rivaled a meteor drop.
Yet nothing stirred for now.
Stopped time: not even dust rose.
Cracked footing? Just from lich-hoisted levitation.
Magical stasis or Time God's grace—time stops share traits.
No striking foes mid-freeze.
Assaults here tally damage only when flow resumes.
Freshly ascended angel, she'd mastered flight and max velocity alone.
[Super Hero Landing] was new too. Destruction's scale—unbegun—eluded precise gauge.
Thus, tasks while time held.
First: Uncle. Lich nearby dropzone, bat clutched in grip.
Scan yielded airborne splatter, pulverized bats.
Sole intact prize: that skeletal vise-hold.
Word said dire; even this timeline razor-thin.
Too lucky.
Path-loss history looped, but clutch-timing synced too.
How providential.
Yet angel-touching weakened vampire? Finish him off.
Girl sought next party mate.
Nearby: prone orc elder.
Close check: breathing.
Potion out, trickled in mouth.
Untouched, potion freezes too—tilt futile.
Shoved deep.
This saves elder.
Hoisted elder to Uncle.
Pried lich arms; set elder hand on bat.
No direct contact—proxy transfer.
Glanced down.
Gold clock manifested underfoot. Hands spun, ticking remainder.
Time stop: third spent.
Specious in stasis, subjectively so.
Wings snapped wide; ferried elder, Uncle to remote haven.
Swift. Seraphim: angels' swiftest.
Down same: kid, vampire swordmaster.
Kid downed, out cold—no touch.
Proboy hale: direct lift.
Princess-cradle Proboy; kid atop.
Time peril-close. Flew fierce to deemed safe.
Sweat absent, wiped mime; smug.
All tasks cleared. Lich-finishing next.
Pity: history repeat misses lich here.
Labyrinth time-trips unfixed.
Handle here viable.
Girl opted view her ruin first.
Time flowed.
Day broke; city crumbled.
Majestic ruin: Girl's jaw dropped, unclosing. Shock buckled flight—grounded. Blinked, maw agape.
Not pure shock, truth.
Action-reaction: recoil ravaged her frame too.
Angelic transcendency bent; legs trashed irreparably.
Pain match surged.
Healing potions panacea for angels. Groaning, Girl chugged.
"Ugh... it hurts so much. Never doing that again......"