Chapter 102: The Little Crown Clan, Also the Last Little Angel

Chapter 102: The Little Crown Clan, Also the Last Little Angel

As the words faded.

Another blade came rushing in with terrifying force.

The Archangel became cautious, swiftly attempting to put distance between them.

He whispered incantations under his breath, his remaining wings—one set already cleaved off—flapped occasionally, trembling faintly.

Blood fell like rain from the sky.

Every angel in the Angelic Realm heard the call, converging on their location.

Amos still carried his little one, his movements slightly restricted, but for an enraged parent, that hardly slowed him down.

Moreover, Amos’ wings snapped open instantly—

At this moment, the Archangel couldn't hope to match Amos’ speed.

Holding his little one, the child raised his small Cupid bow, looking for an opening to strike.

—They had one vital goal.

To leave this place, just as before, they needed to shatter the Divine Grace Stone.

Those relics sat atop the floating celestial pavilions—

And clearly, the Archangel was their primary obstacle.

The barrier of strange energy indeed posed a slight hindrance to Amos.

"Magic?"

Amos’ Psychic Sword lodged in the opponent’s multi-layered reinforced magical barrier before stopping.

The Archangel kept falling back.

Behind him, other angels arrived one after another, all staring in shock at the scene—

"They are invaders—pests that would defile the Angelic Realm! Don't let them escape alive! If they escape, they will become our greatest threat! Hold them back, and I shall—"

The power seemed to originate from a single point, like something awakening in the depths of the vast ocean, not yet fully surfacing—a moment of eerie silence before rippling outward from the point of impact like waves.

KA-BOOM—

"Whatever. Smash through it."

The Archangel wavered in flight, another batch of painstakingly nurtured angels plummeting behind him.

His once four-winged form now lost another segment, momentarily robbed of lift, swaying unsteadily before fighting through the pain to remain airborne.

Amos held his little one with one arm, smoothly retracting his stance before coolly lifting a finger to ask, "How does it feel to lose your wings? Next time—"

He traced a line.

"—It’ll be this side."

No—

No, this shouldn't be happening!

The Archangel had never witnessed such power.

Instinctively, he panicked and retreated, even abandoning the other angels beside him.

Clutching his cracked scepter tightly, he continued muttering—

Amos acted too swiftly. Unlike other places, in the Realm of Angels, Amos had no intention of caring for the surroundings or avoiding collateral damage.

The glow of the psychic arrows showed no sign of stopping.

Wings—arms—and finally, as the Archangel fell, his head and torso were targeted.

Last time, the Psychic Greatsword hadn't managed to pierce his skull.

"This time, there won't be any accidents."

Amos spoke as he watched the Archangel hit the ground. The angels who tried to resist fell alongside him, leaving only those weaker ones—who barely comprehended what was happening in the Realm of Angels—fleeing in panic.

Xiao Chuzao lay curled in his arms, winded and exhausted, the little one snuggling closer to Amos.

Watching it all unfold, the little boy felt dazed and torn.

"Dad," the little boy's halo pulsed, "is it all over now?"

He asked softly, with some confusion.

Was everything that once terrified Zao Zao truly gone?

Amos glanced at the scattering angel forces, finding them fewer and weaker than he had expected.

His wings beat as he landed gracefully.

"No."

Amos thought for a moment before responding to his little one.

"Remember how An Ya and the others dealt with the aberration beasts before?"

The little boy's wings fluttered slightly—

As if remembering—

"Mother once taught us very seriously," Amos recalled, a mix of resignation and approval in his voice as he approached with his sword, "after finishing a task, always tidy up thoroughly—always make sure it's done—"

Mother—

Amos's mother, Xiao Chuzao's never-met grandmother, the former queen of Saint Cas, a formidable member of the Crown Clan whose halo had shattered in the corruption and was now buried—Solan.

This lesson about finishing the job was ingrained in the entire Dwight family—though during their interstellar days, mopping up was handled by siblings or the armies of Saint Cas.

Now, the lone single father had to handle it himself.

The little one nodded knowingly.

"Grandmother was right," he added.

Zao Zao would have to learn to do the same in the future.

But when the father and son landed and saw the Archangel on the ground—already severed at the waist and torn to pieces by the vengeful elder—they both paused.

The scene was not what they had imagined.

The Archangel, who should have been dead, was contorting grotesquely, limbs still twitching, while a dense web of flesh spread from the wounds Amos had inflicted, fusing together in a grotesque, nauseating manner.

This was no angel—it was a monster!

Without hesitation, Amos raised his sword and struck several times.

His spiritual energy surged outward.

The little one reacted a beat slower but quickly drew his bowstring taut.

Yet, from afar, a streak of light shot forth, instantly enveloping the Archangel’s remains before vanishing in the blink of an eye. Amos looked up—above them, chunks of flesh were falling, and amidst countless Divine Grace Stones, the Archangel was being slowly reassembled by some unknown force.

Severing him did nothing. Even attacking his head proved futile.

This Archangel was different from the other angels.

Holding the little one, Amos stood atop the gory wreckage, unleashing several bursts of power before tilting his head to observe the Archangel’s movements. His brow furrowed slightly, and his Halo crown flickered faintly, as if affected by something.

"Papa—"

The energy here was clearly stronger than that of the Hymn Organization. The little one’s arrows failed to pierce through, shattering against an invisible barrier.

"Finishing him off…?"

The little one looked up at Amos, searching for an explanation.

Amos considered briefly.

"He didn’t give us time for that."

Amos had intended to meticulously finish the task, but the situation was downright unnatural.

Severed limbs reconnected by the fleshy webs, accompanied by wet, crunching sounds. The Archangel, drenched in blood, locked his golden gaze on them—now tinged with a maddening crimson as the whites darkened to a violent red.

Along the stitched-together parts of his body, bulging crimson nodes of flesh emerged, obliterating any semblance of his former divine compassion. He looked nothing short of a monster now.

Or perhaps—it bore some resemblance to the Monster Commander they had encountered before, though not entirely.

"Ah—"

The Archangel let out a bestial roar.

"Look at what you’ve done! Do you even realize the atrocities you’ve wrought against the ardent, benevolent, and mighty race of angels? The God of Nature will devour you—your power will be stripped away!"

At the same time, countless Divine Grace Stones pulsed with light, as if responding to his muttered chants.

And Amos finally understood the root of his disquiet.

Behind the Archangel, where the Divine Grace Stones swirled around, a rift was slowly tearing open—an abyssal black void twisting faintly before a pair of blood-red eyes slowly peeled open from the darkness!

Simultaneously, an ashen gray mist crawled outward, leeching all color in its wake—

This was a phenomenon Amos recognized all too well—the Corruption was spreading again.

Isn't this exactly how pollution spreads?

Amos's psychic energy began to tremble violently in that instant, and his crown, equally unsettled, started flickering toward dissipation—

Amos took half a step back. Pollution—the Crown Clan’s greatest weakness.

Ha... hahaha—

The Archangel watched Amos's movements, keenly sensing his wariness toward the God of Nature and the power of plunder.

I see now, I see—

"Let’s see what else you’ve got. Just submit and be devoured—merge with the power of plunder—"

The little one instinctively turned to Amos, reaching out and firmly grasping his crown.

Amos’s scalp prickled, and he glanced at the little one, wide-eyed and worried.

"He won't let us finish him off?"

The little one couldn’t fathom how the Archangel was still standing after all that—

"Let Uncle see what a real pest looks like!"

Xiao Chuzao wasn’t scared at all, babbling excitedly to his dad.

"Hmm."

Amos was at a loss too. He could almost hear his mother’s voice in his head—Finish the job, finish it, never forget to finish it! Anyone who kills a beast without finishing it off gets three copies of Saint Cas’s historical records as punishment!

Clutching his Psychic Sword, Amos mused—

It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying to finish the job.

He just didn’t have time to be thorough.

Amos dodged the attacks with ease, but he had to admit—that eye gave him the creeps. And after its appearance, the Archangel was growing stronger by the second. Amos could sense it.

Amos was plotting his next move.

But he was still in control.

He glanced at his little one, even finding time to reassure him.

"It’s fine. Daddy’s gonna smash his weapon—look, it’s about to break!"

The Archangel’s scepter was already covered in cracks, ready to shatter any second.

The little one nodded but couldn’t help voicing his worry.

"Dad, your psychic energy’s all shaky—you okay?"

The kid could sense the turmoil too, which was why he had turned and latched onto his halo just in time.

Amos opened his mouth to say he was fine when he saw the child puff out his cheeks and glare in the Archangel’s direction.

He was furious—this should’ve been over already!

The Archangel bullied him, and now he's bullying his papa too!

The little one widened his eyes, watching the Archangel standing at the horizon, manipulating countless magics as the corruption gradually spread.

Amos launched an attack at this moment, his psychic power lashing out once more—

The Psychic Sword clashed again with the enemy's defensive barrier—for the Crown Clan, corruption was particularly troublesome, but fortunately, Zao Zao was here.

"Useless."

The Archangel's eyes, which could now be called fully monstrous, stared unblinkingly at Amos.

"Can't you feel it? None of your attacks affect me anymore, and now I am your natural counter—why not save your strength before you die—"

"Oh?"

Amos glanced at the wound on his hand, concealed it from another angle, and gave a dark chuckle in response.

The Archangel was provoked by Amos's unnervingly calm and steady demeanor. He glared at Amos, about to speak again, when he heard the sound of something shattering beside him.

He went rigid for a moment, then looked down at the scepter he had been holding.

This weapon, symbolizing the Angelic Realm and representing angelic power, was now covered in cracks. Layer upon layer, the fractures had unknowingly connected, and golden powder began crumbling away.

Xiao Chuzao used all his psychic energy to stabilize Amos's Halo. He glared at the Archangel and snarled, "You're nothing like what you claim to be—you're nothing like an angel—!"

The little one stared at the Archangel, clutching his daddy's Halo, thinking to himself.

Angels aren't like this—

Angels definitely—aren't like this.

This ugly, this twisted, this misleading—

With an earth-shaking crack—

The scepter in the Archangel's hand exploded.

Both the Archangel and Amos, holding his child, leapt back in unison.

Amos glanced down toward the little one's pocket.

'Yes—they, these are no angels—'

Xiao Chuzao went rigid for a moment, his gaze snapping upward. He saw nothing, but he heard a strangely gentle, familiar voice—the voice of the system?—just as the Archangel's scepter shattered.

"System?"

Xiao Chuzao called out, scanning his surroundings.

The voice remained weak and faint, gentle, like the babbling of a brook.

Amos couldn't hear the system's voice, but he could see the Halo atop his little one's head flickering back to life.

And from the little one's pocket, a faint glow pulsed, intensifying—it was the Angel Spring Source Stone.

"Hold on—what's going on?"

The Archangel instinctively grasped at empty air.

Both Xiao Chuzao and Amos sensed the consciousness emanating from the Angel Spring Source Stone—

It was howling in fury, its rage spiking, thrashing wildly.

—This guy, this monster is no angel!!

—They’re nothing but outsiders! Because of the angels' kindness in taking them in, they slowly stole the angels' power—they are monsters who hijacked control of the Angel Realm!!

—Everything in the Angel Realm was controlled by that angelic scepter, but the scepter has no consciousness. It only recognizes those who match angelic power... and this power includes all actions toward their kin.

Xiao Chuzao gazed up at the Archangel.

"He’s... not an angel?"

—He’s *not* an angel! He merely masked himself and the race born from his power as angels.

The entire Angel Realm was deceived.

Deceived by foreign imposters.

That’s why everything turned out this way.

The Angel Spring Source Stone was late to the realization too. It only maintained stability, as well as the outside world—this star system contained spaces similar to the Angel Realm, designed to contain unstable forces of the cosmos. Generally, the races living in such spaces would be tied to a certain Longlived race in the star system.

So it was oblivious to things like reproduction and other aspects of the races in the Angel Realm—

Until the other side gradually gave themselves away by wielding stolen power.

Compassion, kindness, and strength—those were the true qualities of the angelic race. They didn’t belong to them.

That’s why he kept mouthing them.

"But Zao Zao—"

Xiao Chuzao was still piecing together why he was born here or what his situation truly was.

"Angel—?"

—Only you are different. From the day you fell into the Angel Spring.

The Angel Spring Source Stone flickered as swarms of tiny lights slowly rose from the ground, gathering toward Xiao Chuzao.

The system’s voice murmured softly too, like a lullaby—

"Zao Zao, you’ve got this—you’re Little Crown Clan. Because your habitat was destroyed, it sent you here, and you were born from the Angel Spring. You are also the last little angel in this world."

—Thus emerged the Little Crown Clan with golden crowns.

"So that’s why this guy acted like that."

Amos connected the dots instantly, snorted.

"Those who prey on others' kindness and lack of vigilance to steal their power—when they discover an unexpected turn, their first reaction is always fear—"

Terrified the same trick wouldn’t work twice.

"So you’re not angels at all!" Xiao Chuzao put it together at last, staring at the monstrous Archangel flying above.

He tightened his grip on the small bow.

The angelic scepter had completely shattered. After a fleeting moment of panic, the Archangel regained his composure.

He glared at the furious little one, eyes blazing with anger.

A faint, unsettling smile twisted his lips.

"If I say I'm an angel, then I am. Those traits define angels—so we *are* angels—"

He lowered his gaze to the floating specks of light.

As if recalling something.

"The demise of these naive, kind-hearted races was quite a spectacle. Their power was plundered, buried beneath this land for eternity—"

As he spoke, he looked up again at Amos and the little one.

"Enough chatter. Let’s skip the niceties."

His form contorted as the rift behind him yawned wider.

"To think that races like yours still exist with such power in other worlds—now *that’s* a surprise. But this is as far as you go—"

"Even with all this power, you’re no match for me. Like I said before—what can you change? What can you bring?"

The Archangel laughed.

"Just feed the plundering stone with your power. After my next reconstruction, it won’t matter. The Angelic Realm will be reborn—more radiant than ever, a paradise for the masses. And you’ll be the *fuel* to forge it—"

Xiao Chuzao pulled back the bowstring. There was still so much he didn’t understand, so many questions he wanted to ask the system that had finally appeared.

The system’s voice was impossibly gentle, like a parent soothing a child—so tender it left the little one dazed, an urge to cry welling up inside him. What *was* this feeling? He couldn’t place it. It felt as though he had heard this voice before, long ago, when he was even younger, before he could remember.

Yet, in the depths of his mind, several voices whispered to him—*Draw your bowstring.*

Zao Zao pulled the bowstring taut. Countless specks of light gathered, converging toward Xiao Chuzao, merging into his crown.

His wings twitched uncomfortably, as if straining against an unseen force.

The enemy’s pollution power had grown too dense—getting closer was suicide.

Amos channeled his psychic energy into Xiao Chuzao’s bowstring, and the arrow, wreathed in black flames, swelled in size—

The Archangel’s power slammed into them, psychic energies colliding in a violent shockwave.

Deep in the black rift, a second crimson eye peeled open, glinting with hunger and greed for flesh and power.

The Archangel gripped a crossbow-like weapon in his hand, unleashing wave after wave of attacks. He stared at Xiao Chuzao’s arrow—the one suppressed and blocked by his power—

He scoffed. "Pathetic. You’re still trying the same trick? This power is your *undoing*, Chu Zao. A name bestowed upon you by the Angelic Spring, the only one ever granted. But just like before, you’re still that weak, pitiful little thing. You can’t do anything. As always."

The Psychic Crown atop Amos’ head flashed to its limit. Terrifying psychic energy resisted the enemy’s power in all directions, counterattacking and suppressing it once more. The elder still hadn’t figured out a better plan, so he decided to destroy the enemy a few more times—there had to be a limit to his revivals, right? But before that—"You really do talk too much."

In that instant, a constellation of light converged onto Xiao Chuzao’s crown. Amid the collision of forces, the little one’s wings shuddered—then *split*, a second pair bursting forth.

Amos froze.

At the same instant, the arrow flew.

In that instant, it pierced through the barriers—the black flames entwined with the angelic realm's radiance, shredding the barrier magics and powers in a flash, surging straight toward the Archangel.

The burning black flames in that instant caused the surrounding energies to crumble layer by layer, gradually devouring the Divine Grace Stones near the Archangel. His once-calm, indifferent face finally contorted in panic—why was his power... collapsing?

The little one, now with six small wings spread, drew his bowstring once more.

His gaze pierced straight through, as if peering into the Archangel’s very soul—showing neither fear nor hesitation.

It seemed to say—*Your biggest mistake was thinking I'm still that weak kid from the past.*

Before he could blink, the arrow was at his throat—