Devil Slave (Satan system) Chapter 1399 1399: Fate Weaver Vs Gabriel

The tension in the arena thickened as the upcoming match approached—the initial clash among the genuine Archdemon levels. Scarcely had the dark-tainted sand calmed after Ares' downfall when Kanada, positioned right beside Father Black, inclined her head a bit. Her flawless, stone-like skin absorbed the blend of sacred and shadowy illumination from the arena, rendering her akin to an animated sculpture—stunning, intimidating, and completely composed.

"Allow me to handle this fight," she murmured, her tone hushed yet laden with unavoidable certainty.

Father Black shot her a quick look, then gave a single nod. "It's all yours."

Kanada lifted a slender, fair hand and swept it through a deliberate, elegant curve.

In the heart of the combat zone below, a golden haze gathered. It twisted and hardened into a form that nearly mirrored Kanada exactly—identical stature, identical slender frame, identical flowing silver-white locks that flowed like molten moonlight. Yet while Kanada's features now featured piercing, divine-fear gaze, this copy lacked them entirely. No eyes, no nostrils, no hearing—just unblemished surface and one mouth bent in a subtle, insightful grin.

Exactly the same way Kanada had appeared when Lenny first met her.

Dozens of slender golden filaments floated near her form, gleaming like webs crafted from celestial glow—the tangible strands of destiny woven by fate.

Father Black's thick white eyebrow lifted sharply. "I had no idea you'd been occupied forging alliances."

Kanada's mouth tilted slightly. "Our type has forever been linked to the Sisters of Fate and the filaments they spin. During the past hundred years… I encountered one of their attendants. A minor spinner, bound in their bondage. I severed her ties."

She cast a sidelong view his way, her gaze sparkling with subdued rebellion.

"The Sisters must be raging. However, they're not my equals anymore. It makes no difference."

The young woman—actually, the liberated spinner—positioned herself prepared in the arena, golden filaments wafting idly about her like playful felines. Her strength emanated from the second tier of the profound demon domain—vast, accurate, and completely otherworldly.

Gabriel, hovering over the main stage, signaled with a single motion. From the Heavenly faction came his personal projection: an ideal life-sized duplicate of the Messenger—six wings blazing with intense white flames, unornamented yet impeccable silver plating, and gripped in its grasp… the horn. Not merely a replica or superficial imitation—this version bore a true resonance of Gabriel's famed trumpet, light gold and vibrating with the might to break any tie, any link, any destiny.

Father Black's facial hair quivered. He bent ahead. "Isn't that against the rules, equipping your clone with your sacred artifact?"

Gabriel's face stayed detached, nearly indifferent. "The item held by my projection is, at most, a faint imitation of the actual trumpet. It holds merely a portion of its strength." His wings adjusted a touch. "Moreover, nothing in the guidelines prohibits projections from using their personal holy relics."

Kanada's scowl intensified—the initial flaw in her tranquil facade throughout the day.

Father Black eyed her briefly. "Tough opponent?"

She dipped her head affirmatively, stare locked on the spinner beneath. "Indeed. Gabriel's trumpet—genuine or imitation—can shatter any tie that exists after sampling the foe's essence. Fate filaments, spirit ties, even abstract bonds… one blast, and they break like brittle branches." Then she turned to Lucifer, "that's what severed his link to heaven."

On the gritty surface below, the released spinner angled her blank head at Gabriel's projection, golden filaments clenching about her like a shielding wrap.

The messenger projection lifted the horn toward its mouth.

The entire arena paused in suspense.

The opening round of the authentic elite confrontations was on the verge of starting… and for the first instance following the juniors' run, Earth's team appeared hesitant.

The match kicked off with Gabriel's cue—a mere flick of his wrist that unleashed a vibrating tone across the arena. At the outset, the released spinner remained still, her blank visage canted a little as though attuned to murmurs detectable solely by her. The golden destiny filaments encircling her frame rustled like animated tendrils, twisting and stretching in relaxed spirals. Opposite her, Gabriel's projection hoisted the imitation horn to its mouth but held off sounding it—for now. Rather, it stowed the device at its waist and reached out an arm, conjuring a sword of untainted sacred radiance from its grasp. The weapon buzzed with heavenly verdict, borders shimmering like restrained suns.

The projection struck first, drifting ahead with heavenly poise. It swung broadly, the edge leaving a trail of pale blaze that charred the grit and probed the shadow glyphs set in the ground. The spinner made no evasion; a golden filament lashed forth like a whip, blocking the sword halfway through its path. The strand encircled the weapon, hauling it off course with unexpected might. The projection faltered briefly—just sufficient for a second filament to lash out, carving over its plated shoulder. Sacred embers erupted as the strand bit profoundly, extracting a narrow streak of golden fluid that vanished prior to touching the earth.

Murmurs of endorsement rose from Earth's observers. "She's handling it." "Those filaments are vicious!"

Kanada observed closely, her scowl softening a fraction. The spinner exploited her edge, golden strands increasing—ten, twenty, forming a mesh around the projection. She foresaw each action; while the celestial being faked left and stabbed right, a filament awaited, deflecting the edge and retaliating with a keen circle that grazed its wing. Plumes dispersed, sacred radiance fading at the strand's incision. The spinner's mouth formed a soft grin, as though entertained by the emerging designs.

The projection whirled, wings expanding to generate a gust that dispersed the strands for a moment. It rushed once more, blade arcing in exact, interlocking sequences—stab, cut, descending strike—each refined over endless eras of godly warfare. Yet the spinner anticipated fully. Her filaments moved like parts of her intent: one wound about the blade's grip, yanking it astray; another slashed below, gashing the projection's limb plating and hindering its push. A third anticipated a guard and circled from the rear, clenching like a snare on the celestial's throat. The projection gagged, sacred presence wavering, as the strand squeezed, shadowy destiny force infiltrating to erode its brilliance.

Father Black reclined, limbs folded. "She's dismantling him. Word for word."

The spinner drew firmer, her filaments crafting a lethal lattice. She struck with a bunch of strands, every one sharpened to slice—they gashed over the projection's torso, etching grooves in the silver plating and spilling further fluid. The celestial reeled, sinking to a single knee, blade limb shaking. The spinner progressed gradually, strands winding for the finish: one to restrain the wings, another to detach the blade arm, a third to foresee and foil any retaliation. The projection's motions turned lethargic, its vast skill unable to resist the relentless tug of destiny she commanded. She encircled a last filament on its neck, set to break it sharply.

Gabriel observed from overhead, his scowl reemerging. Lucifer laughed softly from afar, captivated by the reversal.

Yet it proved a snare.

The projection had permitted the final gash to penetrate further than required—purposely baring a flaw in its plating. While the spinner's strand sliced its flank, an intentional burst of fluid sprayed forth… but the projection pivoted in the final instant, whipping its blade in a sly riposte. The sacred sword brushed the spinner's limb—merely a scrape, yet sufficient. Red essence—her own—surged forth, one droplet adhering to the weapon's rim.

The projection surged like a bolt now, all feigned frailty vanished. It daubed the essence on the imitation horn in a rapid gesture, then elevated the tool to its mouth.

A lone, sharp tone rang out across the arena—deep and echoing, akin to the ultimate knell of fortune itself.

The spinner halted. Her golden filaments trembled, then unraveled at the borders. They broke sequentially—ties broken, bonds to destiny crushed by the horn's force. The strands melted into sparkling particles, drifting innocently aside. She crumpled to her knees, mouth parting in a muted intake, rendered completely defenseless. No foresight, no arms, no destiny to shape.

The projection dropped the horn, its injuries healing amid the sacred shimmer. It stepped forward steadily, blade poised.

The spinner attempted to rise, yet lacking her filaments, she was merely a husk—defenseless, bare. The blade descended in a compassionate sweep, and she conceded with a soft murmur prior to the strike completing.

Earth's group fell silent. Kanada's scowl turned to sorrow. "I ought to have alerted her to the snare."

Gabriel's face evened into contentment. "An imitation perhaps… yet it works."

The match concluded. Yet another defeat for Earth—this one biting harder.