My Deck Is Made Up Of OP Anime Characters

"What the hell is happening out there?"

Not far from the core area, the facility captain rode his massive eagle mount through the corrupted air, his weathered features twisted in disbelief as he stared at the brilliant golden beam that had pierced straight through the realm's perpetual storm clouds.

The pillar of light blazed like a miniature sun, its radiance cutting through the [Night Banquet]'s eternal gloom with such intensity that it temporarily banished the shadows for kilometers in every direction. The spiritual pressure radiating from that distant location made his Gold-level senses scream warnings about power that shouldn't exist at Silver tier.

"A disturbance this massive from Silver-level cards?" he muttered, patting his mount's neck to urge greater speed. "That kind of energy output should be impossible at their advancement level."

The captain's mind raced through tactical assessments as they flew toward the source of the commotion. Either his monitoring equipment had been catastrophically wrong about the combatants' power levels, or he was witnessing something unprecedented in his decades of secret realm management.

Neither possibility offered much comfort.

At the epicenter of the devastating display, Meng Po faced the descending torrent of golden destruction with ancient calm. Her weathered features showed no trace of fear as she raised both hands, calling upon powers that had ferried souls across the boundaries of life and death for countless millennia.

The blood-yellow waters of the Nai River erupted around her like a protective tsunami, surging upward to meet Caliburn's released power with the weight of accumulated memory and forgotten dreams. Steam hissed and roared as the legendary waters met divine fire, creating clouds of vapor that carried echoes of lives long ended.

"Hiss!"

The sound of evaporation filled the air like the screams of dying gods, but the golden beam carved through the supernatural deluge without slowing. The waters that could erase identity itself proved powerless against the sword that had chosen a king.

A moment later, the concentrated radiance struck the earth with world-shaking force.

BOOM!

Massive tremors rippled outward from the impact point, cracking stone and reshaping the landscape with casual violence. The very ground seemed to cry out in protest as energies meant for slaying dragons carved their mark into the realm's foundation.

In Artoria's hands, the golden Caliburn began to fracture along its length, hairline cracks spreading like spiderwebs across the legendary blade's surface. The sword had given everything, its accumulated power, its mystical resonance, its very existence, to deliver this single perfect strike.

This had been her ultimate gambit, the desperate technique that sacrificed her greatest asset for overwhelming power. If Meng Po somehow survived this concentrated assault, Artoria would be left virtually defenseless. Without a weapon, her combat effectiveness would plummet by seventy or eighty percent.

As the golden light gradually faded and the tremors subsided, silence settled over the transformed battlefield like a funeral shroud.

Where Meng Po had stood moments before, nothing remained but empty air and lingering wisps of dissipating steam. The elderly woman had simply vanished, erased by power that transcended the boundaries between mortal and divine.

But her absence wasn't the most shocking sight awaiting them.

A massive trench stretched across the landscape, seven or eight kilometers of scarred earth carved so deep that groundwater had begun seeping up from the exposed depths. The perfectly straight furrow looked like the work of some titanic plow dragged by gods, its edges still glowing with residual heat that would take hours to fully dissipate.

Seeing the complete absence of any trace of her opponent, Artoria allowed herself a small sigh of relief. The gamble had paid off, though at tremendous cost. Caliburn's fragments dissolved into motes of light in her hands, the legendary sword returning to whatever mystical realm housed such artifacts during their restoration periods.

"It seems victory is mine," Azrael said, turning to address Crowley with carefully controlled satisfaction.

Crowley's face had gone ashen, his complexion resembling charcoal as he stared at the devastation stretching across the horizon. The confident young master who had orchestrated this entire encounter now looked like a man witnessing the collapse of everything he thought he understood about power and possibility.

"I... I concede defeat," Crowley forced out through gritted teeth, each word tasting like poison on his tongue. "You have proven yourself the superior Lore Cardian."

The admission came hard, but he couldn't deny what his own eyes had witnessed. Azrael, no, Azrael, hadn't lied about his creation's capabilities. He'd heard the knight-princess invoke Caliburn's true name with perfect clarity, and the results spoke for themselves.

Caliburn, the Golden Sword of Promised Victory, represented King Arthur's first legendary blade in the classic tales. According to the stories, it had eventually been broken when Arthur violated the principles of chivalry, later replaced by Excalibur, the more famous Sword of Promised Victory.

But was this interpretation of Arthur's legend even remotely legitimate?

Crowley found himself staring at the young woman in pristine armor, her apparent youth making the entire situation feel surreal. He'd never encountered any historical account suggesting King Arthur could unleash attacks of such devastating magnitude. Moreover, the materials he'd provided were only Silver-tier components, how had they generated power approaching Gold-level capabilities?

"Fortunately, I proposed single combat," Azrael reflected privately, analyzing the battle's progression with tactical detachment. "Meng Po was obviously designed as a support specialist. Before she could fully deploy her abilities, Artoria eliminated her with a calculated risk."

Throughout the entire confrontation, Azrael had observed what appeared to be limitless reserves in Meng Po's supernatural river. While such resources surely had upper boundaries, he hadn't been given time to discover them through testing.

More importantly, Meng Po could definitely provide positive emotional reinforcement to allied cards in her creator's roster. In a team battle, facing multiple opponents while her waters provided battlefield control, even Artoria's devastating finale might not have secured victory.

But in isolated single combat against an artillery specialist, Meng Po's defensive capabilities simply couldn't match the concentrated power of a legendary sword's dying strike.

"This is..."

A voice from above interrupted their post-battle analysis, drawing attention toward the darkened sky where a familiar figure descended on broad wings.

The facility captain approached on his giant eagle mount, his weathered features displaying pure shock as he surveyed the catastrophic trench carved across the landscape. His professional composure wavered as he tried to reconcile what he was seeing with everything he thought he knew about Silver-level capabilities.

Is this really the work of Silver-tier cards? he thought with growing bewilderment. The destructive power here matches ordinary Gold-level techniques.

Suppressing the emotional turmoil threatening to overwhelm his analytical training, the captain addressed the two combatants with forced calm. "Are either of you injured? Do you require medical assistance?"

Azrael shook his head politely while Crowley responded with obvious irritation. "If we're unharmed, then kindly return to your duties and stop interfering."

The captain's survival instincts immediately triggered warning signals as he recognized the dangerous edge in Crowley's voice. Anyone who could reduce a government facility supervisor to terror wasn't someone to antagonize, especially when his mood had clearly soured.

"Of course, Young Master Crowley. I won't disturb you further," he replied with hasty deference before retreating toward the exit portal as quickly as dignity allowed.

Watching the captain's rapid departure, Azrael turned back to Crowley with business-like efficiency. "According to our agreement, I'll claim this year's [Return of Death] material."

Crowley managed to force a twisted smile onto his features, though the expression looked more like a grimace of pain. "Azrael, please proceed as you wish."

Recognizing that Crowley's composure was hanging by threads, Azrael decided against further provocation and headed toward the cave where the venue materials awaited collection. Some victories were better left uncommented upon.

The moment Azrael disappeared into the cavern's depths, Crowley's careful facade finally crumbled.

"Damn it!" he snarled, his voice echoing across the scarred landscape with frustration and wounded pride.

His anger stemmed from multiple sources, the humiliation of decisive defeat, the waste of expensive materials on his opponent's creation, and most painfully, the confirmation of his own inadequacy. He'd been absolutely certain that Azrael couldn't possibly create anything superior in such a short timeframe.

Reality had delivered a brutal education in overconfidence.

The defeat stung even more because every advantage had been in his favor. Crowley had provided the materials, chosen the format, and planned his creation for months. Yet despite these benefits, he'd been completely outmaneuvered by someone working with components he'd never seen before.

This is why Master Lucian chose him instead of me, Crowley realized with bitter clarity. Raw talent trumps careful preparation every time.

The rules of their duel had been designed to showcase his superiority, but had instead highlighted the vast gulf between their respective abilities. There was no escaping the implications of such a decisive loss.

Forcing his emotions back under rigid control, Crowley's eyes grew cold and calculating as he stared toward the cave entrance. "There will be other opportunities, Azrael. This isn't over between us."

He refused to resort to underhanded tactics or political manipulation. When he defeated Azrael, and he would defeat him, it would be through legitimate superiority rather than scheming. The Wu family's honor demanded nothing less.

"The national competition will provide the perfect stage," he murmured, a plan already crystallizing in his tactical mind.

After gathering what remained of his dignity, Crowley summoned his mount and departed toward the realm's exit with grim determination. The scattered materials throughout the secret realm held no interest for him, such common components were beneath the attention of the Wu family's heir, especially when they maintained private realm access for superior resources.

Pride might have taken a devastating blow, but it hadn't been completely destroyed. He would return stronger, better prepared, and ready to claim the victory that should have been his from the beginning.

Within the dark cavern's depths, Azrael had expected to spend considerable time searching for the [Return of Death] material among hidden chambers and twisting passages. Instead, he found himself in a surprisingly spacious chamber dominated by a single striking feature.

At the room's center, a dark vortex swirled with hypnotic patterns while a single object floated serenely above its churning surface, the very material he'd come to claim.

Extending his mental energy toward the floating object, Azrael carefully drew it into his grasp through psychic manipulation. The moment his fingers closed around it, information flowed through his consciousness with satisfying clarity.

Silver-level Venue Material [Return of Death] (Red)

"Red quality," he murmured with appreciation, examining the component's lustrous surface. This marked only the second time he'd encountered materials of such exceptional grade.

Thinking of the Meng Po card Crowley had just demonstrated, Azrael chuckled softly. "No wonder he wanted this particular material so desperately."

With his primary objective secured, Azrael began exploring the chamber's remaining features. Something about the space's generous proportions suggested it served purposes beyond simple storage, rooms this large usually housed multiple important elements.

His instincts proved correct when he discovered something unexpected in a shadowed corner.

"This is..." Azrael's voice trailed off as recognition struck him like a physical blow.

Carved into the stone wall was a symbol that sent chills down his spine, not because it was threatening, but because he'd encountered it once before. The same mysterious marking had appeared in the diary recovered from the [Sword Lake] secret realm during his early adventures.

If ordinary observers saw this symbol, they might dismiss it as random scratches or decorative carving. But Azrael possessed context that transformed its significance entirely.

Unfortunately, this appeared to be the chamber's only remaining clue. The surrounding walls showed clear evidence of deliberate erasure, areas where additional markings had once existed, now carefully removed by unknown hands.

The situation differed markedly from his discovery in [Sword Lake]. That realm had been under Association control for a relatively short period, and personal diaries were inherently easier to conceal than wall carvings. Here, someone had conducted systematic removal of whatever information had once been preserved.

"I still haven't deciphered that diary's contents," Azrael realized with mounting frustration.

The primary obstacle was lack of additional examples for comparison. Without other specimens to establish patterns or provide translation keys, the mysterious text remained incomprehensible. But his curiosity about the secret realms' true origins continued growing with each new discovery.

The sea charts he'd found in [Black Flag] had clearly demonstrated that some realms were significantly larger than their current dimensions suggested. Whatever had caused this reduction might be connected to his own arrival in this world, too many coincidences were accumulating for them to be truly random.

Furthermore, the increasing frequency of realm manifestations, combined with the Crimson Oath Society's accelerating activities, painted a picture of approaching crisis that made his skin crawl.

Most disturbing was the mysterious space's consistently unusual treatment of him. Its responses felt too personal, too directed, as if he'd been specifically selected for some greater purpose that remained hidden.

"If I'm going to die, I at least want to understand why," Azrael muttered grimly.

Escape seemed impossible, he strongly suspected the mysterious space had marked him for whatever apocalyptic events were approaching. The question was whether he represented an exception or merely the first of many chosen individuals.

Suppressing these troubling speculations, Azrael turned away from the symbol and headed back toward the cave entrance. Time was precious, and he still needed to harvest the demons in his selected area before the realm's access period expired.

Whatever cosmic forces were manipulating his destiny would have to wait until he'd secured the immediate resources necessary for survival. One crisis at a time, that was the only way to maintain sanity in a world where gods and monsters walked among mortals.

The golden light of victory had illuminated more than just his triumph over Crowley. It had revealed glimpses of mysteries that stretched back to the very foundations of reality itself. But for now, practical concerns took precedence over existential questions.

There would be time for deeper investigation once he'd grown strong enough to face whatever was coming.