At the same time, outside a huge golden castle floating in the vast expanse of dark space—surrounded by many other towering castles that glimmered in the distance—the noise of countless agonizing screams echoed like broken records across the vast void.
The agony they felt as they were crushed was beyond anything one could imagine.
The deafening silence that followed was broken by a boisterous laugh, laced with thrill and chilling, dark excitement.
Azazeal floated at the very heart of the chaos, his dark hair drifting in the still air.
His obsidian eyes, each glowing with two purple slits in the middle, were hollow yet burned with purpose as they locked onto the laughing false version of himself. His lips stretched wide into a twisted smile.
Around his still figure, six imposing, tall, breathtakingly ethereal figures hovered in the dark void—each identical to him, each drenched in the deep crimson blood of the many Celestials they had mercilessly slain.
