Crimson Irene came to a stop as no Angel attacked her again. Her breathing was stable and rhythmic, her body unstained as her white robe remained as pristine and immaculate as ever. Her crimson hair, despite having danced and whipped violently in the wind due to the extreme speed at which she had been moving, seemed to immediately fall back into perfect arrangement the moment she came to a halt.
Silence swept across the planet once again as Sylthorin Aethryx Solvarion and his group of twenty Eleven-Winged Angels stared at her in utter disbelief. They were simply too stunned to speak. For a moment, none of them could help but wonder whether the information they had received about her had been completely false, or whether what they were witnessing right now was some elaborate illusion crafted to deceive them.
