The woman studied willpower the same way a smith examined metals.
In her eyes, most people's willpower looked like a ball of gas.
It was light, ever shifting, and easy to take apart. All it took was a tug—a little fear, a little despair—and it would drift apart like smoke.
She didn't even need to try hard.
Then, she would absorb their willpower to strengthen her own.
Demigods, Gods, Planets.
She had taken willpower from all sorts of being.
Some resisted better than others.
Their willpower didn't scatter so easily.
It wasn't a gaseous sphere but something heavier – a clay.
The sphere of clay would be thick, packed, molded by their life experiences and beliefs.
Still, she could dig her fingers in, squeeze out bits of their resolve, and slowly break them apart. It just took more effort.
The woman had lived billions of years living a life like that.
She had reached a realm where her willpower was at the tipping point.
Now, she didn't need quantity, but quality.
