In the divine realm that now hovered just above the mortal world, the God of Justice stood atop a floating dais of pale light, his golden staff humming with raw energy.
His expression, usually unreadable, was contorted in thought—lips pursed, brow furrowed. His formless monsters, endless extensions of his will, were dying too quickly.
The stream of divine perception tethered to each one flickered and snapped in rapid succession. They were being cleaved apart, dismembered, obliterated—without pause.
He closed his eyes and focused.
Two sources. One sharp like a dagger wrapped in shadow, and the other… wild, unrefined, but burning with unshaped potential.
The God of Justice exhaled slowly, his breath like molten gold.
"It's him. The one who vowed to hunt us down and make us all pay."
He muttered, fingers tightening around the staff.
He could feel Kyle's approach. It wasn't just mana—no, it was something more primal, something wrong.
