The Hero's knees nearly buckled.
The Demon Lord's expression darkened, lips slightly parted—not in rage, but in something far rarer: awe.
And then, with no warning, Phantom raised the grimoire above his hand and casually pressed his fingers together.
The book shattered.
Not torn, not burned—shattered.
A God-tier artifact, indestructible by any known force, crumbled like dust in his palm.
The Hero could only stare, heart thundering in his chest.
His cheat skills, divine training, and heaven-sent messages—all of it felt meaningless now.
The Demon Lord stood frozen, unable to even begin to comprehend what stood before him.
And Phantom?
He simply dusted off his fingers.
As if what he just destroyed meant nothing.
Both the Hero and the Demon Lord dropped to their knees—not because Phantom willed it, but because their bodies moved on their own. A primal instinct like submission in the presence of something beyond comprehension.
Phantom didn't even look at them.
"You two," he said casually, almost like a teacher scolding children, "should stop this war. You're not strong enough yet. Come back when you are."
He turned, footsteps soft as they echoed through the throne room. A portal swirled open ahead of him, glowing faintly with spatial distortion. He stepped toward it—
Then paused.
His head tilted slightly, the mask hiding his expression, but something like amusement danced in his voice.
"Hmm… I guess we have an uninvited guest," he said. "And judging from that suffocatingly righteous aura… I'd say it's Archangel Uriel."
The Demon Lord's eyes widened.
Archangel Uriel? No... That's impossible.
He whispered to himself, disbelief laced in every word. "An Archangel… has descended?"
That's never happened—not in any era. Angels don't descend. They send divine will. Not avatars. Not bodies. Never.
But Phantom didn't joke. He never joked.
A heartbeat passed.
Then—BOOM.
The throne room doors exploded into dust and splinters. Stone cracked, walls trembled.
From within the cloud of debris emerged a figure radiating so much divine energy that it almost scorched the senses. Twin wings of radiant white unfurled. Blue hair cascaded over silver armor that shimmered with pure light. In his right hand, a sword forged from the authority of Heaven itself.
Uriel, Archangel of Judgment.
His voice rang out, sharp and absolute:
"Being. You are under arrest for treason against Heaven."
Phantom turned to face him slowly.
"Being?" he repeated, voice cool, amused. "No respect. No courtesy. Not even a name. How very prideful of you."
He took a step forward. The air tensed.
"Also... you came alone?" His voice dropped lower, amused and insulted. "Am I being underestimated?"
Uriel's eyes narrowed. He didn't answer with words.
With holy light blazing around him, he lunged—sword raised, wings cutting through the air, intent on striking Phantom down in a single, divine blow.
And then—
Phantom whispered, "Stop."
A single word.
But it wasn't just a word. It was authority. Reality itself bent in acknowledgment.
Time froze.
Not slowed—froze.
The Demon Lord, the Hero, the falling dust from the shattered door—everything halted mid-motion, like a paused painting.
Everything, except Uriel.
He remained airborne, his body frozen in time, yet his eyes moved—shifting frantically, confused, enraged, terrified.
His mind raced, screaming against the impossible. This shouldn't be happening. This shouldn't be possible!
But it was.
And Phantom stood there, unbothered, arms folded behind his back like a curator admiring art in a museum.
The maid, who had watched silently until now, finally spoke as she observed Uriel frozen mid-strike.
"Phantom-sama… I thought Archangel-class beings weren't affected by time. Shouldn't he be above such limitations?."
Phantom didn't look at her. His voice was calm, almost thoughtful.
"Hmm let's say Uriel doesn't fully understand the concept called time."
He raised his hand slightly, watching the stillness like a sculptor admiring his work.
"Even the so-called God of Time doesn't understand it. Time isn't just a river you travel—it's a truth you have to comprehend. And Uriel... he's still clinging to divine authority, not understanding the laws that bind even divinity itself."
He turned, footsteps echoing softly toward the glowing portal.
"But if it were Michael or Gabriel... it might be different."
The maid glanced once more at Uriel, his form locked in place, then turned and followed her master into the portal.
Just before stepping through, Phantom paused and looked out across the horizon. His voice was soft, nearly lost in the hum of returning time.
"I used to be just a high school kid with dreams."
A low chuckle followed.
"Now look at me now… How fun is life."
And with that, he vanished.
The portal sealed shut.
Time snapped back like a cracked whip.
And Uriel, Archangel of Judgment, dropped to one knee—breathless and shaken—for the very first time. Rage boiling under his skin.