The axe fell. The sword rose. The four Domains screamed as they crashed into a single point of existence.
And then... silence.
It wasn't the silence of death nor was it the silence of destruction.
It was the silence of a paused tape.
The blinding white light of the Pantheon Sword froze in mid-air, crystallizing into a jagged sculpture of energy.
The magma erupting from Thraka's Iron-Blood Furnace stopped its ascent, hanging suspended like droplets of red glass.
Even the sound of the wind was severed.
Damien blinked.
His body was locked. He couldn't move a finger.
His will, a power that could overwrite reality, was currently being crushed by something infinitely heavier.
He moved his eyes.
To his left, Isabelle was frozen in her Demon Queen form, her violet flames solidified like amethyst statues.
In front of him, Emperor Thraka was frozen mid-roar, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, veins bulging on his steel neck.
