This wasn't a movie. It wasn't an illusion.
This was... history. Something that had actually happened.
Finally.
When the last resistor in the city collapsed into a pool of blood.
When the last crying child was consumed by golden flames.
The hundred-some Angels of Death slowly ceased their slaughter.
They floated silently above the dead city, which had been reduced to nothing but ruins and a sea of fire. From start to finish, not a single trace of emotion crossed their handsome, indifferent faces.
It was as if what they had just committed was not an inhuman massacre.
But merely... sweeping away an unsightly anthill.
HUMMM!
The vision from the Time Travel suddenly shuddered, then shattered like a broken mirror!
The surroundings reverted to the silent, dust-covered ruins.
Over a hundred Six-winged Angels...
That meant over a hundred Catastrophe Level beings!
