Before the spirit could even process this fundamental violation of universal truth, a shadow fell over it.
Cain had teleported again.
He reappeared instantly on the rim of the crater, his handsome face a mask of cold, analytical indifference. He looked down not at a fellow expert, not even at a defeated foe, but at a resource.
The spirit's ethereal form shrieked, a high-pitched wail of pure, unadulterated terror. Its every instinct, honed over eons as a God Emperor's remnant, screamed at it to flee. Its very essence, a construct of soul and law, tried to dissipate, to melt back into the mist and escape this... this anomaly.
But there was no time. It had just unleashed two of its most powerful attacks and been struck by a fist that carried the impossible, physical weight of a galaxy. Its form was destabilized, its reaction time a fraction too slow.
And Cain was infinitely faster.
