The ethereal arms descended with cataclysmic force, each one streaking through the sky like a divine missile locked onto its prey. The air howled and folded under their pressure, their radiance so bright that the desert's golden sands reflected turquoise light for miles.
But even under that apocalyptic barrage, Cain kept moving.
He glided between the colossal strikes like a phantom, his wings slicing through the storms, his movements impossibly precise. To an onlooker, it was like watching a swarm of gods trying to crush a single insect — and failing. No matter how many blows fell, the Neo-Demon danced through the chaos, his motion fluid and frictionless, guided by an invisible rhythm that defied logic.
Every miss stoked Bradley's fury. His heart burned with disbelief and rage. How could anyone evade the absolute might of an Alpha–Omega Overgod?
