Michael stood in a relaxed posture, one hand on his hip, the other resting on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
His physique was not tall, only slightly over 1.6 meters. The clear sunlight from the sunlit side of the terminator line, unobstructed by any atmospheric clouds, shone on the silver-white armor, casting a long, narrow shadow.
On the surface of the satellite wreckage, the Phase Change Demon, shrunk to the size of a basketball, still retained a significant portion of its intelligence and clearly knew that it was this person who had destroyed its painstakingly laid plans.
It immediately bounced up on the spot, its volume suddenly expanding dozens of times, attempting to self-destruct.
No drawing of the sword, no retreat, Michael simply grasped the hilt and lightly tapped forward from a distance.
One fifth of the Phase Change Demon's body was instantly obliterated, its massive form frozen in space, on the verge of explosion, but stalled.
"Whoa, shit."
