Three days later.
Turan Holy Mountain, Cranium Swamp.
Countless Slaughter Angels, enormous as the skeletons of giant beasts, had lain quietly asleep for three thousand years in the swamp permanently dyed deep crimson by blood.
Though beneath shells covered in rust and cracks, through intricate gears, bearings, transmissions, and coupling structures, the profound and complex magic arrays embedded at the cores of the Slaughter Angels still bloomed with incomparably steadfast light every few seconds, indicating that the Slaughter Angels' "brains"—their control chips—had not been completely damaged. They could still represent the Ocean of Light blanketing this planet and pass the most correct, and final, judgment upon every living being beneath the Holy Light.
But within their scanning range, no living beings worth "judging" had appeared for a very long time.
Thus, the Slaughter Angels allowed insignificant little birds and lizards to dart between their once razor-sharp limbs and crisscrossing bones.
They concentrated fully, silently gathering all the spiritual energy around them in their slumber, condensing it into nearly liquid Spiritual Energy, and converting it into their own ammunition and fuel.
Until this very moment, three thousand years later—
Boom!
Boom boom boom boom!
From the Holy Mountain Depths suddenly came rhythmic roars, each wave higher than the last.
It was as though ten thousand bolts of thunder had exploded simultaneously within the underground rock strata.
Or as if two Primordial Ferocious Beasts were chasing and competing with one another, slaughtering their way from Earth's Core to the surface with horrifying speed and momentum.
Layer upon layer of ripples spread across the entire Cranium Swamp.
The Slaughter Angels lurking within the swamp also sensed the flavor of chaotic, disordered, blazing, unrestrained life energy from a being polluted by "chaos" within those ripples.
At the cores of several Slaughter Angels closest to