After Herabogen turned around, what came into view was God's all-star lineup from the Second Epoch—a professional team.
One second... two seconds... three seconds...
"Heh, have you finally gone mad?"
Herabogen stiffly tugged at the corner of his mouth. Cold sweat slowly slid down his forehead, and his eyes were widened until the blood vessels in the whites and the veins at their corners bulged out:
"Even if you wanted to put on an act, you could at least make it convincing. Do you think pretending to be a bunch of dead people would actually fool me?"
"Then what are you afraid of?"
Adam, the Sun God, was very pleased that Herabogen had not dared to call him by name, but he still showed no mercy with his words:
"Why would you feel guilty and afraid when facing a group of dead people? Stop deceiving yourself, Herabogen. You can clearly sense that the Extraordinary power before you is real. And you also know..."
His voice paused before Adam, the Sun God, continued:
"We could never give you a chance to escape—"
As he spoke, layers upon layers of light feathers unfurled behind Adam, the Sun God. The translucent feathers were dreamlike and illusory, like a corner of a dream or ripples across the sea of the mind.
Likewise, Sastiel, Medici, and Amon spread their wings beside him. At the center of the four angels, whose forms and strength were both utterly genuine, stood Grisha.
And Grisha possessed the Sun's power, status, and Extraordinary Characteristics!
Before the light of the Astral Realm and the eternal sacred flames, anyone should have felt warmth from the bottom of their heart. Yet Herabogen's heart was now chillingly cold.
Adam, the Sun God, was right. No matter how unwilling he was to trust his own