Stephen Strange, Sherlock Holmes, and the other Arcanists could not see Amon's movements at all. It was as if a blade wreathed in blue plasma flames had carved an afterimage-laced arc through the air and slashed into the smoke. Yet in the next instant, a slender, immaculate finger pressed against the tip of the blade. No matter how much force Amon used, he could not drive the Spear of the Garrison forward even a millimeter—more precisely, there was still a tiny gap between the blade and the finger, but that tiny distance rendered the body forged through Gene Alchemy and the machine built with advanced technology utterly useless. Even the current of the Disintegration Field and the azure plasma flames could not pierce that thin layer of air—the Emperor moved past Amon, his flaming Sacred Sword cleaving straight toward that hand. Its owner smiled at the Emperor from within the pale gray smoke, and the relatively short figure vanished without a trace.
Amon's movements did not distort because the resistance had vanished in an instant.
He immediately adjusted his stance and pulled the trigger. The bolt shell made specifically for the Sacred Guard passed through the spot where the target had stood before disappearing. He then stepped forward, positioning himself diagonally in front of the Emperor, and held his halberd across his body, ready to meet any possible attack. Yet there was no sound of the bolt shell striking flesh, not even the sound of its warhead exploding. The pale gray incense smoke seemed to swallow every sound. The Sacred Sword's blazing flames burned through the smoke, revealing countless tiny, distorted faces floating in the air. They were then incinerated by the pure fire and turned into fuel for the Emperor's psychic power.
"Danger, fall back!" Athena rushed forward as