Wu Heng raised his head and looked at the blade. He knew it was too late. The blood and souls were being drawn into the barrier too quickly; his net could not stop them. He stood up and lifted his left hand from the ground. The root-like patterns withdrew into his palm.
He stopped trying to stop it.
Perhaps this had been his intention all along—to let this weapon be forged.
As the battlefield gradually fell silent, the blade in Metatron's hand lit up. It did not brighten slowly; it erupted in a sudden blaze.
Dark golden light poured from the blade, as though someone had ignited a sun at the center of Heaven.
The light was too blinding. Everyone shut their eyes.
Isaac shielded his face with his arm, feeling his skin burn. Thomas crouched down and buried his face in his knees. All of Karim's scorpion tails curled into a ball like frightened insects. The ordinary demon hunters had it even worse. Those closest to it had their eyes seared by the light and screamed as they tried to retreat, but they could not. When the light burst from the blade, a shockwave spread outward with it. It was not a blast of air, but energy.
Wherever it swept, the ground split open. Rubble flew into the air and crumbled into dust midair.
The berserk angels that had not quite died were swept by the shockwave, their bodies tearing apart like paper into countless pieces. The temporary fortifications built by the demon hunters were flattened, sandbags sent flying everywhere.
Hawk lay prone on the ground, clutching his head with both hands.
He felt something crush over his head like a train. He lay there without daring to move, only raising his head after several seconds.
The shockwave had