The Apocalypse Angels surged in from the north, at least three thousand of them.
Elena crouched down and pressed both hands against the ground. Ice spread from beneath her feet, extending down the streets.
This was no ordinary ice—it carried Pestilence energy. Wherever the ice spread, the air turned frigid, while gray Mist seeped up from the ice-covered ground.
It was Pestilence energy.
The Apocalypse Angels stepped onto the ice, and their feet were immediately frozen in place.
They struggled as holy light surged from within them, attempting to melt the ice, but the gray Mist burrowed into their bodies and corroded their holy light.
Their wings began to fall off, their skin festered, and blood started streaming from their eyes.
"Frozen Pestilence Incantation Array." Elena rose to her feet. "It can hold them for two hours. They won't get out within those two hours."
At that moment, a stationed soldier ran over. "Lady Elena, there's another group to the east."
Elena looked at him. "How many?"
"About a thousand."
Elena turned and headed east.
Rome, Vatican.
Wu Heng stood on the steps of St. Peter's Basilica, with Isaac and Martin behind him. Michael descended from the sky, his wings spread wide enough to block out the sun.
He was twice the height of an ordinary man, with six pairs of golden wings on his back, as though cast from metal. His face was obscured by holy light, making his expression impossible to see, but the light was so dazzling it hurt the eyes.
"Are you the strongest one in this world?" Michael's voice boomed like thunder.
Wu Heng looked at him.
"More or less."
Michael smiled. "Weak."
He raised a hand, and a beam of holy light shot from his palm straight at Wu Heng.
The beam was so