Wu Heng walked inside.
His footsteps echoed through the empty hall. Michael looked up at him. "You're here."
Wu Heng did not answer.
Michael rose to his feet. He stood twice as tall as an ordinary person, with six pairs of golden wings behind him, as though cast from metal. When his wings spread, golden light filled the entire hall, and his voice rumbled like thunder.
"The order of the Main World should be rebuilt by me. You cannot protect that world. Humans should not live. Demons should not live. Demon Hunters should not live either."
Wu Heng looked at him. "Are you done?"
Michael froze for a moment.
Wu Heng raised his hand.
Roots of the Trait Tree, containing only this world's "Trait," surged from his palm. They were not real roots, but condensations of energy, like countless thin, elongated rays of light.
Those roots wrapped around Michael's wings, his arms, and his neck.
Michael struggled as holy light surged from within him, trying to burn through the roots. Yet they only coiled tighter, burrowing into his skin, his blood vessels, and his soul like living creatures.
"You..." Michael's eyes widened. "What kind of power is this?"
Wu Heng did not answer.
He activated the Trait Tree, and the roots suddenly tightened.
Michael's wings snapped. Golden feathers scattered everywhere. His body began to shrink, from twice the height of a normal man to a normal man's size, then from that size into a withered, scrawny figure.
Wu Heng walked before him and raised his right hand. Energy gathered in his palm—the darkness of hell, the life and death of the human world, the order of heaven.
He pressed that mass of energy against Michael's chest.
Michael's chest shattered.
It caved in completely, as though crushed flat by an invisible