A Deal with the Collector

Daisy's gleaming claws stirred up a bloody gust. Before the Chicken-Bull Monster could turn over, she had already recovered her hovering stance. Facing its attack, she twisted aside to evade one claw, blocked the other with Ragnarok's Axe, then brought the remaining Axe of Angarrumus down heavily at the base of its wing.

Its surface was rough and battered, covered in chips and notches. The Axe of Angarrumus looked like a piece of scrap iron waiting to be reforged, with an appearance that could not have been worse. Yet this axe came from another dimension. Ancient One had explained that it had once been the sacred artifact of a local tribe. After entering the main universe, it could no longer absorb the power of its descendants' faith, but that did nothing to diminish its ability to harm souls.

There was no earth-shattering radiance from the axe blade, nor any horrifying spray of blood. It seemed utterly ordinary, as if it had merely cut through a layer of skin and could go no deeper.

But as the axe's owner, Daisy felt a stream of energy being drawn from the Chicken-Bull Monster's body. That energy nourished the great axe, and a barely perceptible hint of ferocity appeared along its blade.

Slaying spiritual entities and absorbing souls—that was the Axe of Angarrumus's true strength. It was difficult for it to absorb the souls of ordinary people, because a soul was a whole, anchored by the body. Those capable of splitting a soul were either lunatics or major powers.

By all rights, the Axe of Angarrumus was not especially effective against non-spiritual creatures. That was also why Ancient One had been willing to give it to her as a gift. If it killed anyone with a single strike, Ancient One would never have been