"What is that thing?!"
Samael's voice rose to a shrill pitch with fear, like the screech of a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
He stood on the dais, both hands clutching the edges of the armrests, his pupils trembling violently as he stared at the figure on the Palace roof.
Hercules stood on the shattered roof, holding in both hands the forearm he had just torn from the Bone Giant. The limb, formed from countless bones and thicker than a city gate, looked like a snapped twig in his grasp.
He glanced down at the arm, which was still twitching faintly, then casually tossed it aside.
BOOM!!!
The arm slammed into the ground outside the Palace with a deep crash, throwing up a cloud of dust.
Shattered bones spilled from the break and rolled across the ground, forming a field of white wreckage.
Samael's gaze followed the discarded arm before returning to Hercules. His breathing grew rapid and ragged, and a fine sheen of cold sweat appeared on his forehead.
He began to doubt—his plan, his power, and whether the god he had served all his life truly existed.
But no one answered him.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Elsewhere, Angron was hacking away in a frenzy.
His twin axes rained down on the giant's body like a furious storm, each blow landing with a dull impact and a spray of bone fragments.
Under Angron's tireless attacks, as precise and brutal as a machine, the giant formed from a hundred billion bones was clearly regenerating more slowly.
The shattered bones no longer reassembled as quickly as they had at the start, and the gashes torn through its body no longer healed as swiftly as before.
The giant's movements began to slow, its counterattacks grew feeble, and its body, sustained by