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The once peaceful sky was torn apart in an instant, as if someone had taken a giant brush and painted over the clear blue canvas in black. Following Beru’s arrival, pitch-black storm clouds surged over the half-destroyed buildings, swiftly blanketing the sky.
Upon closer inspection, it became clear these were no ordinary clouds. They were the army of the Itarim—ashen giants with holy blue wings, too eerie to be called angels, yet far too divine to be demons. They were armed with the divine power of the Itarim, and they filled the sky, countless in number.
“I told you again and again, the outer universes are crawling with small fry like these,” Beru said.
They were much like the followers Suho had defeated, one by one, back on Earth. They packed the sky completely, blotting out the sun with their overwhelming numbers. Yet despite the terrifying number of foes, there was one zealot whose fighting spirit only flared hotter.
With a shriek, a dark streak shot into the sky.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Beru, the commander, flew alone into the army, a black trail streaming behind him, spewing pure fury that went beyond madness. “You dared to abduct the Young Monarch! For that sin, I’ll sever each of your heads myself!”
He was gripped by both guilt and rage, furious that he had left Suho in danger. He had fought...
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