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The shrill hiss of water striking red-hot steel echoed through the heavens. Specks of white light appeared from the massive gash that split the God of Terror's shadow in two, slowly converging across the wound and steadily coating it.
Then came the second strike. The blinding white light surged across the sundered flesh, spreading rapidly over the god's shadowy form, breaking it down piece by piece.
The shadowy substance that made up the God of Terror's colossal body was riddled with pockmarks under the onslaught of that devastating brilliance.
In response, the god contorted grotesquely, recalling power from its divine domain. Divine energy condensed into black mist that patched up his disintegrating form.
The black mist—its divine essence—and the white radiance left behind by the Perfected One's strike collided in midair. Black smoke billowed upward. White light flickered and dimmed.
A rhythmic wingbeat could be heard across the battlefield as the Perfected One continued to hover in the air. The sound seemed to have been magnified; each beat rang out loud and clear, like the trumpet of a divine herald.
While the God of Terror struggled to fend off the residual power of the strike that had cleaved him from shoulder to hip, the Perfected One was already preparing her next attack.
Feathers began to fall from her holy wings with an eerie elegance. Each feather transformed into a radiant plume of light that drifted behind her. Then, slowly, they shifted orientation. The gleaming wingtips all turned toward the fractured shadow of the god below.
With the feathers gone, the wings' true form was revealed: a metaphysical construct...
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