A day passed in the Layer of Ancients.
Then another, in silence.
Everywhere, it was eerily quiet.
Amid the silence, the darkness in the air gradually grew so dense that even seeing ahead became extremely difficult. Even the white mist surrounding the clearing where Azazeal floated, waiting for Nathaniel to awaken from slumber, turned pitch black.
It was as if the entire ancient realm—vast enough to rival countless massive planets—had fallen completely under his control.
He smiled when he heard distant cries of agony. All of his bodies gathering around the clearing could feel that Cassian was killing every living being he encountered.
Many weaker Celestials who had entered the Layer of Ancients with the Rulers, but had been separated from their group and somehow survived until now, all fell by his hand. He was like death itself—merciless—as he roamed the ancient realm, soaked in the blood of Celestials from head to toe.
