The sensation of Death gripped almost everyone within the aircraft as an immense and overwhelming aura slammed into it from above.
Minds slowed; thought processes seemed to grind to a halt in the face of such oppressive power. Their gazes instinctively snapped upward, as though trying to peer through the aircraft's metallic ceiling in hopes of seeing the source of this pressure.
Their own auras flared simultaneously as their bodies attempted to respond out of sheer instinct. But it was futile. Under such an immense, suffocating pressure, resistance felt utterly meaningless.
Above them, the man who had raised his hand now swung it down, descending like a Judge's hammer cast from the heavens themselves.
A crescent moon-shaped, blood-red attack came tearing down toward Anthony's aircraft from the skies above, slicing through the clouds and the very air as though they were nothing more than thin paper.
