At this moment, Leonard's eyes couldn't help but show a trace of gravity.
His remaining wing lifted, like a shield protecting his comrades behind him.
Across from him, Luther suddenly opened his mouth wide: "Ha ha ha! I'm not dead! I'm not dead! The Almighty blesses me—I'm not dead!"
His eyes, like two bottomless pits, fixed on Leonard. His lips twisted into an exaggerated grin so wide that the charred flesh clinging to his face began to crumble and fall away. "The ones who should die… are you!"
As his words fell, a violent gale arose, and darkness rapidly gathered at the long fissure that split Luther's body.
Countless shadow blades formed—long and sharp as arrows—and shot straight toward Leonard!
Leonard gently flapped his half-intact wing, raising one hand. A flaming shield instantly manifested, blocking Luther's dark arrows.
But the fire was not gentle—it served as a shield, yet simultaneously devoured Leonard himself.
