Uriel stood in the cauldron, surrounded by unmoving hordes of monsters, alone and tiny.
His mind was still extremely foggy, and it would've been more accurate to say he was unconscious, driven forward by only the faintest sliver of clarity.
Merely standing, he swayed with the wind, like a drunk man who'd lost all sense of balance, a discombobulated puppet steered chaotically from side to side, its controlling strings tangled and messy.
He blinked. Then blinked a couple more times.
With each blink, the creatures around him seemed to grow less and less animated, their breaths shortening, heartbeats slowing, blood going cold.
Their bodies were shutting off.
Each of his blinks, like the Spirit's steps, left echoes in the ambient fabric of aether, rippling outward and through everything around him.
It was strange. It made no sense.
Such power was an absolute anomaly within the hands of a mere G ranker.
They began to fall and collapse, gently and without protest.
