Right beneath Triton's watchful eyes, the layers of conflict spread like a salt-scorched wasteland. A slender Angel knelt amidst a mound of silvery white, violently striking at something buried within the pile. In the black sludge, creatures continuously emerged, lunging towards the Angel, but before the mucus clinging to their bodies could even be shed, rays and missiles terminated their fleeting lives.
Triton gazed down at the rhythmic scene before him. The Broken Angel appeared fully absorbed in battling the Corrupted Angel, ignoring his presence—just as he chose to observe idly, his confidence in the Angels' confrontation brimming with satisfaction.
[You cannot defeat him. You and I both know this.]
[The Suppression Program is operating smoothly. Your mental intrusions are useless against me, Ancient God.]
The sound of writhing tendrils echoed like rising waves, only to subside shortly after.
