Time seemed to halt as the words rolled off Michael's tongue, as if reality itself was hesitating, deciding whether or not to unleash such an attack. But then, as if unable to restrain its course any longer, time resumed its flow.
Calamitous Sword Intent erupted from Michael's being, vast and unrestrained, like he was a Progenitor of the blade. His already-drawn sword was sliding slowly back into its sheath. The moment the sword and sheath kissed with a resounding clack;
It bloomed.
An infinite number of Crescent Sword Intents erupted in all directions in a maddening barrage, surging outward with apocalyptic force.
Its targets? The Supremes.
It descended upon them like divine judgment, retribution from a god toward mortals who dared to defy him. The Crescent Sword Intent tore through space like destruction through serenity, merciless and absolute. It shredded.
