Adams materialized above the sprawling grounds of the Primordial Chaos Sect with the effortless grace of someone who owned every layer of reality. Golden sunlight—crafted by his own whim days earlier—bathed the floating peaks and training halls in a warm, eternal glow. Below, thousands of disciples moved in synchronized flows, their auras flaring with the power he had casually bestowed upon them. The air hummed with vitality, a far cry from the ruined clan he had awakened in not so long ago.
He descended slowly, hands tucked into his pockets, black hair stirring in the artificial breeze. Anderson was already waiting at the central plaza, crimson hair catching the light like fresh blood, ruby eyes sharp and alert. Beside him stood Jack, arms crossed, and a few of the newer J's recruits. They all straightened instinctively as Adams' presence washed over them.
