Meanwhile, Gabriel had arrived at another island.
It was a modest chunk of floating earth—smaller than the one he had just obliterated, but still teeming with life. Through his mana sense, he could feel the familiar presences of mutated cyclopes lurking below: thirty, maybe thirty-five of them, scattered across a rocky plateau dotted with withered trees. His golden wings folded slightly as he descended toward the highest peak, ready to unleash another meteor shower.
Then he stopped.
His hand, already raised toward the sky, lowered slowly. His cross-shaped pupils narrowed.
No.
He reassessed the situation.
Gabriel knew his woman better than anyone alive—He had fought her, experienced many things with her, died beside her. He knew the curve of her smile when she was plotting, the subtle shift in her posture when she was about to do something reckless. And right now, even from across the void, he could feel it.
