Fan Mengxue's long hair danced without wind, like a Demon God who had traversed from ancient times.
But within her eyes was a purity of darkness that was extreme.
There was neither joy nor anger, without a ripple.
She just floated quietly mid-air.
Perfect like a piece of artwork.
Everyone from the Dark Council was stupefied.
However, just then, a long spear condensed from Holy Light flew across the sky, thrusting straight toward Fan Mengxue's chest.
Metatron's face was filled with insane murderous intent, "Stop pretending here with me, go die!"
From the moment Fan Mengxue opened her eyes, Metatron felt an intense sense of danger.
Until she was floating mid-air, feeling that increasingly intense dark power.
Finally, a hint of panic rose in Metatron's heart.
It was this sliver of panic that drove Metatron into a rage fueled by shame.
Himself a Deity, to fear a worldly master of darkness.
Because of this, Metatron brashly made his move.
