"… Who are you?"
Dyon's grin turned fiendish, the atmosphere growing denser and heavier all at once.
"You still couldn't tell after I said Pill Stick Pebble?"
The first layer of robes Nazaire wore suddenly shattered, leaving nothing but white linen inner fabrics that looked more like pajamas than what a dignified Immortal God should be wearing.
"I've come for Little Gold's corpse. Now will you continue to stand in my way? Or will you step aside like a good little boy?"
Nazaire's hair tie burst apart, his blackish grey hair waving about wildly in the wind. Even Crane and Millman could only quickly retreat.
His fighting intent soared, the sound of rumbling mountains and unsheathing swords ceaselessly emitting from his seemingly frail body.
Dyon's laughter pierced the skies as the overwhelming pressure made his bones creak and fracture.
