Countless beams of concentrated energy lanced through space, streaking toward the ranks of lower-tier Angels. The devastation was imminent, but at the moment of impact, a translucent blue barrier shimmered into existence before them. The energy blasts, which could have torn through Vibranium plating, were halted effortlessly.
No, not halted—they continued forward, yet they never crossed the boundary. The blue barrier seemed infinite, an endless void that absorbed force and reduced even the most destructive weapons to nothing. The energy, unable to advance, simply dissipated into the ether.
Not only did it nullify the attack, but at the moment the barrier emerged, every ship, fighter, and Marauder in the vicinity found themselves frozen in place, their systems locked, their bodies paralyzed. The eerie blue glow surrounded them, an unyielding force akin to the Time Stone's temporal hold.
"You interrupted my thoughts," a voice, calm yet omnipotent, resonated through the battlefield.
From the void, without propulsion, without sound, a throne materialized in the sky, suspended above the chaos like the grandiose seats of the Celestials.
Seated upon it was Ragna . He exuded the effortless authority of a cosmic entity, his left leg crossed, his head resting lazily on his hand, while his right hand drummed lightly against the fabric of reality itself.
With each idle tap of his fingers, waves of blue energy pulsed outward in perfect rings—like ripples disturbing the cosmic waters. The waves expanded, reinforcing the grip of the invisible force imprisoning the Marauders.
And then, as one, every Angel in the vicinity turned toward the throne. They knelt on one knee, heads bowed, offering the highest reverence to Ragna , as if in the presence of the Living Tribunal itself.
"This is impossible… How can someone this powerful be here? What in the name of the Celestial Hosts is happening?"
The Skinner, already fraying at the edges of sanity, whispered in horror. In a single moment, Ragna 's presence had turned the tide of battle, reducing the war to an afterthought.
"When we arrived, we used the Kree Empire's most advanced energy scanners," a cold-eyed Marauder murmured, her voice eerily calm despite the devastation. "They didn't detect him. Not even a trace. We have no way out."
"Oh? How observant," Ragna remarked with an amused chuckle. "As for your scan… I blocked it."
The Skinner's breath hitched. "That's impossible! That scanner was designed by the Kree's supreme scientists—it can even track the Mad Titan himself! Thanos couldn't evade it, so how could you?"
Ragna 's lips curled slightly. "Ah… You know of Thanos, do you? A shame. Just because Thanos couldn't do it doesn't mean I can't."
With a flick of his wrist, a glimmering artifact materialized—a mere fraction of the Space Stone's infinite potential. With such power, entire dimensions could be veiled from prying eyes.
"As for who I am…" Ragna rose from his throne, gaze sweeping over the battlefield with boundless supremacy. "To you? I am God."
Starka, trapped like the rest, lifted his head slightly. His mind raced, analyzing the situation, before his gaze flickered toward his fellow Marauder leaders.
The cold-eyed woman remained motionless, resignation evident in her expression.
The Skinner, having reached his breaking point, trembled violently, muttering incoherently.
The giant warrior, once so formidable, now slumped against the bloodied wreckage, his body marred with countless wounds, his breath ragged and unsteady.
As for the remaining Marauders—each and every one of them hung in the air, frozen, helpless. No chance of victory. No hope of escape.
Starka exhaled sharply. Then, steeling himself, he lifted his gaze to Ragna and bowed his head. "My lord… You have spared our lives. What is it that you would have us do?"
His voice carried no defiance, only respect. "We swear, on our honor, to serve you in whatever capacity you desire. We shall never speak of what we have seen here."
Ragna regarded him with mild amusement. "I like you," he mused.
A strategist. A commander with sound tactical instincts. A warrior of solid third-tier strength. In the vast cosmos, such individuals were not so easily discarded.
"Then all of you," Ragna announced, his voice unwavering, "will swear your loyalty to me."
A Marauder, still defiant, struggled against his invisible bonds. "We are free men! We will never surrender!" he spat, his voice shaking with rage.
Ragna didn't even glance his way. He merely extended a finger and tapped the air.
The defiant Marauder convulsed violently—then twisted and compressed at an unfathomable speed. A heartbeat later, he had shrunk to a mere speck before vanishing into oblivion.
"I had originally intended to erase all of you."
It was a simple fact, delivered without malice. But as Ragna 's gaze swept across the trapped Marauders, something else caught his attention.
A choice. A system directive manifesting before him.
[Alert: A large number of Marauders have invaded the host's domain. Initiating response selection.]
[Option 1]: Annihilate these intruders. Reward: Mass promotion of low-tier Angels, minor promotion of mid-tier Angels.]
[Option 2]: Repel the invaders. Reward: Minor promotion of low-tier Angels, accelerated hatching in the Reincarnation Pool for two years.]
[Option 3]: Enforce absolute surrender. Reward: All survivors become permanently loyal. Their allegiance strengthens over time.
Ragna smirked. He had been seeking greater manpower. This was an easy choice.
"I will extend to you a rare kindness," he declared, his cold gaze sweeping over the Marauders. His right hand twitched ever so slightly—enough to make another struggling warrior vanish without a trace.
"Will you refuse it?"
The remaining Marauders froze, eyes darting between their leader and their executioner.
Then, in a last act of desperation, the Skinner tore open his chest plate.
Beneath the layers of metal plating, wires pulsed with crimson energy.
A power core.
An unstable, volatile power core.
"If we are to die," the Skinner growled, his voice half-mad, "then we will take you with us!"
The energy source flashed with an ominous red glow, primed to explode—an eruption strong enough to reduce not only the Marauders but the entire Angelic host to dust.
The battlefield fell silent.
And Ragna merely smiled.