"Impossible!"
Mirabella gasped, her voice cracking, as she staggered back. She stared down at the Death Empress's Scythe in her trembling hands. The ancient metal was physically vibrating—not with bloodlust, but with a primal, shuddering terror. Through her profound spiritual connection with the weapon, she could feel its absolute panic.
'Even a Supreme Class artifact is utterly terrified of him.' She thought, her gaze slowly rising to lock onto the serene, white-robed figure of the Senior.
"Using borrowed strength won't get you anywhere." The Senior said softly, his voice carrying the calm, absolute authority of an ancient deity who had witnessed the birth and death of countless galaxies.
Mirabella exhaled a slow, deep breath, forcing the chaotic adrenaline to settle in her veins.
"Alright then!"
