MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 1028: Void Vortexs

Within millions of kilometres of the Acarnis Galaxy, destruction and apocalypse lay and littered the vast expanse. Stars were erased, suns were shattered, solar systems wiped out, comets annihilated beyond recognition. Cosmic dust and churning smoke covered everything within sight, stretching endlessly like a suffocating veil.

Constellation energy hummed within the cosmic air amidst the destruction, its faint glow flickering like dying embers in a ruined cosmos. Space itself had been torn apart and shattered, and could be seen stitching itself back together in real time, fractures mending with eerie precision as reality struggled to restore its broken form.

A second later, mana pulsed through the cosmic battlefield, and a huge empty void came into being, swallowing the surrounding chaos as though it had never existed, and standing within it was Collins, who floated without a single hair out of place, his body pristine, his breathing calmer than any still water body, his presence exuding an unsettling and absolute control over everything around him.

But the same couldn’t be said for the Angels; they had blocked Collins’ spell at the very final moment, but they bore injuries, their holy bodies battered and fractured, their white skin broken and torn apart, their wide wings shattered beyond recognition, their holy armours merely moments away from turning into dust as cracks snaked violently across their surfaces, threatening complete collapse at any given instant.

The Angels panted heavily as they stared at Collins as though he was their mortal nemesis, their golden eyes filled with both fury and disbelief. Their number had once again been reduced to a mere three, as one of them had been caught in the devastating blast of Collins’ last spell, erased without even the dignity of resistance.

The next moment, their regeneration kicked in, their bones snapping violently back into place, flesh knitting back together with unnatural precision, golden blood flowing through their vessels without obstruction, all their physical injuries vanishing as though they had never existed in the first place, restoring their divine forms to near perfection.

Collins wasn’t surprised by their regeneration; why wouldn’t they be able to regenerate? They too were at the peak of their own Galaxy... or at least near the very summit of it, beings who stood above countless others in both power and existence.

But if there was one thing that Collins found somewhat strange about these Angels, it was the fact that none of them seemed capable of resurrection, not even a single instance of it had been displayed.

Normally, beings on their level should possess one of two methods of assuring resurrection after death; of course, not everyone possessed such means, and those methods were useless against True Death, but still... even during the previous invasion battle, none of the Angels had resurrected from their deaths, not even once, which was, in itself, an anomaly.

Although the question bothered him slightly, Collins never bothered to ask or dwell on it any further, as it held no immediate relevance to his objective.

Why?

The answer was simple. Why should he ask?

If his enemies couldn’t resurrect or come back to life, then that just made killing them easier and far less tasking. If not, Irene would have been in real peril, because the Angels she had killed would have simply come back to life and ended her once and for all without hesitation.

But unknown to Collins, the Angels couldn’t resurrect because of one simple reason; Faith.

To them, their Faith was everything. Faith in HIM. Faith in their worship. Faith in HIS power. Faith in HIS WILL. Faith in HIS mercy. Faith in HIS love. Faith in HIS everything, the very foundation of their existence and purpose.

They were willing to march into battle for their LORD, their GOD; they were willing to kill in HIS name, massacre in HIS name, shed blood in HIS name... and also die in HIS name without hesitation or regret.

Resurrection amongst the Angels was simply blasphemy. It was sacrilege. It was desecration. A divine insult to HIM, an unforgivable act that defied their very core beliefs and existence.

Any Angel trying to resurrect themselves and bring themselves back to life simply meant they never truly believed in HIM. They were never truly willing to die for HIM, and thus were unworthy of everything they stood for.

To the Angels, only HE could grant life on HIS wishes and terms. Only HE could regrant breath as a reward for unwavering service. Only HE could decide the boundary between life and death, and no being, not even themselves, had the right to overstep that divine authority.

Despite the enormous span and catastrophic magnitude of the explosion, the Twelve Winged Angel floated unbothered, his expression unchanged as though the attack that Collins had unleashed just now had been nothing, and indeed, it had been nothing to him, as he had tanked the attack with his bare body without even bothering to block, and yet, not a single hair was out of place on his head, his presence radiating overwhelming superiority.

His condescending gaze remained, as though reminding the remaining Angels that if they couldn’t finish a mere lower being, then they had no purpose serving HIM and returning to the Divinora Galaxy, their failure an unforgivable disgrace.

But the Twelve Winged Angel wasn’t the only thing that stood untouched; the lightning cocoon housing Irene that Collins had created also floated within the space without any damage, preserved perfectly due to Collins’ ridiculous level of control and precision.

With a thought, both Collins and the cocoon vanished from where he stood, his body disappearing from the battlefield entirely, not in retreat, but in calculated repositioning, as this battlefield had been utterly destroyed and various ever-expanding, all-consuming void vortexes seemed to be tearing open across the fabric of reality. Although he could resist their pull, it was still dangerous to remain around so many of them at the same time, even for someone like him.

The Angels didn’t waste time; they too vanished in golden blurs, their bodies streaking through various void vortexes as their wings flapped with divine force, pursuing their target without hesitation or delay.

Within moments, they arrived at another innocent portion of the Acarnis Galaxy that knew nothing of the destruction they had wrought elsewhere. Again, Collins left the lightning cocoon someplace else, on a moon this time, ensuring Irene’s safety as he prepared to face the remaining Angels without distraction.

With that, his cold black eyes settled on the Angels once more. Deep down, Collins wished he could calmly tear these winged golden birds limb by limb, ripping apart their tongues and gouging out their eyes, torturing them slowly for daring to touch his wife.

He could capture them alive and carry out his torture in full, ensuring they experienced despair far beyond death. But he couldn’t, it was neither the time nor the place; he had a far bigger problem, something far more dangerous, literally waiting for him after he was done dealing with these weak fools.

So, for now, he would simply settle with killing them, despite the fact that such an end would not satisfy the raging anger and fury burning deep within him, a storm that demanded far more than mere death to be appeased.