To him, it had almost felt simple.
Damian looked at the decrepit figure of the Murderous Saint and understood the gap between what everyone else had witnessed and what he had actually done.
To the warriors on the walls, to the Demons who had been flanking their Emperor a moment ago, to Serala floating beside him with frozen eyes, the stripping of a Ninth Circle existence had appeared as something beyond the boundaries of what power was supposed to be capable of doing to other power.
He had focused on a downward-facing arrow.
That was the entirety of it. He had found the arrow, looked at it, and applied his attention to it, and the Primordial Source had done what the Primordial Source did with the complete indifference of something that did not find the Murderous Saint's cultivation worth a longer engagement.
