The moment Maxwell stepped out from behind that marble pillar, eyes glowing with a furious blue light, and fists clenched tightly, the atmosphere rearranged itself. And Franklin's killing intent died.
No. It more than died.
Franklin's petty killing intent drowned.
And, to a man who was used to being the apex and top predator in his cycle, the drowning of his killing intent before his very eyes left him with all shades of shock and stupefaction.
The man, dressed in a three-piece all-black suit, looked up at the furious regressed god with his trembling crimson eyes.
"That blue hair and eyes… Maxwell?"
Margarita had fallen to the ground, breathing heavily and delighting in the fact that she could now breathe properly.
Had she suffered this same thing from this man in Max's past life?
The possibility of the thought almost made Maxwell stagger.
His own brother. His own blood brother… to the woman he loved.
