That roar was the chorus of all the demons from the depths of hell.
The mountain-like, knotted muscles on Angron's arms bulged once more to a limit unimaginable to any mortal.
Every vein, like a twisted steel cable, pulsed wildly beneath his skin, pouring that pure power born of endless pain into the twin chainaxes in his hands without reservation.
"Vrummm—!!!"
The engines of the chainaxes emitted an even sharper, even crazier shriek.
The high-speed spinning sawteeth ground violently against the ethereal blue psychic shield, spraying not mere sparks, but a dazzling rain of golden light like molten iron, illuminating his face, twisted by rage, like a demon god descending from the Brass Throne.
He would crush it.
With the purest, most savage brute force—the only kind he understood—he would crush this damnable barrier that desecrated his rage.
Then, he would tear the ignorant woman behind the barrier, along with her nauseating calmness, into the most insignificant shreds.
He stared fixedly at Leticia's face.
With those eyes, seared for centuries by the Butcher's Nails and left with nothing but scarlet and tyranny, he frantically and greedily searched for everything he knew.
Fear.
hatred.
Despair.
Pleading.
These emotions were the food he relied on to survive, the only anesthetic he used to combat the agonizing pain in his brain.
Seeing his enemies tremble before his power was the only moment he could feel his own "might."
But he saw nothing.
Nothing at all.
On the face of that woman in the black robe, there was not a trace of the expression he expected.
She stood there quietly, in the center of the storm of destruction he had unleashed with his own hands, behind that thin, fragile shield that could shatter at any moment.
Her expression was as calm as an eternal frozen lake that had existed since the dawn of creation.
Angron's gaze was involuntarily drawn into her eyes.
A pair of... pure, deep black pupils devoid of any light.
There was no fear in them.
No hatred.
No pity.
Not even... Battle Intent.
There was only something in them he had never seen and could not understand.
A kind of... sadness, as deep as the endless universe and as vast as the silent deep sea.
It was not her sadness.
Angron's body stiffened suddenly.
He was incomparably familiar with that sadness.
Familiar enough that it was like looking into a mirror.
It was as if an existence had snuck into the deepest part of his soul—into that grave he had long buried with endless rage and slaughter, a place even he dared not touch—and lifted the rotting, stinking corpse named "regret" from within, presenting it to him exactly as it was, piece by piece.
"Kill her!"
"Tear her apart!"
"Coward! What are you waiting for!?"
In his mind, the will of the Butcher's Nails was using the most vicious language to emit the sharpest roar, one capable of tearing his soul apart.
It was his god, the source of his pain, and the master of his strength.
He had never disobeyed its commands.
His muscles, obeying this instinct of centuries, exerted force once more.
But...
His arm, the arm capable of smashing a dent into a Titan, felt at this moment as if it were filled with lead, impossibly heavy.
That power, enough to crush everything, suffered a moment of stagnation at the very last second before reaching the chainaxes.
This brief moment of stagnation felt as long as a century to Angron.
Because this was the first time in centuries that his body...
...had not fully obeyed the commands of the Butcher's Nails.
Why?
Why not kill her?
She was right there, as fragile as an insect that could be crushed at any moment.
With just a little more force...
Angron's breathing grew heavy, and for the first time, a third emotion appeared in those scarlet eyes, beyond tyranny and pain.
Confusion.
Extreme, bewildered confusion that almost caused his chaotic mind to crash completely.
He did not understand.
Why was his sadness in this woman's eyes?
Why... did she seem to understand his pain better than he did himself?
Leticia did not speak.
She simply maintained the precarious shield, its runes flickering on and off, and calmly met the gaze of this beast trapped in confusion.
She did not need words.
She took everything she perceived through the authority of Vitality—that unventable love belonging to Angron, the unrecoverable regret, the endless grief of being unable to die with his family...
...and through her eyes, clearly, completely, and without reservation, "returned" it to him.
You are not a beast that only knows how to kill.
I know.
You are just a... lonely gladiator who could not die with his family.
I also know.
Angron's roar, unconsciously, gradually faded.
The sound was no longer pure rage; instead, it carried a hint of... a whimper.
The speed of the chainaxes' engines also slowed down, bit by bit.
"Vrum... vrum... vrum..."
The sound no longer sounded like a death-inducing demonic noise, but rather like the exhausted panting of a giant beast after expending all its strength.
His brain fell into unprecedented chaos.
On one side was the scalding, murderous command of the Butcher's Nails, like a branding iron.
On the other side was the cold, silent "empathy" transmitted from those black eyes, like the deep sea.
Fire and seawater collided, clashed, and annihilated each other within his soul.
This feeling was ten thousand times more painful than pure physical torture.
Because it made him start... to think.
And for the master of the World Eaters, "thinking" was a curse more terrible than death.
"You..."
Angron's massive body was trembling violently.
From the depths of his long-hoarse, damaged throat, he used all his strength to squeeze out a syllable representing "communication," one he had not used in centuries.
"...Who... are you?"
This was not an interrogation.
It was a genuine question, coming from the depths of his soul, filled with endless confusion.
Someone who could face his rage without dying.
Someone who could understand his pain without fear.
Such an existence inherently and completely subverted his narrow, cruel world, already solidified by pain and rage.
As this question was uttered, the last of the strength in his arms dissipated completely, as if drained away.
The engines of the chainaxes emitted one final, unwilling wail and stopped completely.
That hideous axe, symbol of endless slaughter and fury, leaned powerlessly against the ethereal blue psychic shield.
The violent kinetic energy had vanished, leaving only the cold, heavy physical weight of the metal.
He had lost.
In this clash of wills, he was thoroughly defeated.
The mortal veteran standing behind him, having collapsed in terror, now had his mouth wide open, staring at this incomprehensible scene with eyes that looked upon a miracle.
That bloody giant beast capable of making the entire world tremble...
...had actually...
...been stopped by a woman's gaze?
On the other side of the Colosseum, Terrania gripped her hem tightly, her pure golden eyes reflecting Leticia's slender yet god-like, imposing back.
In her heart, there was no fear, only an incomparable feeling called "peace of mind."
It was as if as long as this black-robed sister stood there, the malice of the entire universe could not harm them in the slightest.
Leticia saw that the time was ripe.
She knew the beast had exposed its soft underbelly.
The ethereal blue psychic shield, riddled with cracks but ultimately unbroken, melted away like dissolving ice, turning into specks of light and dissipating into the air.
She stepped forward once more.
This step brought her completely within Angron's attack range.
She was no more than an arm's length away from the giant, who was panting heavily with bewildered eyes.
She could even smell the intense, masculine scent of sweat and blood on him, and feel the hot air he exhaled blowing against the hair on her forehead.
Angron's body tensed suddenly; it was the subconscious reaction of a beast after its territory had been invaded.
But he did not move.
Because the woman simply raised her eyes and looked at him calmly.
Then, in a voice as soft as a lover's whisper yet as firm as a divine decree, she said to him:
"I have come to end your pain."
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