Iblis's scythe grazed the Seventh Angel's silver armor by a hair's breadth, her peripheral vision sweeping across Voldemort's increasingly frantic offensive. When the third fishing village along the Mediterranean coast was reduced to ashes, the Ouroboros bracelet on her wrist suddenly spun in reverse, erupting with warning runes, signaling that the tilting of the god-slaying scale had become irreversible.
"As expected, not even a false god." She gently stroked the Alchemy Array she had carved three days ago onto the crumbling wall of the clock tower. When Voldemort's god-slaying spear was deflected for the eighth time by Adam's Holy Light Shield, she suddenly withdrew the defensive spells from her scythe.
Voldemort's fingertips were trembling uncontrollably, the energy currents drawn from the ley lines tearing wildly through his veins, reminding him of the terror he felt at sixteen when he first touched a Horcrux in the Chamber of Secrets—immortality was within arm's reach, yet forever separated by a layer of fragile glass.
Chapter 268