Hong Fei had possessed the blank divinity for quite some time now. As for the power of faith, his two appearances in London and New York during the previous Dark Elves invasion incident had already allowed him to initially absorb some.
However, the Dark Elves' invasion had not spread across the world while it was still in progress like it was now, so the scope of its impact had not been as broad as it currently was. What puzzled Hong Fei the most was why these so-called gods had chosen to appear so abruptly at this critical moment, stopping a good man from doing a good deed right in front of all humanity.
Did they not know this would make humanity resent them? Did they not know this would only deal a heavy blow to the faith that was already gradually declining in modern society? Did they not know that the Dragon King had been thinking about slaughtering gods ever since he killed the Panther God Bast? Except for the last question, they probably knew the first two.
However, a god is a god; as plain, ordinary humans, there was probably no way to deeply understand what they were thinking most of the time. Especially for gods who used faith as their source of power—perhaps Hong Fei had only harvested a tiny bit of faith through his own efforts, yet they immediately panicked, and then their inexplicable minds would suddenly and divergently think about how Hong Fei might ascend to a true divine throne in the future, stripping them of their faith and even their divine power.
It was like some people seeing a worker suddenly receive a large salary; they wouldn't think about how this person had worked early and late, skipped meals, and worked overtime for the past month to earn this relatively generous reward (which, to them, wasn't even worth a breakfast). They would only feel that a common worker should receive a meager salary to barely scrape by, and preferably, their family should always be struggling under such salary conditions, so that even if they were resentful, they wouldn't dare to ask for more, and would even work harder under exploitation and oppression while still not earning more, because their extra effort was only to avoid being laid off.
As bystanders, it was naturally impossible to understand why Sun God Ra and Michael had to appear and obstruct him at this critical juncture, which was a matter of life and death for humanity. The nuke, which possessed terrifying power in the eyes of humans, might not be considered much of a threat to gods.
After the nuke exploded, although human believers would suffer heavy casualties, gods with long lives could quietly wait in the river of time for the rapidly reproducing humans to naturally restore their population. In fact, most of the time during and after every great catastrophe, it was an excellent opportunity for gods to harvest faith.
Whether they saw the problem was not important; whether they cared was the key. In reality, the gods had simply made the most "correct" choice from the standpoint they occupied. The gods were the vested interests, the Dragon King was the sudden challenger, and humanity itself, in the eyes of these gods, was equivalent to slaves without thoughts or rights, or even mere objects.
After Michael appeared, he had said the word "submit." He might have wanted to use this action to force the Dragon King to surrender and become a lackey under the gods from then on. It could only be said that since the species and interests were different, the direction of their thinking was naturally vastly different.
The first second.
In his human form, Hong Fei arrived in front of Michael with speed akin to Teleportation. The Ten Rings were clamped tightly on his arms, glowing with golden light, and his hard fists smashed through the air in front of him unreasonably, rubbing against invisible dust and gases, carrying delicate sparks, and rushed toward Michael's face with an extremely fierce posture.
Michael braced his red cross sword with both hands, raising it to shield his face. The impact came like thunder—a deafening boom that shook the air. When fist met blade, shockwaves of gold and milk-white energy rippled outward in cascading rings.
His eyebrows jerked upward as the force sent him hurtling backward, a streak of white light carving through the sky. A thousand meters vanished in an eyeblink before Michael finally unfurled his wings—three pairs of snow-white pinions gleaming with an almost divine radiance.
The sudden snap of fabric filled the air as his wings arrested his momentum. Then with a violent flap, he became a living arrow, six wings driving him straight toward Hong Fei. His cross sword thrust forward, its tip bending the air into a visible arc of white energy.
Hong Fei's pupils burned crimson behind the Death Gaze. Every quivering feather on Michael's wings stood out in perfect clarity. As the sword approached, Hong Fei swung his arms—the Ten Rings transforming into twin chains woven with golden Dragon Power.
From a hundred meters out, the chains struck like serpents, one high and one low. Michael adjusted mid-flight, his blade becoming a silver blur as it parried and slashed. Each ring collision rang out like a bell, scattering showers of sparks that rained toward the earth below.
Hovering effortlessly on beating wings, Michael danced through the air with grace. Hong Fei reeled in the chains with every pass, closing the gap between them. Five seconds. Ten meters apart.
In the middle of a furious assault, Hong Fei suddenly retracted the Ten Rings. Michael's sword cleaved empty air. Then—instant movement.
"Your reflexes are slipping, angel."
The voice at his back sent ice through Michael's veins.
He banked hard, wings flaring—but the Dragon King moved faster. A fist crashed into his pinions just as the Ten Rings converged on one arm, hammering his wings like artillery shells. Michael lurched sideways, his flight path spiraling like a blown tire.
Three pairs meant redundancy. Sacrificing one, he stabilized with the remaining four. Whirling mid-flight, Michael brought his sword around in a two-handed upward slash. A crescent of white energy screamed toward Hong Fei at lightning speed.
Instead of dodging, Hong Fei accelerated straight into it. His body erupted with prismatic light—a detonation of raw energy that shattered the sword arc on contact. Michael's golden pupils contracted to pinpricks.
However, he had no extra time to think at this moment, because Hong Fei was already upon him again. The Ten Rings gleamed as his dragon-like fists became an unstoppable storm. Michael's sword rose to meet them, their clash creating a strobing spectacle of light and fury.
Light and shadow tangled together chaotically, their overlapping energies rippling outward in erratic bursts. The sky crackled with unnatural thunderclaps—sharp reports that startled without warning.
At the ten-second mark, Michael suddenly staggered back. Hong Fei didn't press the attack.
Michael's sword-arm trembled faintly, one wing hanging limp behind him. The red cross blade bore jagged, sawtooth cracks. In contrast, Hong Fei stood bathed in radiant Light Energy, only his arms sheathed in molten gold.
The Ten Rings coiled around his forearms rotated steadily, each band pristine—no, brightening under the Dragon Power's influence.
"Ten seconds in, and you're already spent?"
Down in the city, people blinked as if waking from a trance. They stared up at the two starkly opposed figures, expressions twisting with something too tangled to name. On one side: a sacred being, the embodiment of centuries of faith. On the other: the living hero who'd just saved them all. Choosing sides wasn't just hard—it felt impossible.
Above, Michael's jaw tightened at Hong Fei's taunt. He thrust a hand skyward. The air split open, and a milky beam of light poured down. Within it, his half-corporeal form began solidifying, gaining density.
Hong Fei didn't recognize the technique, but the intent was obvious—powering up. In seconds, the angel's mangled wing knit itself whole. No time to overthink. Hong Fei snatched at empty air, and a golden spear materialized in his grip.
He raised it high, then brought it down in a vicious arc toward Michael's skull. The Bifrost Bridge erupted across the sky in a prismatic slash.
The two forces met—Bifrost against holy light—and the collision roared, light shredding light like physical blades. The milky beam flickered, dimmed, then shattered. The Bifrost stood unchallenged. Hong Fei twirled the spear lazily, one brow arched. Michael's face darkened.
"Cheap trick."
"Hypocrite," Hong Fei shot back. Even if this were some honorable duel—which it wasn't—he'd still fight dirty. Michael wasn't a friend. Why spare his pride? If the angel got to keep his dignity, who'd save face for the Dragon King?
Fine. Let's burn dignity altogether.
His fingers loosened, letting the spear slide down until he caught it at the very end of the haft. Five rings detached from his arm, spiraling onto the shaft before clamping tight.
The Dragon Power and Light Energy fused, deepening Gungnir's glow until the gold turned molten. The spearhead gleamed lethally sharp.
Michael's eyes darted. His newly solidified form wavered, edges blurring back into translucence.
"Running?" Hong Fei murmured.
The Dragon Power and Light Energy were layered on top of each other, thrumming through the weapon like a heartbeat.