The High Marshal's gaze tore wide open as he watched his shield, the same shield that he had full confidence would survive a clash with gods and more, being treated as though it were nothing.
But there was no time for comprehension. He glanced down. The gleaming blade of Atticus' katana was inches away from severing his neck.
There was no time to raise his hands. His fingers moved as he reached out to one of the seals he had placed in the area.
A bright glow enveloped his entire figure, and in the next instant, a tree appeared in place of the High Marshal.
Atticus' attack continued. The tree was torn apart before the attack could even hit it, and a slash of terrifying proportions screamed outward, splitting the fog and clouds for hundreds of kilometers.
Atticus turned calmly towards the side. There, hovering just above where a massive tree once was, was the High Marshal.
