The deeper he went, the heavier the pressure became. Divinity bled through the air in waves, not controlled, not focused—just raw presence. This was why Celestials expanded carefully when they were smart. Why they used proxies, cults, infrastructure. Direct overlap meant instability. Instability meant opportunity.
And opportunity meant Cain.
A roar split the air ahead of him, not beastial but furious and articulate. He crested a ridge of shattered pavement and saw the source: two Avatars, half-formed and tearing themselves apart as they fought.
One burned with ash and iron, its form constantly shedding slag. The other glowed with fractured light, wings of pure radiance flickering in and out of existence. They slammed into each other again, the impact flattening what remained of a residential block.
Cain watched for exactly three seconds.
Then he moved.
He didn't charge straight in.
Cain did not leave City Z immediately.
