The world ceased to have sound.
The charging gods roaring at the top of their lungs, the hum of multiple wills surging towards him… everything had fallen away.
In this endless silence, Atticus' perception shifted. The hundreds of gods rushing towards him were reduced to frames and vectors.
Emotions vanished. Decisions became instantaneous.
Fifty percent descended from above. Thirty percent from the sides and front. Twenty from the ground.
The majority came with brute force, the rest with caution.
But regardless of their plans, Atticus saw through it all.
"Enhance."
He moved.
Distance collapsed. In a single breath, he appeared before the group charging at his front, hair and robes snapping like whips.
Their eyes narrowed. The last thing they expected was him rushing toward them. When hundreds of gods attack at once, you run, any sane person runs.
They gripped their weapons.
The leading god, a towering giant with a greatsword, raised it high and roared:
"World Cutter!"
