The winds howled with unnatural intensity, spiraling around Luciel as his entire being pulsed with raw, unchained divinity. The silver light emanating from his form twisted the very fabric of reality, forcing the storm into an unnatural stillness—the silence before a calamity.
Then—
The world cracked.
The space above Luciel split apart, and from within that endless void, something descended.
A bow.
But to call it simply a bow was to insult its majesty.
It was an instrument of absolute destruction.
The frame was crafted from aether-forged silver, impossibly sleek, shifting between solid form and pure light. The limbs of the bow extended like sculpted wings, their edges razor-sharp, pulsating with divine runes that carried the language of storms.