Swishhhhhhhh—0

The downpour was so fierce that the sound of raindrops, carried by the wind and striking the ground, resembled the sharp whistle of arrows. If they hit someone’s bare skin, they would undoubtedly leave deep bruises. 0

This was no ordinary storm—it was an extreme, unnatural phenomenon. For most people, it would be impossible to move in such conditions, with visibility reduced to barely a few meters ahead. But for the individuals gathered here, this was far from a hindrance. 0

The Golden Hind, once treated as nothing more than a toy, had now been entirely forgotten. Instead, standing before the Demigod Tier beings was Scylla, its nine heads snarling menacingly. 0

—■■■■■■...0

Unlike mere sound waves, its utterances reverberated through the very fabric of space itself—an utterly monstrous voice. It wasn’t an attempt at communication; it was a language of rejection, denying any interaction with lower beings. The beast made no effort to hide its intent, nor did it seek to explain or justify itself. 0

—■■■.0

The only message it delivered, clear as day, was its unyielding declaration to ravage and kill. With that, the nine heads spewed an ominous radiance. 0

Shiiiiiiing—!!0

The light appeared only superficially. In truth, it was the materialization of raw energy, scattering like refracted rays as it tore apart spatial dimensions. It was a manifestation of destruction, defying the laws of physics—an authority that embodied the concept of ripping to shreds.  0

Without hesitation, the four Demigod Tier beings dispersed in different directions to avoid its reach. 0

Scylla’s combat style had nothing to do with the art of war—not that it needed to. The only viable response to this was fleeing...0