Intense heat distorted the rain and air. At Reinhardt's feet, white mist vaporized into shockwaves that radiated outward.
Large raindrops hammered against the surface of his Power Armor, crackling on impact. Long-dried blood scabs, washed away by the rain, flowed down in crimson streams.
BANG—
His Power Boots crashed heavily into a puddle. The dilapidated ground, long in disrepair, abruptly caved in, exploding into a web of cracks.
Through his Angel Vision, he saw that the number of mortals streaming toward the church had already surpassed a thousand.
If he and Atlas were to fight here, even the mere shockwaves from their clashing blows would cause these mortals to die in droves.
At this moment.
Atlas had plummeted from ten thousand meters into the church, his condition unknown. After a moment of careful consideration, Reinhardt did not act rashly. He simply stood in place, turning his head to look at the nearby mortals and the rows of low, dilapidated houses.
