"Goodbye," Stark smirked, raised his hand toward the sky, "Angel, throw it," he ordered.
The angelic figure, towering and divine, didn't hesitate. Its voice echoed like a symphony of bells.
[Very well.]
It hadn't even been 3 minutes, but the angel simply followed what Stark said.
The [Crimson Moons Trio] apostle floated above the battlefield.
Their otherworldly forms, twisted and malevolent, radiated confidence.
Their laughter rang out across the square as they mocked Stark's attempt.
"Does this fool think a single attack can harm us?" one sneered.
"Let him try," another hissed. "We're invincible here. Let him use his strength in vain."
But they would soon learn their confidence would be their downfall.
The angel, with deliberate precision, pulled back its arm, ready.
"GO!" Stark shouted.
FWISH!