On top of the building, the five individuals stood in a standoff.
"Who are you, and why are you violating the peace treaty between humans and demons?" Bynum, the gray-haired man, asked, his voice firm and commanding after he broke through his momentary lapses.
He had achieved his power and status through effort and talent, making his will power quite strong.
After a couple more seconds, the other hunters also broke through their confusion, and everyone clenched the hilt of their katana, knowing full well that they had almost succumbed to her charm.
They were now ready to move at a moment's notice.
Slowly, they shifted into a loose formation, each hunter positioning themselves strategically to avoid the threat of getting taken out by a large scale attack.
Bynum, the gray-haired leader, was at the forefront. His stance was wide and solid, feet planted firmly on the ground.
He wore a white kimono, its fabric clean and crisp against the backdrop of the battle.
His katana, sheathed at his side, was adorned with ancient symbols of some kind of bird, hinting at the power and heritage he carried.
To his left stood Jaren, a towering figure at 6'5" with dreadlocks falling down his dark skin.
His muscles were well-defined and bulging under the sunlight, and instead of a full kimono, he wore only half of one, leaving his upper body exposed.
His katana was larger and longer than the rest, resting comfortably at his back, a clear sign that he was someone who focused more raw strength .
On Bynum's right stood the middle-aged man with brown hair called Nekola. His expression was one of annoyance, but his stance showed a deep-seated readiness.
Like Bynum, he wore a white kimono. His katana rested comfortably at his side, the hilt worn from years of use, a testament to the many battles he had fought.
The fourth hunter, a younger man with blonde hair, stood slightly behind the others. His eyes were focused, sharp and attentive.
He wore a black and yellow kimono, the vibrant yellow complementing his hair color and adding a touch of brightness to his appearance.
Meanwhile, Angela remained suspended in the air, exuding confidence that betrayed any hint of intimidation by the hunters' presence.
She had expected them to arrive with an army, as humans love to that, but to her surprise, there were only four hunters before her.
While they might be powerful in their own right, they posed little threat to her.
A normal Demon Lord might have found them hard to handle, but Angela was different.
For Angela, the notion of needing rigorous physical training to gain power only showed the inferiority of humans.
It was a reminder that they had to rely on such methods just to mimic a fraction of an angel's power.
'I knew it. These inferior beings don't deserve to be protected.'
Memories of the rules imposed upon her by her own father flooded her mind, and she couldn't help but resent the fact that angels like herself relied on human devotion and faith to exist.
She wasn't the first archangel to hold such contempt.
Her sister, Fer, had orchestrated a revolt against their father long before humans even knew how to create fire.
Fer insisted that superior beings like themselves should not be bound by a species of dumb, idiotic animals that resembled monkeys and rallied an army against her father.
But her rebellion had ended in exile from heaven instead of the freedom she had sought.
'Maybe they could show me something interesting,' she mused to herself, a hint of curiosity creeping into her thoughts.
The breathing technique was created long after the world locked itself from heaven. Angela was curious to test its power, to see if it was something she needed to be concerned about or merely party tricks created by humans.
As a test, she raised her arm, prompting the four hunters to instinctively draw their swords simultaneously and unleash their attacks.
In high-level battles, the one who struck first held a big advantage.
"Storm Falcon, Breathing Technique, Tornado Blade," Bynum's voice echoed.
As his blade was unsheathed, the wind instantly coalesced around it, forming a powerful spinning tornado flew straight to her.
Nekola mirrored his movements, unleashing the same attack.
The two powers merged, creating a much larger tornado, its swirling mass big enough to devour a small building
Windows shattered as the immense wind pressure from the attack generated force.
Angela watched the incoming attack with a calm demeanor.
As the powerful vortex of wind barreled toward her, she gently summoned a golden musical instrument, a harp materializing in her hands.
"Angel Cry," she uttered.
With one delicate pluck of the strings, a powerful high pitch sound wave burst forth from the instrument.