She kept trembling for a few minutes, her breathing heavy and erratic, before her eyes shone with a sudden, strange azure light. The madness seemed to subside, replaced by a sharp, calculating clarity.
"Give me proof of what you say," she said, her voice levelled like a weapon. "The Angel is a master of deception. Give me proof, or I will conclude you are merely toying with me before the end."
"I'm not lying," I said, my tone as firm as the steel of my glaive. I stood tall on the deck of my chariot, looking down at her with the weary patience of someone who had already dealt with enough divine nonsense for one day.
"Then prove it."
"What other proof do you want other than this?" I raised my glaive in the air, the blade catching the dim light of the Albany sky. I gestured broadly to the thousands of deadly warriors surrounding the pit—the dragons, the fallen gods, the silent rows of shield warriors.
