The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 2203: Anark vs Blood of Endless Root

The power of the True Primordial skyrocketed, surging so violently that even the fabric of the void shuddered around him.

Thanks to the boon granted by the Universe Will, Anark’s Primordial Pathg rose to the Alpha Omega Overgod Rank!

He did not pause to marvel at the transformation; he didn’t even spare a glance for the warriors still locked in battle. Without wasting a heartbeat, Anark flashed forward, ignoring everyone—including Cain—because he understood, with absolute clarity, that something far more crucial demanded his attention.

The Heart of the Root.

Cain took no offense at Anark’s disregard. If anything, he would have been furious had the Primordial wasted a moment on him. There was nothing—nothing—more important now than stopping the world-sized tumor from forcing its way into the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe.

If Anark had the power to do it, then let him run. Let him burn. Let him reach the Heart.

For a moment, all eyes turned toward the Primordial of the Void. His aura rose like a supernova, so immense it seemed to exist on a layer of reality separate from all others.

Even High Lord Godfrey felt it—felt that terrifyingly pure cosmic pressure rushing toward the very core he was sworn to protect. For the first time since his appearance, a flicker of worry crossed Godfrey’s eyes.

Anark was powerful—far more powerful than Godfrey had anticipated. And around him swirled a strange golden-violet radiance that seemed to rival, and perhaps even match, his Gift of the Root.

But no matter how mighty the intruder was, High Lord Godfrey would never allow the Heart of the Root to fall. His existence, his purpose, his very creation revolved around protecting it. Even death was a trivial price compared to failure.

He moved to intercept—

—but three figures appeared before him like a wall of steel and starlight.

Cain. Cipher. Uriel.

Their eyes were sharp, cold, and resolute. Cain would defend his brother with everything he had left in his battered body. Cipher and Uriel understood their mission perfectly, and both were fully ready to burn every last spark of energy if it meant preventing Godfrey from taking even a single step toward Anark.

”Get out of my way, ants!” Godfrey, losing the calm composure he normally wore like armor, unleashed a storm of overwhelming force.

Spatial shockwaves tore across the battlefield, ripping open gulfs of void. But even with all his might, the trio held him back. They became an unbreakable barricade, a wall of determination and defiance that even the High Lord of the Root could not pierce.

”Damn it!” Godfrey roared—rage, frustration, and desperation twisting his features. He could not break through in time. So instead, he turned his gaze toward the Heart of the Root and sent a signal.

”CRACK!”

A deafening fracture echoed from within the Heart. The gargantuan organic mass split open, and from within stepped a new figure.

He was a fused mass of bone, sinew, and ancient wood—shaped like a man, yet utterly alien. His skull was embedded with countless hollow eyes, each gazing in a different direction with eerie independence.

Root-like limbs twisted around his body, moving with a blend of predatory sharpness and ceremonial grace. Around him flowed a strange river of blood—thick, dark, and shimmering with an unsettling mixture of birth and decay. It writhed like living fire, reshaping life and dissolving matter wherever it drifted.

For a heartbeat, confusion and weakness flickered across the many eyes of this being. He clearly had not expected to be summoned, nor was he ready for it. His gaze locked onto Godfrey in the distance, and a flash of displeasure rippled through him.

But before he could rebuke the High Lord, another sensation struck him: a rapidly approaching presence of terrifying magnitude, surging toward him with killing intent that could split worlds.

”Hmph,” he growled, his many eyes narrowing. ”So this universe still has some competent guardians. However, it is meaningless. Nothing can stop the Root.”

The blood surrounding his body surged, streams thickening into rivers, rivers into torrents. ”I, High Lord Rykard, Master of the Blood of Endless Root, will show you the futility of your struggle!”

The rivers of blood blasted outward. The moment they touched the surface of space-time, the fabric of reality began to wither, rot, and unravel. Then the blood absorbed that unraveling power, swelling even further.

Anark’s violet eyes narrowed. He felt the corruption in that blood—ancient, insidious, endlessly hungry. His instincts howled with warning, but he did not slow. The seven stars blazed with power, and the Primordial Force of the Void coiled around him like a storm ready to devour the cosmos.

He unleashed blast after blast of pure Primordial Void Force, each collision with the rivers of blood erupting into explosions so massive they warped reality. But to the shock of all witnesses—both allies and enemies—the attacks failed to slow him down. Anark moved like a spear forged from absolute inevitability.

Rykard’s eyes widened. Shock, fury, and disbelief rippled across his shifting expression.

His Blood of Endless Root was being neutralized by the cosmic purity of the True Primordial of the Void. And Anark was closing the distance with terrifying speed.

”Fine,” Rykard hissed. ”Then experience true despair!”

A tendril rose from the Heart of the Root and pierced directly through Rykard’s chest. Instead of harming him, the connection ignited him. Power erupted from within—bloated, corrupted, intoxicating. His jaw cracked open wider and wider, and an endless flood of blood poured out. More and more. Until finally—

—an ocean of blood spread across the void, so vast it could drown entire star clusters.

Its power was eternally decaying yet never dying—a paradox of rot and permanence. Anything it touched would corrode, dissolve, and then transform into something unrecognizable. And every droplet surged toward Anark.

Even the warriors of the Nine Empyrean Suns felt the pressure. Cain’s fists clenched. This ocean carried a corruption so vile it could twist his mind, fracture his soul, and remake him into something monstrous.

And Anark faced it alone.

The True Primordial of the Void saw the oncoming deluge. He knew that it could end him. But his eyes remained clear. Calm. Unshaken.

He took a single breath.

Then the eight arms of Anark merged into two, their strength multiplying beyond comprehension. The Primordial Force of the Void reached a level of purity so blinding it bordered on transcendence. Power coalesced. Reality bent. The void curled inward around him.

He lowered his stance.

And then—like a world-breaking spear forged from the first silence before creation—

Anark shot forward.