The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 1940: A world in grey

Azazel’s sword carved through Cain’s flesh and muscle in a single brutal arc. For an instant, the Depravita’s aura faltered—its intensity dropping noticeably. It was clear that whatever technique Azazel had used to land an instant attack on Cain carried a massive cost. The strike’s sheer force must have drained him.

Azazel, however, didn’t seem concerned. That attack had been meant to do more than just physical harm as it reached all the way to the soul, paralyzing the mind, robbing Cian of his abiltyt ot fight back while the Depravita recovered his strength.

Or at least... that was what should have happened.

Before Azazel could even draw his next breath, two burning red eyes blazed before him—so bright, so alive with power, that it seemed as though the sky itself had been replaced by twin scarlet stars.

Then came the fist.

It carried an ocean of flames, saturated with the crushing weight of entropy. It smashed straight into the weakest point of Azazel’s helmet, striking with unstoppable precision.

”BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

The explosion was cataclysmic—sky trembling, the sea below igniting as the shockwave rolled outward for countless kilometers. Azazel’s armored head snapped back violently, his body flung across the sky like a meteor skipping off the surface of the world.

Cain’s gaze tracked him, the killing intent in his eyes burning hotter than the flames in his veins. He wanted to pursue it immediately, to finish this before his foe could recover. But the wound in his chest throbbed viciously, not to mention that while his mental defenses managed ot resist the paralyzing, that did not mean his mind was fine.

The sword cut had gone deep—very deep. It had missed his vital organs only because of the unnatural resilience of his body, yet it still tore through muscle and bone. While his mind seemed to be on the verge of unconsciousness, his eyelid felt heavier than worlds.

His vitality surged, energy flooding to the wound, knitting tissue back together with impossible speed, while the Scarlet Throne filled his mind with clarity and energy. Even so, by the time the bleeding slowed and his eyes regained their sharpness, Azazel had already righted himself in the air.

Not only had the Depravita regained control of his body, but the weakness in his aura had vanished entirely. His power was steady again—steady, and focused.

Azazel’s gaze was sharper now, tinged with wariness. That blow should have crippled even a Late Archdiety. Yet Cain had not only withstood it—he’d countered with force enough to rattle the Depravita’s skull. Even now, faint cracks marred Azazel’s helmet.

”Primordial Eyes,” Azazel muttered under his breath.

He had studied Primordials before coming here—especially their abilities. And he knew those strikes carried the power to put his life in real danger.

The caution in his expression lingered only a moment before calm returned, as smooth and unshakable as a still sea. His aura flared again, mending the cracks in his helmet, restoring his body to a state of perfect readiness.

Cain’s eyes narrowed. The armor wasn’t mere protection—it was part of Azazel’s body. He’d learned enough about Depravita physiology from Meylin to recognize the signs. This was not a detail to forget.

In the same instant, Cain’s palm rose, condensing a spear of gravitational force interlaced with entropy. The weapon pulsed with deadly intent before he hurled it toward Azazel.

The Depravita’s sword moved in a single fluid arc, slicing the spear apart. But before the fragments had even finished scattering, another spear was already flying toward him. Then another. And another.

Cain’s eyes were cold and precise as he unleashed them—one gravitational spear after another, each capable of twisting the very fabric of reality as they screamed through the air.

”BOOM!” ”BOOM!” ”BOOM!” ”BOOM!” ”BOOM!” ”BOOM!”

Each impact was met by Azazel’s blade, shattering the projectiles in bursts of warped space. His swordsmanship was flawless, every movement breaking the spears before they could close in.

But after the tenth spear fell apart, the Star of Origin blazed on Cain’s forehead. The power of the surrounding world bent to his will. The broken fragments of the spears froze midair, then spun together, reshaping into hundreds of smaller projectiles. Each rotated with such ferocity that they birthed miniature tornadoes, ripping apart the air as they converged from every angle.

Cain’s pupils contracted, his full perception, along with the full power of the [A.I. Chip Module], locking on to Azazel. He knew this wouldn’t be enough to kill a True Depravita. But that wasn’t the point.

He wanted to force Azazel to reveal that strange technique—the one that allowed him to strike with his weapon already in place, as if he had teleported mid-swing.

The swarm closed in, impossible to block or evade entirely.

Azazel didn’t flinch. His stance shifted, the sword settling at his waist. Then he moved—four slashes in a time so short it defied comprehension.

Reality split. Massive cuts appeared in the air around him, forming a giant X that tore through the fabric of space itself. The lines of destruction extended outward, touching the incoming projectiles.

Cain’s eyes widened. The projectiles—each moving at a speed beyond light—froze in place as though caught in amber.

Azazel’s sword flashed again, shattering the frozen swarm in a rain of sparks and splintered energy. And then he moved.

He shot toward Cain like a star of annihilation.

”Dammit!” Cain cursed inwardly, but his body was already moving, surging forward to meet the charge head-on.

Fist and sword collided. The shockwave tore through the battlefield, waves of destruction radiating in every direction. Neither yielded an inch—each clash only feeding their momentum, their power rising higher with every exchange.

Then, The Flow showed an opening. Cain twisted, dodging the sword’s edge by a hair’s breadth, and drove his fist into Azazel’s abdomen.

The impact was brutal. Azazel’s armored frame bent under the blow, the shock rippling through his core as he was sent flying through the air. For an instant, pain flared across his features.

But he didn’t break.

Teeth clenched, he seized control of his body almost immediately. His aura surged again—cold, sharp, and unyielding.

Before Cain could press the advantage, Azazel’s eyes flashed. The air thickened.

The world turned gray.

All motion... stopped.

Even the flow of time itself was bound!