Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 421: Abyssal Dominion

Valentine felt his brain collide violently with the corners of his skull. For a fleeting moment, his thoughts scattered into white noise, disbelief flooding his mind. He couldn’t understand how he was still losing. He had already shifted into his Bane Form, had already unleashed the peak of his craft, yet he remained on the losing edge. His consciousness trembled, threatening to slip into the abyss, but he clenched his will and held on. He dared not fall unconscious mid-battle, not from a single attack, not here, not now.

His body twisted instinctively as he landed on all fours, claws digging into the ground. His mouth opened wide like a dragon’s maw, stretching unnaturally. From the depths of his massive jaws, darkness began to condense at terrifying speed and density. The air recoiled violently, sunlight was swallowed whole, and the darkness surrounding Valentine flickered as though reality itself was malfunctioning. His Astra energy burned violently within him, roaring like an inferno in his veins, and in the very next instant, he fired a colossal beam of pure darkness from his mouth.

The black beam tore forward in an all-erasing, cataclysmic surge, its destructive waves screaming through the air as it traveled with pinpoint accuracy toward Azaron’s location. Azaron did not dodge. He did not retreat. Ender flashed into his hand, Astra energy flowing seamlessly through the spear as he thrust forward with nothing but brute force and overwhelming physical might.

When the dark beam collided with the red spear, the world itself seemed to fade out for a brief moment. Sound vanished. Color drained. Then, in the very next second, reality snapped back into place as Azaron’s spear split the beam perfectly in half, as though it were nothing more than a fragile sandcastle. The severed dark energy brightened violently, then exploded outward in a wretched, sinister obliteration that erased the battlefield entirely, wiping vast stretches of land from existence.

Smoke rose skyward like a massive mushroom cloud of dust and debris, obscuring everything within sight. The land groaned under the aftermath. But Valentine did not stop. He was not done. Since close-range combat had proven futile, he chose a different path. He would overwhelm Azaron with long-range, area-wide annihilation.

Shadow Art: Abyssal Dominion

His voice echoed through what little remained of the battlefield. In the very next second, the entire forest was blotted out by overwhelming darkness, swallowed whole as though night itself had descended in an instant. Then, that same darkness transformed, every shadow becoming a lethal weapon. It sliced, crushed, impaled, and tore through everything in its path with merciless intent.

Before the attack could even dent Azaron’s body, he simply raised his arm with lazy indifference and waved it aside. In response, overwhelming plasmic energy thundered outward, tearing through the darkness and its effects as though it were the futile struggle of a child. The shadow dominion collapsed instantly, erased without resistance.

Within moments, the plasmic energy reached Valentine. His senses screamed in terror. The very next second, he tore backward as he attempted to dodge, but it was utterly futile. Azaron’s attack slammed directly into his body with bone-crushing force. Valentine felt the plasmic energy tear through his Bane Form as though it were woven from mere threads. Still, he gritted his teeth, channeling Astra energy desperately to stabilize his transformation, refusing to let it collapse outright.

Before Valentine could even readjust or properly fix his gaze on Azaron, gravity around him increased impossibly and unnaturally. He didn’t need to search for the source. He already knew. Azaron had closed the distance.

Azaron’s fist, wrapped in violent plasmic force, rocketed toward Valentine’s chest.

Like a boulder smashing into an egg, Azaron’s fist sank deep into Valentine’s chest with a thunderous, sickening blast. Plasmic energy flooded through Valentine’s Bane Form, overwhelming it entirely. In the next instant, inertia took over, and Valentine’s body was hurled backward with impossible force.

He felt his Bane Form collapse in real time. The darkness and shadow that had enveloped and augmented his body disintegrated, erased by Azaron’s plasmic energy. The breastplate he wore exploded outward, shattered as though it were made of glass, Azaron’s fist having torn through it with frightening ease.

Pain like nothing he had ever experienced slammed into his mind. Every pain receptor screamed at once, sending agonizing signals to his brain, mercilessly reminding him of his injuries. His body finally came to a halt as it slammed into a mountain. The mountain cracked violently, though it remained standing, for now, looking as though it might collapse at any moment.

Valentine’s gaze dropped to his body. It was already covered in grievous injuries from a single punch. His chest, in particular, had turned a dark brownish-red, flesh twisted grotesquely as blood flowed freely from his mouth. He groaned as he tried to climb out of the mountain he had been launched into, but his body felt unbearably heavy, as though the weight of the world pressed down upon him.

Azaron was the natural enemy of countless beings. His Nebula affinity granted him access to a vast range of sub-affinities, allowing him to select the optimal one for any given battle. Although anyone else might have chosen light to counter Valentine’s darkness and shadow, Azaron knew better. Valentine would have prepared contingencies for such a glaring weakness. That was precisely why Azaron had chosen plasma.

’Reduced to this state with a single attack... how pitiful,’ Valentine thought bitterly. His vision blurred as he watched Azaron walk toward him with calm, unhurried strides. Though Azaron would have loved to prolong the battle and savor it, he knew the fight had lost its value the moment Valentine resorted to unleashing consecutive, large-scale ranged attacks without purpose.

Azaron stopped before Valentine, who gazed up at him with bloodied, blackened eyes. Azaron looked as remarkable as ever. His cape danced rhythmically with the wind, his posture flawless, his composure absolute as he stared back at Valentine without a shred of strain.

Valentine didn’t need anyone to tell him. He knew he was going to die here. Any attack he launched now would be nothing more than desperate rubbish. Silence stretched between them as they stared at one another, the battlefield eerily quiet.

”Can I ask one question before I die?” Valentine finally spoke. Even as he did, his internal organs twisted and churned painfully.

”What is it?” Azaron replied calmly, his expression unchanged.

”What is the secret of the Wargrave family?” Valentine asked, forcing the words out with great effort. ”Surely it can’t be just your bloodline.”

To Valentine, it was impossible. Azaron was a walking apocalypse. He hadn’t used a single self-created spear technique, nor any advanced skill from his affinities aside from minimal plasmic usage. He hadn’t even use his soul-bound weapon’s true abilities. He hadn’t even relied on Astra energy augmentation.

Valentine had given everything, everything, and still lost to someone who seemed as though he had given nothing at all. To him, a single bloodline was not enough to explain such overwhelming, innate talent and monstrous physique.