The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 1980: Cain vs Azazel - Second Round (II)

Lightning arcs split the sky above the NecroSol Continent, drawn forth by the silent clash of power between the Scarlet King and the True Depravita.

Amon, Bael, Juda, and Gilgamesh could only adopt solemn expressions. The aura of the two rose higher and higher, climbing beyond anything they could compare to. Each pulse of power pressed against their souls like a divine hammer, reminding them how far below they truly stood.

Without warning, without even the faintest ripple of transition, Azazel vanished.

The world seemed to pause. Then came the sound.

A single heartbeat thundered across the continent like an apocalyptic storm.

”BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

”BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

”BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

”BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

”BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

”BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

Explosion after explosion ripped across the highest sky. Each shockwave shook the world. The ArchDeities’ eyes widened in awe and horror. They tried to follow the battle, straining their senses, but by the time they focused on one detonation, another blast tore through the opposite horizon.

Gilgamesh and Juda clenched their fists in frustration. Cain’s speed was monstrous—so immense it seemed to move faster than the current of time itself, leaving countless afterimages tearing across the NecroSol sky.

But Amon and Bael recognized something stranger. Azazel’s movements weren’t merely fast. His body appeared in places mid-attack where no transition had been observed, as if he were stepping outside the flow of time entirely, reappearing at impossible angles.

The clash of Cain and Azazel was not just a battle—it was a cosmic calamity. Sky and earth trembled as shockwaves cascaded outward, flooding the firmament and spreading across thousands of kilometers. Yet neither side yielded. Neither overcame the other.

And then it happened.

On the thousandth clash, Amon’s eyes widened in terror.

Azazel stood before him.

The True Depravita’s blade was raised, ready to cleave through his neck in a single, merciless stroke. It was so sudden, so incomprehensible, that Amon’s body froze. His soul screamed, but his muscles could not react. Death stood an inch away, inevitable and final.

But before the blade descended, Cain appeared.

The Scarlet King flashed into existence behind Amon, his left forearm intercepting the strike. Steel met flesh, yet Cain’s body held firm, halting the blade’s advance.

Azazel did not even glance at Amon, as though his near-victim was irrelevant. His cold eyes remained locked on Cain. The two vanished again, leaving the sky to erupt in yet another storm of rage and destruction.

Amon exhaled shakily, his body still trembling from the sensation of near-death. His mind sharpened instantly, instincts taking over. He and Bael pressed back-to-back, their eyes narrow and vigilant, ready to react to the impossible speeds around them.

The danger had not passed, but this time it did not target the brothers.

Behind Juda, a presence emerged.

The Godslayer’s eyes widened like lamplight. He could barely comprehend the movement—it had been too fast, too sudden. A fist was already descending toward the back of his skull, aimed precisely where the spine connected to the base of the head.

Even an ArchDeity would suffer ruin from such a strike. Severed spinal cord, destroyed neural nexus—the result would be crippling, possibly fatal.

Juda had no time to act.

Yet, the blow never landed.

A sword appeared between fist and skull, its blunt edge intercepting the strike with the force of a collapsing star. Azazel had appeared in time, and his blade had intercepted the Scarlet King’s strike.

The clash detonated in a massive blast. Cain’s eyes burned with killing intent as he realized he had failed to land the killing blow. Without hesitation, he vanished once more into motion.

Juda and Gilgamesh wasted no time. They fell into a mirrored stance, standing back-to-back as the brothers had done, their gazes sharp, their auras surging. They knew the next attack could come from anywhere, at any time.

The explosions multiplied, their roars deafening. Space itself buckled, collapsing and reforming around the combatants. Every impact tore open cracks in reality, spilling fragments of distorted time and shattered dimensions into the NecroSol sky.

The four ArchDeities could do nothing but watch. Their faces were masks of awe and disbelief. Cain and Azazel moved so quickly they seemed less like men and more like natural disasters—forces beyond the reach of reason.

It was not a duel. It was as if two primal laws of the cosmos were colliding, rewriting reality with every strike.

Sixty seconds passed.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm ended.

Cain and Azazel reappeared in their original positions, standing as though they had never moved. Their auras receded, the tempest fading. But their bodies told the truth.

Cain was torn with deep cuts, some gashes so severe they exposed bone. Scarlet flames flickered across his wounds.

Azazel’s armor was dented, fractured, and entire plates caved in. Cavities the size of fists marred his chest and arms, each one smoking with lingering force.

The brutality of their exchange was beyond words.

And yet, compared to the devastation wrought upon the highest skies of NecroSol, their injuries seemed almost trivial. The firmament bore scars—rifts and ruptures torn open by their power. If this battle had taken place upon the ground, the continent itself would have been annihilated. Oceans would have boiled, mountains leveled, and geography rewritten for millions of years to come.

The world’s natural order stirred, its restorative power flowing to heal the sky.

Azazel did the same. His armor was no mere construct of metal—it was an extension of his being. With a pulse of Depravita Aura, cracks sealed, plates reformed, and wounds stitched together. Even the massive cavity torn through his abdomen sealed shut in moments, as though time itself reversed.

Cain watched, but his expression was not grim. This time, a smile spread across his face.

The Samsara Seal ignited, glowing across his body. Purple flames erupted, enveloping his form. Just like Azazel, his wounds mended at a pace visible to the eye. Severed skin and torn muscle knit back together, reforged by the immortal fire.

Azazel’s eyes narrowed as he watched, but there was no surprise within them. He knew Cain had the Samsara Seal and, with it, access to a Pseudo-Immortal Body.

Within five seconds, both had returned to what seemed their peak condition, their bodies restored as though the thousands of clashes had never happened.

But while their flesh endured, their reservoirs told another story. Their energy pools ran dangerously low, reserves burned away by their ceaseless storm of violence.