The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 2077: Redemption Incarnation!

The face of the True Depravita of Fear was a ruin of flesh and bone. The explosion had burned away skin, shattered cheekbones, and reduced muscle to cinders—yet before the smoke could even fade, his flesh began to knit back together.

Crimson veins pulsed. Bone reformed. Charred skin peeled away, replaced by flawless pale tissue.

Within a single breath, Zarazel stood whole again, as if the devastation had never happened.

That was the terrifying resilience of a True Depravita—beings whose essence was bound to emotions, and emotions were very hard to kill. No matter how much damage one inflicted upon them, it was meaningless so long as their Depravita Aura still flowed. Even if their entire head was blown apart, their soul would remain intact, the body merely reshaping around it.

Most opponents would have despaired at such futility. But Urin did not.

Her eyes remained firm, sharp as tempered glass. Her breath came steady, her posture unyielding. If anything, her will only hardened. Tiny explosions burst across her form, scattering the lingering shadows that Zarazel’s strikes had left crawling over her flesh. The bursts seared her robes and left trails of smoke—but her stance never wavered.

Zarazel’s predatory gaze narrowed.

He could sense it—the unwavering focus, the conviction that came from the very core of her soul. It wasn’t a façade or empty arrogance. It was absolute willpower, forged in agony and purpose.

For the first time in ages, Zarazel felt a chill of instinctive caution.

His aura flared in response. No words were exchanged. No threats uttered.

The two simply moved.

Once again, they collided.

Explosions thundered across the sky, shockwaves tearing clouds apart. The air warped under the pressure of their blows; divine plasma rained down like meteors. Their strikes came faster, sharper, more refined—each motion a perfect expression of killing intent.

Zarazel’s movements grew increasingly precise, every attack honed by millennia of slaughter. Yet, the more he fought, the more Urin adapted. Her body began to flow with his rhythm, her strikes landing just before his, her counters arriving just as his defenses opened. She was learning him in real time—studying, predicting, and dismantling.

And then, she struck.

Her palm slammed into Zarazel’s chest.

”BOOOOOOOOOOM!”

He was hurled backward, blood scattering across the sky. The force tore open his torso, leaving a hole where ribs had been.

Zarazel righted himself midair, forcing his body to regenerate even as he drifted backward. The wound closed with a hiss of dark steam. He looked down at his chest, then back at Urin, and his aura trembled with grudging admiration.

In martial skill alone, the chosen that the Ancient One sent to the Second Realm surpassed him.

A sigh escaped his lips. ”Haaah...” His gaze shifted toward the golden seed hovering above them, pulsating like a newborn sun. ”I wished it wouldn’t come to this,” he muttered. ”But the stakes are too high to keep it sealed.”

Zarazel raised his head. His eyes began to glow, and psychic energy surged through his veins like a tidal flood.

The sky darkened.

The air crackled.

That psychic force condensed around his body, thickening until it manifested as white plasma, wrapping him in a luminous cocoon that glimmered like crystallized mist. The glow pulsed, expanding, hardening, reshaping itself into a radiant shell that covered him completely.

The battlefield froze.

Even the ArchDeities locked in combat paused, gazes snapping toward the transformation. No one had ever seen such a phenomenon. Whatever Zarazel was doing, it was unprecedented, yet the power emanating from it was enough to make the instincts of the ArchDeities tremble.

The cocoon pulsed. Once. Twice.

Then it shattered.

”Redemption Incarnation!”

The words echoed like a divine decree.

A shockwave exploded outward, sweeping across the battlefield like a storm of molten air. The very fabric of the Rainbow Bridge trembled beneath the force.

And from the remnants of the cocoon, Zarazel emerged anew.

His body had transformed—leaner, sharper, sculpted for speed and power. His flesh had turned bone-white, its surface smooth and hardened like divine ivory, while streams of violet energy coursed above it, pulsing like living veins of light.

The purple markings that coiled around his body converged on his joints and vital points, forming intricate runes that glowed with psychic resonance. Every movement crackled with telekinetic force.

But it was his face that silenced even the most jaded gods.

Fused to his skin was a mask of bone, shaped like a twisted skeletal hand gripping his head. The clawed fingers reached upward, curving over his scalp like a crown, while the rest of the mask melted seamlessly into his face. Beneath the cracks of that eerie visage burned his eyes—spiraling pools of black and magenta, hypnotic and terrifying, spinning endlessly like twin galaxies of madness.

The mask split just enough to reveal rows of serrated teeth that gleamed like polished blades.

It was a visage born of both divinity and nightmare.

A ripple of dread passed through the armies below.

True Depravita were always fearsome, but few realized that only upon reaching the Alpha-Omega Overgod level did they unlock their true forms. Each was unique—a fusion of their sin, essence, and path. And in Zarazel’s case, it was the embodiment of both fear and horror, a primordial feeling that had accompanied sentient races from the beginning of time.

Urin barely had time to raise her guard before Zarazel vanished. The next instant, he was before her, forcing her to raise her arms to protect her face, and his fist collided with her forearm.

”BOOM!”

The impact sent her hurtling backward, her body spinning through the air. Pain seared through her arm; she could feel the bones vibrating from the shock, but before she could regain control, Zarazel appeared again.

Another blow.

Then another.

He moved faster than before—twice as fast, maybe more. His strikes tore through the air like blades faster than light, each carrying enough force to crush heavenly bodies. Urin’s left arm bore the brunt of the assault, shielding her from fatal hits, but the sheer pressure kept driving her back.

Blood trailed from her lips, her robe shredded, her aura flickering.

And yet—she endured.

Through skill and instinct, she found rhythm in his chaos. She ducked beneath a hook, twisted around his follow-up, and countered. Her feet struck his chest, triggering an explosion on the point of contact.

”BOOOOOM!”

The blast lit the sky. Zarazel staggered back, his chest smoking.

But when the light faded, the wound was nothing more than a burn, a far cry from the broken bones and burned muscles of before. His new form had amplified his defenses beyond reason.

He could have resumed his assault immediately, but instead, Zarazel stopped.

His glowing eyes lowered to her left arm.

Urin frowned, uncertain of what was happening, but then she followed the gaze of the True Depravita, and shock appeared in her eyes.