Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 647: Azaron Versus Zolthemir-1

Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor felt his body tear backwards with a ridiculous, bone-rattling impact, but before he could cross any meaningful distance, he regained control over his body with swift, practiced ease, his feet slamming violently into the earth as he skidded backwards to a forceful stop, carving deep trenches into the ground beneath him.

His eyes snapped forward to the position where Azaron was, his gaze sharpening, his eyes flashing with a trace of shock as he hadn’t been able to follow the knee attack to his chest, hence he hadn’t been able to absorb the energy behind it.

Azaron didn’t rush forward; he walked with calm, unhurried ease, each step deliberate, the air around him trembling in fear as though the atmosphere itself was about to be ripped apart, warped and distorted simply by his presence, as though reality itself recoiled at his existence.

"Come, Ender," Azaron stated with calm ease, his voice steady and devoid of strain, and in the next instant, his red soul-bound spear responded with a battle-hungry hum, resonating with a deep, ominous vibration as it appeared within his hand.

Without missing a beat, Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor’s weapon also appeared in his hand, a scythe of imposing, sinister elegance. They both stared at each other for a moment, seconds passing in a tense, suffocating silence, then in the next instant, the space they were standing on shattered like fragile glass as they tore forward with ridiculous speed and overwhelming velocity, their movements transcending the limits of perception.

They closed the distance between each other in less than a nanosecond, their weapons screaming towards one another as though they both hated the other, just as their wielders hated each other, and with a titanic, cataclysmic burst of force and power, their weapons met; the world seemed to still for a fleeting moment as though the very Laws of reality were lagging behind, as though existence itself struggled to keep up with the sheer magnitude of their clash.

The next moment, time snapped violently back into place, and an all-consuming, ravaging, devouring force expanded outwards from the place of their clash, erasing everything within a thousand kilometre radius with terrifying ease and threatening simplicity, as though such destruction was trivial to them. The impact even slammed against them, yet neither of them took a single step back; they were simply too powerful, too absolute in their strength to be pushed back by such a comparatively weak shockwave.

The next instant, they blipped out of reality yet again as they didn’t stop, their bodies appearing in rapid, flickering motion as their speed climbed endlessly upwards, their velocity increasing with each passing nanosecond as though they knew no limits; anytime they met, an erasing force followed in their wake, anytime they moved, they crossed vast distances as though the concept of distance was merely a suggestion to beings of their level, insignificant and meaningless before their calamitous might.

Azaron closed the distance once more; he thrust Ender towards the Emperor’s eyes with lethal precision, but Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor was ready, reacting instantly as he sidestepped with flawless ease, his scythe screaming upwards in a deadly arc as though it sought to decapitate Azaron where he stood, there was no hesitation, no delay in his movements or decisions, only the cold, refined efficiency of a warrior honed through countless battles.

Seeing the incoming attack, Azaron simply drew back his own, his spear spinning within his hand with effortless dexterity as he blocked with the shaft of his weapon. But the moment he blocked, a titanic surge of energy erupted outwards from the Emperor’s scythe, enough to level hundreds of kilometres into pure nothingness, the magnifying force consuming Azaron entirely as the Emperor vanished from where he stood, leaving only destruction in his wake.

Dust churned violently towards the sky, debris, stones, pebbles, and massive boulders blasting backwards in chaotic disarray, and through the storm of dust and clouds, Azaron walked out without a single hair out of place, having tanked the attack as though it was utterly insignificant, his expression unchanged, his composure perfect.

He wasn’t surprised at the sudden energy burst; this was the Royal family’s bloodline ability, the power to absorb energy and unleash it outward, and the Emperor had refined that ability further, channeling a concentrated form of energy through his scythe, amplifying its destructive potential to terrifying extremes.

"Weak," Azaron stated with a flat, indifferent tone, the earth beneath his feet blasting backwards as he closed the distance between himself and the Emperor once again, his speed even greater this time; the moment he arrived, he swung his spear as though it were a staff, the shaft slamming directly into the Emperor’s gut with immense, crushing force.

But Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor remained unbothered; he simply absorbed the energy behind the physical attack, rendering the strike entirely obsolete, and in the next instant, his scythe flashed once more, tearing through the air in a dark blur of slash series as he moved with lethal intent to reduce Azaron into nothing more than minced flesh and ruin.

Azaron’s body blurred seamlessly, his feet tapping and gliding across the ground and through each lethal attack as though he were a dancer, effortlessly weaving through danger, and the moment he evaded the final strike, his palm shot outward, immense plasma energy enveloping his hand as he slammed it into the Emperor’s chest with devastating, point-blank force.

Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor reacted instantly, refusing to take the attack head-on, a violent burst of energy detonating from his legs as he propelled himself backwards at immense speed, as he didn’t dare absorb Azaron’s plasma attack, yet the moment he created distance between them, space twisted unnaturally beside him, and from within that distortion, Azaron appeared once again, repeating the same attack with the same effortless motion, his palm slamming into Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor’s chest with relentless, battering force.

The air and space at the point of contact collapsed immediately, as though they could not exist within that singular point in time and reality. Violent winds of pressure erupted outward as a blinding white explosion of energy burst forth, distorting everything in its vicinity with overwhelming intensity.

Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor had already activated his body’s absorption ability to take in the plasma energy, but the more he absorbed, the more Azaron continued to feed him energy endlessly, as though he intended to force the Emperor beyond his limits, to make him implode from the sheer excess of power.

Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor didn’t dare remain in place any longer; the moment he absorbed a significant portion, he vanished instantly from his position, and as he reappeared high in the sky, he waved his hand with controlled precision, and with that simple motion, a devastating storm of plasma force, power, and speed surged forward towards Azaron, as though it sought to erase him entirely from the face of the planet.

But as the plasma attack closed in, Azaron simply raised his hand with indifferent calm, and the incoming plasma force energy attack was swatted aside effortlessly, as though it held no significance whatsoever.

As the plasma crashed into the battlefield, it descended into absolute chaos and destruction, everything within its path being pulverized into nothingness, the heat rising ceaselessly, the earth melting and turning molten as though it were transforming into lava in real time, the battlefield becoming a landscape of complete devastation.

Yet none of that mattered to either Azaron or Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor; the destruction, the collapsing environment, the molten earth, none of it held their attention. Their focus remained solely on each other, unwavering and absolute, as though the rest of existence had ceased to matter entirely in the face of their overwhelming clash.