The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 1912: Like father, like son

"This is a story worth telling."

As those final, resolute words left Tenert’s lips, his body began to glow with divine brilliance. All his energy condensed into a single, searing core—tight, dense, immeasurably potent. In the very next instant, that core detonated, unleashing a force so sudden, so fast, that not even the Prima Deities could react to it, least of all the ones that pierced his heart.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!"

The explosion consumed everything.

Blinding light surged across the battlefield. A shockwave rippled through the void, through the world, through the bones of all who witnessed it.

And when the light finally faded—Tenert was gone.

There was no trace of his body. No fragments. No lingering aura.

He had erased himself.

But he had not gone alone.

The humanoid volcano, the fiery titan who had restrained Tenert in a burning hold, was annihilated, his existence reduced to smoke and ash. The titan of divine metal, the one who had landed the fatal blow, was still alive—but barely.

His name was Marik, and his once-mighty body was shattered. His Liberación Total form was destroyed. Half of his body was frozen solid—his limbs encased in crystalline frost, rendered completely useless. The icy energy, reacting to the water and blood within him, continued to spread, generating a chain reaction that threatened to overtake his entire being.

Marik had no hope of returning to the fight. Not now. Not like this.

His only option was escape.

Escape from the battlefield. Expel the energy that flooded his body, and then return for payback.

As he staggered away, trying to contain the volatile energy inside his body, he could feel the hatred of countless Scarlet Path warriors bearing down on him like a tidal wave. Their eyes burned with killing intent. Yet, none of the Priama Deities could break away from their own battles to chase him—not even those who wanted nothing more than to end him on the spot.

And so Marik fled.

Or at least, he tried.

Because as he soared low across the war-scorched land, he saw someone standing in his path.

His eyes narrowed.

A single Divine Cultivator stood before him—red-haired, sharp-eyed, unwavering. There was nothing timid about the youth. His stance was solid. His aura fierce. His will indomitable, as though not even the collapse of the world itself could shake him.

Marik sneered.

"Die, trash!"

Without hesitation, he conjured a sphere of mercury in one hand, which rapidly transformed into a roaring plasma cannon. The energy swelled with deadly force, enough to obliterate even a weak Prima Deity.

The cannon fired, a blinding beam of chaos barreling toward the young cultivator.

But the red-haired warrior remained still. Calm. Focused.

He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes.

And just as the beam reached him, he opened them—revealing a radiant golden light within.

He thrust out his left hand, fingers extended.

His index and middle fingers pierced directly into the cannon’s energy.

And to everyone’s shock—the beam vanished.

Complete silence overtook the battlefield.

Everyone who saw it stood in awe.

But it wasn’t over.

Light coursed through the young man’s body, from his arm to his core, spiraling downward, compressing within his stomach—and then exploding out through his right arm.

"Redirection."

With that single word, his right hand detonated, but from it emerged a cannon of raw, chaotic energy, far denser and more focused than what Marik had fired.

The redirected blast struck Marik point-blank.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOMMM!!!"

The shockwave split the sky. Marik was launched like a meteor, crashing into the ground with such force that it carved a massive canyon into the landmass of the Everlife Continent.

When the dust cleared, he was barely conscious.

Broken.

Bleeding.

Crippled.

His front limbs had been pulverized. His body was torn by grievous wounds. Blood pooled beneath him, and his soul aura flickered weakly. He coughed violently, vomiting blood as pain lanced through every inch of his body. His cultivation base teetered on the edge of collapse.

Marik forced his head up.

His blurry gaze locked onto the red-haired youth who had unleashed the stunning counter.

But he was focused on the wrong man.

Because before he could react, another figure dived into the crater from above, crashing onto him with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The force of the impact shattered the ground again, creating an even larger crater beneath the canyon.

This newcomer had white hair, his body cloaked in white flames, and World Strength flowed through his veins like molten gold. With unwavering fury, he began to strike Marik over and over—burning his life, soul, and willpower with every blow.

"BOOM!" "BOOM!" "BOOM!" "BOOM!" "BOOM!" "BOOM!" "BOOM!" "BOOM!"

Each hit drove deeper into the ground, the crater becoming a bottomless pit of fire and force.

And then came the final blow.

A titanic burst of white flame erupted from the abyss, blinding all who gazed upon it.

A heartbeat passed.

Then two.

And finally—a silence settled across the sky.

All the Prima Deities felt it at once.

Marik’s soul aura had vanished.

He was gone.

Destroyed.

Slain by two Divine Cultivators.

Before the shock of it could even settle, Magnus teleported into the pit. He emerged carrying the barely-conscious Rylanor in his arms.

Without wasting a moment, Magnus blinked out of sight again, teleporting far from the battlefield.

On the war-torn plains of the Everlife Continent, the warriors of the Scarlet Path smiled. Pride. Respect. Admiration.

They had witnessed two of their own defy logic—defy the gods—and slay a true Prima Deity. They had pushed beyond their limits, paid the price in blood, and emerged victorious.

Their example ignited something within every cultivator’s soul.

Tenert’s sacrifice.

Rylanor and Magnus’s impossible feat.

Together, they became a beacon.

A battle cry.

A rallying flame.

The eyes of every Scarlet Path warrior lit up with burning will. Their killing intent surged like a storm, and their momentum rose even higher as they lunged toward their enemies with pure killing intent and without a single ounce of mercy.