The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 1979: Cain vs Azazel - Second Round (I)

"Aren’t you two being a little hypocritical?"

Gilgamesh’s voice cut through the air, cold and disdainful. His eyes gleamed with arrogance as he looked down on Amon and Bael. "You’ve deceived the other powerhouses for years, keeping a dimensional realm of the First Era all to yourselves. You made us look like fools. Do you truly think we won’t demand restitution?"

Amon and Bael stiffened. Shock flickered across their faces, followed quickly by confusion. Deep frowns marred their brows as they exchanged a glance, each silently asking the same question: How did they uncover our secret?

Before the silence stretched too long, Juda’s voice followed, smoother, warmer, carrying a veneer of diplomacy.

"Gilgamesh is harsh," he admitted, "but there is truth in his words. We are all part of the Everstrife Empyrean World. Shouldn’t we strive to grow together, not divide ourselves further?"

His serene gaze swept between the duo. "In the name of peace and prosperity, I invite you to join us. We are forging a new force—one that rises above the divisions of Light and Dark. Surely such a cause would benefit you both."

It was almost theatrical: Gilgamesh, the ruthless blade, and Juda, the open hand. Though their temperaments were opposite, their interplay was seamless. One threatened; the other soothed. A display of unity, as though they themselves had transcended the very divisions they spoke against.

But Amon and Bael were unmoved. Their eyes grew colder, their voices sharp with rejection.

"We don’t know what you’re talking about," Amon said flatly. "And it doesn’t matter. We want nothing to do with you. Leave now—and take your ’friend’ with you."

Their refusal cut through the air like steel.

Juda and Gilgamesh exchanged a glance, their expressions tightening. Their eyes sharpened, and for a moment the pressure of their power flared. Yet both remained silent, turning their gazes to Azazel.

It was his turn. He was meant to lead the negotiation, to bend the brothers toward their side. That had been the plan.

But Azazel did not speak.

He simply stared at the brothers, the sharpness of his gaze growing heavier with every heartbeat.

Juda and Gilgamesh faltered. For a moment, uncertainty flickered across their faces. Why was the True Depravita so still? Why had he not yet moved to press the advantage?

Finally, Gilgamesh broke the silence with his natural bluntness. His words were edged with threat.

"You should be careful. Now that we know your secret, your little charade is finished. You lack the strength to protect such a treasure alone."

Juda, ever the diplomat, followed quickly, his tone honeyed where Gilgamesh’s was venom.

"Of course, if you join us, you’ll gain more than protection. We can grant you access to other miracles of the First Era... such as the Starfall Haven—"

He froze.

A chill ran through his veins, his entire body trembling. The reason was clear: Azazel’s eyes were upon him, colder than ice. The silent message was undeniable—he had said too much.

Amon and Bael caught the name, their eyes narrowing as unease flickered within them. Yet before they could dissect the meaning, a crushing weight descended on them all.

Azazel’s sword manifested.

It radiated like a cosmic storm, its aura swirling with devastation on a scale that dwarfed even the brothers. The pressure alone was overwhelming, a tide of annihilation pressing down.

And then—another force rose to meet it.

A figure stepped forward, standing before the brothers.

His eyes blazed like red supernovas. His aura roared like a tide of fire. The oppressive storm of Azazel was pushed back, crushed beneath the surge of will and power.

Gilgamesh and Juda paled, their composure shattering. Both cried out in unison, voices trembling despite themselves.

"The Scarlet King!?"

In an instant, their bravado, their arrogance, their confidence—all evaporated. They retreated instinctively, stepping behind Azazel as though his shadow could shield them.

They were Middle ArchDeities, superpowers of the Everstrife Empyrean World, feared across nations. Yet in the face of Cain, their hearts faltered. His name alone was terror; his presence was doom. If possible, they would have avoided him at all costs. But the universe did not heed desire. It cared nothing for will. Only actions. Only outcomes. And their greed had led them here.

Cain’s eyes did not flicker toward them even once. His gaze was fixed solely on Azazel. Cold, merciless, brutal.

Scarlet flames of willpower radiated from his frame, intertwined with the golden brilliance of The Flow. Together, they speared through the air, piercing Azazel’s defenses.

"You’ve not only healed since our last battle—you’ve grown stronger." Each word that came out of Cain’s mouth was laced with killing intent.

Though he was a True Depravita, a being born of raw emotion, Azazel displayed a level of control that surpassed every other soul present. His emotions were not gone—they were harnessed, mastered, bound to his will.

"You have no idea," Azazel continued, his tone as steady as the void, "how much I was forced to sacrifice to stand here. I am only reclaiming what was lost. You, however..." His gaze sharpened further, almost dissecting Cain. "...you have advanced your paths greatly since we last fought."

The True Depravita paused, tilting his head slightly, as though listening to some echo only he could hear. His aura fluctuated, resonating with Cain’s.

"It seems I was too late. You gained access to the powers of the Ouroboros Cult."

Cain’s expression did not waver.

Once, those words might have shaken him. Once, he might have been overwhelmed with questions. But no longer. His understanding of the universe had grown. He knew now. Azazel had not learned of the Ouroboros Cult through chance, nor through slips from the brothers. No—the forces of the Tenth Empyrean Universe had lived during the cult’s prime. They had witnessed its splendor firsthand.

The revelation carried weight, but it was not what mattered now.

What mattered was the clash looming in the sky.

Cain and Azazel, their power rose higher and higher, the air itself trembling under the weight of inevitability.