The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 1996: Tenth Gear

Azazel’s eyes were razor sharp as he fixed his focus on the force field protecting the heart of RainbowSky Heaven. It had been more than an hour since the barrage from the Scarlet King and the other three ArchDeities began. Everything outside the barrier had already been obliterated—temples, mountains, seas, and fortresses turned into molten ruin beneath the ceaseless storm conjured by the forces of the Scarlet Path.

"How are they doing this!?" Dionisio roared, his voice cracking with fury and disbelief.

The attacks had not weakened. Even after hours, each strike fell with the same crushing potency as the first. The gravitic spears still descended wrapped in flames that bent the horizon. The oceans of fire continued to pour, infinite and merciless. Every wave of destruction was no less than a fully realized ArchDeity-rank spell, each one enough to erase armies. Releasing such a barrage once could exhaust a great power. Releasing them without pause, for hours, should have been impossible.

Dionisio’s mind reeled. His rage twisted into confusion, and confusion twisted into fear.

Azazel, however, remained composed. Though the same question gnawed at him, the True Depravita did not lose control. His thoughts moved coldly, like blades slicing through mist after finally learned the answer.

"The Scarlet King possesses something called the Scarlet Throne," Azazel murmured. "A nearly endless reservoir of psychic and spiritual force. His people can tap into it as well. That must be their catalyst—why their stamina does not falter."

Dionisio’s crimson eyes flashed with reluctant awe at Azazel’s analysis. Yet awe did not quiet the terror clawing at his heart. His gaze snapped back to the barrier where fresh cracks were spreading like fractures in glass. He had already forced every cultivator within the island’s heart to funnel their power into the shield, but it was barely enough.

Of course, Dionisio could help and improve the force field, but he did not waste a single iota of his strength. Dionisio had no intention of sacrificing his reserves. If the worst came, he would need every shred of energy to flee as far and as fast as possible, leaving everybody else behind to fend for themselves.

"Arrgh! How long until your allies arrive!?" he snarled, panic cutting through his fury. "Are you certain they haven’t abandoned you the moment they learned you were cornered?"

Azazel turned his head, his face unreadable, his voice calm as stone. "They are close."

The serenity in his eyes only deepened Dionisio’s hatred. It felt like mockery, as though the True Depravita was looking down on him. Rage burned hot in his chest, but he swallowed it, enduring. His eyes never left the barrier, never left the jagged cracks spreading wider and wider.

Then—at last—he saw them.

Three figures approached from the distance, streaking across the fractured sky. The first was a man with an agonizingly handsome face, radiating a charm that veiled treachery. The second was an Atrox, his aura feral and bestial, power surging like a predator unchained. Juda and Gilgamesh. Dionisio recognized them immediately.

The third figure made even his cruel heart stutter.

She was a haunting paradox of beauty and menace. Long, flowing hair glowed white with an ethereal cold light, cascading like a spectral veil. Her eyes burned with a predatory crimson gleam, her pale skin traced with glowing red sigils. From her skull rose jagged, antler-like horns, curving upward like twisted branches. She radiated corruption woven inseparably with divinity. Calypso, mistress of AbyssalSea Heaven, an albino Inferno Demon, born of the Hell Race.

A thin smile broke across Dionisio’s lips as he saw the reinforcements. Relief slipped into his chest, followed swiftly by predatory hunger. Cain, Leonidas, Amon, and Bael were powerful beyond measure, yes. But now he and Azazel had numbers on their side, and each of their allies was formidable. Already Dionisio pictured the battlefield: Cain’s body broken beneath his feet, Leonidas devoured into his cultivation path. The idea of consuming an Archdeity’s flesh and soul filled him with trembling excitement. A wide grin split his face.

But before his fantasies could bloom further, the sky darkened once again.

The next barrage fell.

It was not merely powerful—it was apocalyptic.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"

The explosion that followed rattled the continent itself. Mountains collapsed into valleys. Rivers turned to steam. The barrier trembled, cracks racing faster across its surface. Priam Deities who had been funneling power into the field collapsed one after another, blacking out under the drain. Others clenched their teeth, their eyes wild with desperation, knowing that without the shield they would die instantly.

The force field held. Barely.

Dionisio exhaled a ragged sigh of relief, his chest loosening. His confidence began to return—until he heard it.

"ZNNN!"

A thin beam of red light ripped through the chaos, moving at a speed the eye could barely follow. It lanced straight into the weakest fracture of the barrier. For a heartbeat, silence. Then—

"CRACK."

The shield shattered.

The beam exploded inside the castle at the island’s core, scattering debris and flame. Dionisio’s eyes widened. Even Azazel’s composure slipped as both turned toward the intruder who now stood before them, framed by red flames and molten air.

The Scarlet King.

Cain emerged from the rift of light, his presence heavy enough to warp the very air.

"Tenth Gear." His voice was thunder, rolling through the sky, heard across the battlefield.

His heartbeat thundered with such force that space-time itself shivered and fractured around him. His blood burned so hot that crimson fire seeped from his pores, trailing into the air. His eyes—cold, absolute, merciless—locked onto Azazel.

Before the True Depravita could react, Cain moved.

He did not walk, nor run—he flashed, his figure dissolving into streaks of red. His fist drew back, veins glowing like molten rivers, his body coiled with every shred of force it could muster.

And then the Scarlet King struck.

His right fist tore through the air like the fall of a meteor, the weight of annihilation behind it, aimed straight at Azazel’s stomach.