The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 2012: A final hunt

Cain pushed his speed and his dominion over space-time to the limit as he tore across the skies of the Everstrife Empyrean World. His senses stretched far and wide, searching. The number of known wicked ArchDeities had dwindled. Many had already thrown themselves at Azazel’s feet, while others had perished and been offered to the hunger of the Samsara Flame.

But a few remained.

His first destination was a vast, frozen mountain range where glaciers shone like jagged spears of crystal. This land was home to UndeadThrone Heaven, an organization led by Midas, a master puppeteer and necromancer.

Midas was infamous for capturing enemies alive and twisting them into living war-puppets bound by cursed strings. Cain, to be fair, did not find such methods inherently abhorrent—he himself consigned his enemies to eternal torment within the Scarlet Throne. But Midas and his sect had crossed a line. There had been rumors of them capturing innocents by the millions, remaking them as husks of war. To Cain, that was corruption beyond redemption.

He did not storm the place immediately. He wanted analysis first—a measured understanding before judgment. Yet, what he found surprised him.

The Heaven was empty.

Not a single soul remained. The halls of black ice and bone were stripped bare, every resource, relic, and puppet gone.

Cain’s brow furrowed. The thought of an attack crossed his mind, but he sensed no traces of battle. No scars in the land, no lingering will of slaughter.

"They either left silently..." Cain thought, his eyes flashing, "...or the one who struck them down was so precise that no one realized they were dying."

A meaningful light glimmered in his gaze as he pieced it together.

"The most likely culprit is Midas himself. Not even I could slay a Middle ArchDeity in his own Heaven without leaving some mark. No—Midas fled, and he either brought his people with him or consumed them. He must have assumed I would eventually come for him, and not being willing to risk his life serving Azazel, he abandoned it all, hiding until the storm passes."

The theory was not flawless, but it was the most reasonable. Cain made a mental note: Midas was alive somewhere. And he would watch for signs of the necromancer’s return.

His next destination was HeartFlame Heaven. There, too, he found disappointment. The leader, Primeval Flame, had vanished. Unlike UndeadThrone, however, the sect itself remained. Disciples and armies still filled the great volcanic halls. The Heaven’s reputation was infamous: a land of cruel trials and constant sacrifice to the primordial fire that ruled their lives.

Cain lingered only half a day. He walked their lands unseen, listening, reading the current of their corruption. Cold light filled his eyes. Without raising alarm, he struck. Nearly a dozen Prima Deities vanished into his grasp, captured alive in chains of scarlet will. By the time the Heaven realized anything was wrong, Cain was already gone, carrying two-thirds of their high command away like shadows plucked from existence.

His last stop was along a shore where the waters were so clear they seemed like panes of crystal. The waves rolled gently under the light of twin moons. This was PleasureMind Heaven, ruled by the ArchDeity known as Afrodita. Cain approached silently, veiling himself as he observed.

What he found was debauchery, yes, but not evil. The Heaven was a land of indulgence, a kingdom of flesh and ecstasy. People there pursued their desires without restraint—feral, wild, unbound. It was not Cain’s taste, but it was not corruption of the kind he sought to purge. There was no harvesting of innocents, no vile cruelty beyond the walls of lust and moral decay.

Cain’s verdict was simple. "Not my ally, not my target." He left them in peace.

That ended his search among the established Heavens. There were no more dens of darkness to root out, no more ArchDeities with infamous reputations left untouched. Yet one target remained in Cain’s mind—a hermit ArchDeity.

Such beings were notoriously difficult to find. They wandered like phantoms, often hiding their presences so well that even legends barely recorded them. But Cain had gathered fragments of clues, whispers of activity, enough to hunt.

"I’ll give this hunt a month," Cain murmured to himself. "By then, Leonidas and the others will have completed their tasks, and it will be time to strike at Azazel’s domains directly."

With a clear path before him, Cain began his final hunt.

Far from the Scarlet Kingdom, on a continent untouched by his banners, there lay a small city. At first glance, it was utterly ordinary—villagers trading, craftsmen working, children laughing in the streets.

In one unremarkable house, a woman of middle years sat quietly at her table. She looked unremarkable, but the thing before her was not. A massive cube of shadowed energy pulsed on the floor, its depths writhing with souls. The woman worked on it as though knitting a garment, carefully binding strands of essence together like a weaver tying thread. Her movements were meticulous, filled with unnatural care.

Then, the woman stiffened. Her eyes flashed, and her body transformed in an instant.

A suit of armor forged from shadows locked over her form, veins of molten fire crawling across its surface like living magma. From her back, multiple wings of flame unfurled, vast and terrible, while horns curved upward from her skull. In her hands appeared a scythe etched with runes of death, its blade sharp enough to cut both flesh and soul.

Even with her transformation, she concealed her aura perfectly. To any lesser eye, she was invisible, her power hidden behind a veil of silence. She scanned the horizon, eyes narrowing, her presence deadly and still.

Yet she found nothing.

"Ah," she exhaled softly. "I am growing paranoid."

She shook her head, releasing a long sigh, lowering her weapon. "I just need to finish this task... and then I will go into hiding until this war burns itself out."

She turned back to her cube of souls. And froze.

Her eyes widened.

A figure stood before her.

"The Scarlet—"

She never finished the word.

A hand, wreathed in black starlight, plunged through her skull, erasing thought before it formed. At the same moment, another hand ignited with white flames and drove into her chest. The power of Nihility and Entropy erupted at once, consuming body, soul, and will.