The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 2018: Carving a hole through Juda

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!"

Leonidas and the transformed Juda clashed once more. Their powers tore through the heavens, colliding with such ferocity that even the other ArchDeities hesitated to draw too near. The shockwaves split clouds, bent the sky, and made the earth itself tremble beneath their fury.

From below, countless eyes turned toward the battle. Prima Deities locked in combat paused for a heartbeat, staring upward in awe, fear, and admiration. But among them, one pair of eyes burned hotter than all the rest.

The Sky Sovereign.

His gaze fixed upon Juda, and his heart boiled with unyielding hatred. That man—once a sworn brother—had betrayed him, driven a blade into his back, and cast him into death’s embrace. Though he had been reborn, the fire of vengeance had never dimmed. If anything, it blazed brighter at the sight of Juda’s monstrous new power.

"No matter how far you climb, no matter what strength you steal," the Sky Sovereign swore within, "I will see you fall. Even if I must burn my soul to ash, one day I will take your head."

Yet despite the storm raging in his chest, the Sovereign did not allow himself to lose focus. He continued leading the Prima Deities of the Scarlet Path, their blades cutting deep into the enemy ranks with precise coordination. His time would come—but now was not that moment.

The battle surged on, each heartbeat more violent than the last. Explosions of divine energy lit the continents like falling suns. Mountains broke, oceans heaved, and rivers boiled away under the strain. Then, suddenly, the world itself began to tremble.

The very energy of the Everstrife Empyrean World shifted, bending under the will of an external force. For a moment, warriors on both sides faltered, wondering who had gained the upper hand—the roots of Azazel’s dark trees, or the Scarlet Kingdom’s runic formation.

The answer came in fire.

The sky glowed scarlet. Runes engraved into earth and air blazed to life, and though the formation was far from complete, it had already grown strong enough to resonate with the core Scarlet Intercontinental Formation. That resonance poured into the Scarlet Path warriors like a flood, feeding them in waves.

One by one, every soldier felt their strength climb an entire stage. Bodies surged with vitality, souls burned brighter, and weapons howled with amplified power.

The Scarlet Kingdom had already held the advantage: more ArchDeities, tighter coordination, and the unmatched discipline of their Prima Deities. Now, with the Scarlet Intercontinental Formation igniting beneath their feet, they transformed from an unstoppable tide into a raging cataclysm.

The enemy began to break.

"Pull back!"

The order did not come from Juda.

A figure descended from the void like a falling star, his blade trailing arcs of fire. Azazel.

His body bore no wounds, but the dimming of his energy made clear the price of his duel with Cain. Even the True Depravita could not conceal the exhaustion carved into his core.

Without pause, Azazel swung his massive sword. A blazing arc of flames erupted, so dense and oppressive it seemed to freeze the very atoms in the air. Time itself stuttered. The advancing warriors of the Scarlet Kingdom were forced to halt, their momentum shattered by the alien’s might.

The forces of the Imperium of Time seized the opportunity. Space treasures glowed in the hands of Prima Deities, swallowing thousands of Divine Cultivators in an instant. ArchDeities opened spatial vaults within their bodies, dragging their soldiers into safety. It was a retreat born not of panic but of grim necessity—a disciplined withdrawal meant to preserve what remained.

Meanwhile, Azazel landed upon the fractured earth with enough force to split the ground for leagues. Rising from the crater, he carried with him the unconscious body of Tibet. The monk had failed—his deception shattered, his role in the ambush undone—but Azazel would not discard such a weapon. Losing Tibet now would be a blow they could not afford.

The alien’s eyes turned toward the ArchDeities of the Scarlet Path, blazing with unspent malice. Killing intent rolled from him like a suffocating tide. But before he could even think of making a move, the heavens themselves screamed.

From above descended a storm of gravitational spears, each forged of collapsing singularities and wrapped in black starlight and white flame. They fell like the judgment of gods, tearing through clouds, their tips humming with the annihilation of Nihility and the decay of Entropy.

Cain had not remained idle while Azazel withdrew.

"—Tch, damn it!" Azazel snarled. His sword blurred, moving faster than light, carving apart the spears one after another. He moved outside the flow of time itself, vanishing from one position and reappearing in another, intercepting each deadly strike before it could reach his allies. Steel met collapsing gravity, and the battlefield rang with thunder.

But Cain was no fool.

Among the storm, one spear carried his true intent. He masked its presence, cloaked it in the shadow of its brothers, bending its energy signature to mirror their resonance. Azazel, blinded by exhaustion, struck down the false while missing the true.

The hidden spear pierced forward.

"—AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Juda’s scream shook the heavens as the spear tore through his chest, blowing open a massive hole. The searing fusion of Nihility and Entropy burned at his flesh, soul, and will alike. Even in his Pseudo-Depravita state, the wound was apocalyptic. Without that transformation, he would have perished on the spot.

Madness filled Juda’s face. His eyes turned bloodshot, lips twisting into a mask of desperate hate. In a frenzy, he opened his maw and swallowed a cluster of spatial treasures—relics that contained tens of thousands of cultivators from his Heaven.

One by one, they died within him. Their energy and life force exploded into him like a tidal wave, sealing the gaping wound in his chest. Flesh reknit, fire reforged his organs, and strength returned.

Azazel frowned, disgust clear in his gaze. Sacrificing your people, devouring their souls and lives in order to survive was truly loathsome. Yet disgust did not matter. The mission was paramount. Morality was ash compared with the task given by his master.

Without a word, he followed Juda as the wounded ArchDeity fled into the distance.

The battlefield stilled. The Imperium’s forces were retreating, vanishing into the domains of Calypso and the protection of the Dark Tree.

Cain descended from the skies, purple flames blazing across his chest, his neck, even his face. He bore the scars of his duel with Azazel, but his posture was unbowed, and his eyes burned with unwavering resolve.

He turned toward Leonidas, voice carrying across the field like a war-drum.

"Initiate the second phase."