The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 2244: Anark and Radagon

Explosion after explosion ignited the vast void, each blast folding light and shadow into howling spirals as the battle only grew more violent. Shockwaves tore through the fractured void, and wounds appeared on both sides with relentless rhythm.

Yet the High Lords regenerated constantly, their flesh stitching itself back together with an unsettling smoothness due to the power of the Heart of the Root, as though time itself rewound around their forms. But such regeneration was not purely a blessing.

Every surge of healing energy seemed to drag at Godfrey and Morgott’s strength, reverting their empowered states back toward their base forms.

Anark, meanwhile, suffered more visibly. With every passing moment, more wounds opened across his body. Even for an Alpha–Omega Overgod True Primordial like him, battling the High Lords of the Root was a monstrous ordeal. Their presence alone warped the battlefield, and their strikes were mixtures of eternal force and parasitic corruption, capable of tearing through even primordial defenses.

And yet, no matter how many wounds Anark received, none were enough to halt him. His attacks remained fierce, his movements sharp and unyielding. It seemed the fight might stretch on endlessly, both sides refusing to yield.

But then the void trembled.

A horrifyingly dense aura ignited at the core of the Heart of the Root, a force so overwhelming that even the distant powerhouses of the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe felt their breath freeze.

In the next instant, Radagon manifested. The King of the Root appeared before Anark in a flash too swift to follow, crossing a cosmic gulf between one heartbeat and the next. His fist descended with a weight that seemed to drag the mass of an entire universe behind it.

Anark managed only to raise his arms in a defensive cross before the blow connected.

The impact shattered the void.

His left arm exploded into fragments of primordial matter. His right arm cracked in every possible way, bones snapping like celestial glass as he was hurled violently across the battlefield. He tumbled through the collapsing void, tearing through several shockwaves before finally stabilizing far from where he’d been standing.

The assembled powerhouses of the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe stared in frozen horror. They had witnessed Anark display power beyond measure mere moments ago—an overwhelming strength they could only dream of attaining—and yet Radagon needed only one punch to cripple him. One punch to break an Alpha-Omega Overgod True Primordial’s arms and send him flying.

They knew Radagon could not pursue Anark into the Matrix of the Universe, and that awakening from his dormancy taxed him severely. Even so, the devastating might he had just revealed left their hearts cold.

For everyone understood the grim truth: the stronger one’s body, the harder it was to heal a crippling injury. And Anark’s body ranked among the strongest in existence.

But as Anark steadied himself, instead of despair—or even surprise at his mangled limbs—a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His dark gaze locked onto the King of the Root.

"You are weaker," he said calmly. "It seems the universe-defying feat of pulling an entire world across realities has exacted a great cost."

Radagon regarded the True Primordial in silence, neither denying nor masking anything. There was no point in falsehood when the truth was laid bare for all to see.

"All actions," he replied with a cold voice, "have consequences."

His gaze shifted to Anark’s destroyed arms. "As you can see."

Anark studied him for a moment, then nodded. His wounds were indeed severe, and unlike the last time, the Will of the Universe would not intervene to restore him. But his smile widened.

"However," he said softly, "some consequences are easier to manage than others."

The next moment, the energy of the True Primordial of the Void ignited around him, burning like a silent violet star. Before the stunned eyes of the assembled powerhouses—and before the wary gazes of the High Lords—Anark’s right arm began to mend itself. Bones realigned, tendons regrew, and flesh reformed with unnerving speed.

Then, in a display that defied reason, his left arm regenerated entirely, weaving itself back into existence in mere moments.

The hearts of the Nine Empyrean Suns’ powerhouses surged. Where despair had gripped them moments earlier, now hope rekindled like a long-lost flame.

Anark still could not match the King of the Root, not yet, but his overwhelming regenerative ability offered a glimpse—a possibility—that the tide might shift in the future. They could imagine a path now, however narrow, toward victory.

Radagon said nothing. His expression remained composed, carved from the cold stone of timeless authority, yet his hand curled slightly into a fist. Eight months ago, he had easily defeated this enemy. Now, Anark had grown stronger and had gained regeneration surpassing all known logic without relying on any external support.

It was not a good trend.

Especially given Radagon’s current condition.

Still, the King of the Root did not waver. He cast a final, unreadable glance at Anark before turning away, retreating back into the Heart of the Root alongside the other High Lords. Their figures vanished into the monstrous world-tumor.

The moment Radagon departed, Anark’s smile faded. The king’s composure made everything more difficult. And despite the display he had just given, things were not as great as they appeared. Even with the regenerative power of his First Order Samara Seal’s Pseudo-Immortal Body, restoring his arms had consumed an immense amount of energy—far more than he could afford to spend in a prolonged confrontation.

He was in no condition to continue fighting.

Yet Anark understood the importance of morale. He seldom cared for the feelings of others, but he recognized how crucial high spirits were in times like these. A united force with hope could push far beyond its limits, while despair could break even the strongest hearts.

So when he turned toward the forces of the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe, he showed them strength and resolve. His eyes carried the expectation of victory—not immediate, not easy, but inevitable for those who endured.

Their spirits rose with renewed fire.

With calm authority, Anark gathered the ArchDeities and Prima Deities and led them back toward the Golden Hall. As he moved, he cast one last glance toward the Heart of the Root.

To anybody, it seemed like a simple final look at the monstrous world-tumor.

But no one else noticed where Anark’s gaze was truly fixed: on a single spawn crawling across its surface, one creature among the countless legions creeping along its vast, corrupted skin.