The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order - Chapter 1978

Three figures hovered in the sky above the NecroSol Continent, the trio standing at equal distance from the Finger of Death and the Finger of Life, as if making it clear they were not heard for one but both of the supreme masters of the continent.

On the right floated a radiant warrior of divinity, a member of the Godslayer Humankind. He resembled an angelic champion, his entire being embodying majesty and absolute judgment. Golden hair blazed around his head like a living halo, crowned with threads of celestial light that framed his noble, determined face. Four immense wings spread wide behind him, pure white feathers streaked with shimmering gold. Their presence cast an aura of protection and awe so overwhelming that lesser beings would fall to their knees.

His armor was a seamless fusion of elegance and invulnerability, flowing robes woven into gleaming plates of celestial steel. A smile rested on his lips—perfect, radiant, almost painfully beautiful. That smile alone accentuated his charisma so greatly that mortals would fall into infatuation at first sight.

On the left stood his opposite.

Where the angelic warrior radiated light, this figure embodied steel and menace. He was of the Atrox Immortus Race—a juggernaut clad in silver-and-gold armor that gleamed with artistry and intimidation. Each plate was masterfully forged, edged with golden trims and etched with sacred engravings that spoke of ancient conquests. Upon his shoulder rested a massive battle axe, its blade so wide it resembled a guillotine. Sacred runes crawled along its edge, but the aura it radiated was anything but holy. Dark, malignant power rippled from the weapon, a promise of merciless destruction.

His face was carved in stone-like sternness, his eyes sharp and merciless. Just one glance from him carried the weight of slaughter, as though anyone who dared oppose him would be butchered without hesitation.

The two together presented a strange paradox—light and dark, majesty and menace, standing side by side. And both carried power that shook the sky. They were Middle ArchDeities, each a towering force in their own right.

For such figures—one of the Light Camp, the other of the Dark—to stand together without bloodshed was bizarre. For them to arrive as a team, trespassing upon foreign ground, bordered on unthinkable.

Yet the strangeness of their alliance paled before the presence of the third figure.

Between them hovered a man whose aura outshone theirs entirely. His power was not of flesh or weapon, but of mind—psychic force and Concepts woven together in such density that the air trembled. Calm and serene, he radiated inevitability, as though every thought he had was law.

This was Azazel—the executioner sent by the Tenth Empyrean World to end Cain’s life.

Azazel’s expression was peaceful, almost meditative, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He had already sent the summons. He knew the ones he awaited would appear soon.

The winged Godslayer allowed his eyes to wander for a moment, gazing at the twin monuments of life and death. His golden eyes glimmered with meaning.

"Who would have thought a portal to a sacred dimension of the First Era lay hidden here..."

The Atrox snorted, his sneer clear.

"Hmph. Amon and Bael are really arrogant to think they could conceal something like this. Their pride blinds them."

Envy flickered in his gaze as he turned toward Azazel.

"Are you certain those two are comrades? Their battles and skirmishes are legendary. How could men who nearly killed each other countless times be trusted to guard something together?"

The Godslayer nodded faintly, his voice calm yet skeptical.

"I thought the same. Their clashes are infamous. Many times, one or the other was left in ruin, forced into seclusion to recover cultivation. That kind of enmity doesn’t become trust. How could they possibly forge the confidence to entrust their lives to one another without hesitation?"

Azazel turned to them, his expression unreadable. Deep within, however, he sighed at the state of mind of the duo.

For beings like the angelic Godslayer and the juggernaut Atrox, the idea of two warriors placing such absolute faith in one another was incomprehensible. In their minds, such trust was the folly of weaklings, fools who would never touch the ArchDeity Rank.

Yet Azazel knew better. He had studied, pieced together fragments of memory from the Divine Calamity, and drawn his conclusion.

"They kept this place secret for so long because of one thing," Azazel said at last, his voice steady and measured. "Not deception. Not calculation. But resolute honesty. A bond deeper than friendship. A brotherhood. That is why I summoned them both at the same time—because they will appear together."

His words carried weight.

The wisdom of Azazel was difficult to deny. With only scattered records and vague memories, he had constructed a nearly flawless assessment of Amon and Bael’s bond.

And, as if to affirm his prediction, the chamber stirred.

From the twin monuments, two figures rose.

Amon emerged from the Finger of Death, Bael from the Finger of Life. They stood side by side, their presence commanding, their auras cold and sharp. Power radiated from them like twin storms, and together they projected an unyielding, united front.

The human and the Atrox exchanged glances, surprise flickering across their faces. They had expected cracks, hesitation, division. Instead, they saw comradeship—unshakable, absolute. The duo glanced at Azazel with subtle awe. His judgment was precise.

Azazel did not really care about the awe of the duo. If it were up to him, he would have never chosen the duo as his comrades, but they were the perfect choice for the foundation of his power, since they did not have other path but to follow him.

However, the True Depravita did not waste time with those thoughts and focused on the duo in front of him.

Amon’s eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing the trio before him.

"Juda. Gilgamesh. How dare you trespass upon our domain without invitation?"

His voice was cold, laced with killing intent. Then his focus shifted toward Azazel, suspicion in his stare.

"And with... an outsider."

Beside him, Bael remained silent, but his burning eyes conveyed the same accusation. Their combined pressure pressed upon the intruders like an avalanche.

Juda only smiled serenely, radiating warmth and calm as though greeting an old friend. Gilgamesh, however, bared his teeth in something closer to a snarl. His arrogance was palpable, his expression fierce.

Two answers—one soft, one sharp. Light and Dark united in their opposition.