The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order Chapter 2298 Middle Alpha-Omega Overgod

The distant explosion ripped across the horizon, causing Meylin and the Enlightened One to turn their heads toward Cain instinctively. Even at such a vast distance, the violent eruption of energy was undeniable, vibrating through the void like a massive hammer striking the very foundations of the world.

The sheer magnitude of that blast reminded the pair of the devastating technique Cain had utilized to crush Urin, though they silently prayed their suspicions were incorrect.

Cain’s face darkened as he sensed the lingering shockwaves tearing through the fabric of reality. His glowing scarlet eyes narrowed, his mind performing complex calculations in the blink of an eye.

"Your assumptions are right," he stated grimly, answering the unspoken question hanging in the air. "That level of power is nearly equal to Ragnarok."

Meylin and the Enlightened One both tensed up. Those words held a significance far deeper than their simple delivery suggested. Ragnarok was not just any Chaos Art—it was a world-breaking force that Cain could only deploy at a massive personal cost. For a mere explosion resulting from a clash, rather than a single concentrated strike, to reach such heights meant only one thing.

The combatants fighting in the distance had almost certainly exceeded the Early Alpha-Omega Overgod Stage.

At these elevated ranks, the differences between stages were no longer minor increments. They were exponential leaps. The void between the Early and Middle Alpha-Omega Overgod stages could not be crossed by mere talent or hard work—it was a bottomless chasm that consumed the unprepared.

Cain grasped this reality better than anyone else.

Following his confrontation with Bradly, his combat prowess had firmly reached the Alpha-Omega Overgod Rank, but only at its entry level. He had made massive strides since then: evolving his Divine Kingdom, forming a new Astral Black Hole, delving into deeper mysteries of Chaos, and stabilizing his soul force. Nevertheless, when judged objectively, his base power remained at the absolute limit of the Early Stage—no further.

Only by employing Chaos Arts, techniques that risked lethal backlash, could he momentarily shatter that ceiling.

Both Meylin and the Enlightened One understood this truth, and the anxiety on their faces made it obvious. If they were forced into a direct confrontation with a Middle-Stage Alpha-Omega Overgod, their chances of survival would be precarious at best.

A heavy silence fell before they both looked toward Cain, awaiting his command.

The choice rested solely on his shoulders. Ultimately, if disaster struck, it was Cain’s strength they would have to depend on for protection.

Cain did not make a hasty move. They were still exhausted from traversing the Realm Barrier, and a single reckless step could terminate their quest before it truly began. Withdrawing was not an act of cowardice—it was a tactical calculation. Cain carried burdens that extended beyond this single theater of war. The Root was still expanding. His journey required survival above all else.

And yet...

Cain’s focus sharpened as he projected his senses toward the far-off battlefield. This was no ordinary skirmish. Powers of this scale did not clash without reason. The result of this fight would undoubtedly shift the balance of power within the Fourth Realm—and consequently, impact every realm below it.

If the Demon King’s champions were in peril and Cain chose to walk away, the repercussions might haunt him forever.

He let out a long, slow breath.

"We're moving in," he finally declared. "Stay behind me."

Meylin and the Enlightened One suppressed their auras and trailed Cain, utilizing the Flow to ensure they remained undetected.

Cain led the way. By merging the Power of Chaos with the Flow, he reduced their presence to nearly nothing. The three of them drifted like ghosts over the scarred terrain, their forms slipping through the cracks of reality. After thirty minutes of stealthy travel, the war zone finally came into view.

It was a scene of absolute ruin.

Dozens of ArchDeities were locked in combat across a crumbling continent, their collisions carving deep wounds into the earth. Mountains were split asunder, rivers were turned to steam, and the atmosphere itself wailed under the pressure of constant destruction. Blood fell from the heavens like red ash. Yet, all of this was overshadowed by the titanic struggle occurring in the highest reaches of the sky.

Two figures fought there—each stood no more than seven meters tall—but their sheer presence made them feel like living singularities. Their clashes brought vibrant color to the otherwise monochromatic realm.

One was a massive armored titan, standing like an immovable wall amidst the chaos. His decorative plate armor was engraved with ancient runes, worn smooth by the passage of eons. A dark, circular halo hovered behind him, emitting an aura of gravity, fate, and overwhelming weight. Great black cloaks hung from his shoulders like slabs of granite, projecting a sense of absolute stillness. Chilled blue light flickered through the gaps in his armor, as if high-pressure energy was fighting to burst out of an impossible cage.

The second combatant was equally terrifying.

A skeletal-faced warrior in armor rode upon a gargantuan black steed. His jagged, organic armor was topped with horned ridges, and veins of glowing purple energy pulsed through his frame. The warhorse shared its master's terrifying power, its eyes burning with the same spectral light. Trails of dark energy followed them with every stride, representing unstoppable force and a relentless charge.

The signatures of a Neo-Angel’s Salvation Incarnation and a True Depravita’s Redemption Incarnation were clearly displayed. Not that such identification was needed to know who their ally was; after all, they had come specifically to find the one known as the Skull Lord.

Cain watched the duel with intense focus. The Neo-Angel’s blade swung with the mass of a star, warping time, space, and causality with every movement. The sword did not rely on speed; instead, reality itself slowed down in its presence, making every strike a matter of inevitable catastrophe.

However, the Skull Lord was just as formidable.

Mounted on his steed, the True Depravita generated momentum that built up infinitely, disregarding friction, resistance, distance, and scale. Each blow fed the speed of the next, creating a continuous chain of power capable of piercing through entire worlds. His strikes did not just hit—they obliterated, crushed, and pushed forward.

Every time they collided, an apocalyptic detonation shattered the heavens and sent tremors across the continents.

Cain scrutinized every detail—the tempo, the movement of energy, and the hidden strain beneath their flawless techniques.

And then—

His scarlet eyes narrowed dangerously.

Something was off.

It wasn't the power of the fighters that concerned him—it was the battlefield itself.

Space was vibrating slightly, warped by an outside force. It was subtle. Nearly impossible to detect.

But Cain noticed it.