The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order Chapter 2474 Worlds of the Root

The deluge persisted in descending.

Golden droplets cascaded ceaselessly over the emptiness, overwhelming the combat zone and decimating Root's abominations by the thousands. A lone drop sufficed to slay a Prima Deity-tier horror. Dozens more could rip an ArchDeity-rank beast into shreds of putrid flesh and vanishing spirit remnants.

It slew without mercy.

No fatigue marred the tempest, no weariness appeared. It seemed boundless—like it would persist until every remnant of the aggressor swarm vanished from reality.

Terror and disbelief stretched Robuke's eyes wide.

Alone, each abomination held no value to him. They acted as mere instruments—disposable, thoughtless limbs of the Root's command. Yet building such a colossal legion demanded the offering of whole Empyrean Worlds. Countless collections and precise reforgings of existence had been required.

Permitting such casual annihilation was impossible for him.

Myriad ideas surged in the Root Monster's thoughts while he frantically sought an answer. He endeavored to track the golden downpour's start, to uncover its origin, its operations, its vulnerability. Nothing revealed itself.

Its very direction eluded him—how then could he halt it?

Despair and looming failure gripped his core like iron chains.

"Retreat!" Robuke bellowed, his shout quaking the void.

One brief moment of stunned halt gripped the Root's swarm.

Obedience came next.

Mid-soar, the abominations twisted and started pulling away to their realms. Champions and High Lords broke from their enemies, withdrawing in orderly lines despite the destruction pouring over them.

Astonishment defined the spectacle.

The Nine Empyrean Suns Alliance's fighters gaped in shock. Since the Scarlet King's disappearance, this stood as their first outright triumph over the Root.

"KILL!" Anark's roar boomed through the emptiness, snapping them to the moment.

Flames ignited in their spirits.

They charged ahead like predators lunging at crippled game, shredding countless fleeing abominations before escape. Swords shimmered. Holy arts burst. Battle shouts rang in fractured voids.

Anark and Meylin stayed far from idle.

Quite the opposite—they turned into the most brutal hunters.

Defense cast aside completely, they launched at Robuke with wild intensity. They disregarded the toll on their frames and the gashes tearing their skin. Endless wrath drove their hacks and pounds at the Root's Monster.

Blow after blow struck Robuke during his withdrawal. He grasped fully that isolation here meant his end.

Fury and malice swelled inside him, building like a storm on the verge.

Still, he compelled it down.

Meylin's stare bored into him—he felt it: chill, alert, plotting. She hungered for any tiny slip in his feelings. The merest breach.

Such a gift he denied her.

Throughout the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe, a grand and mesmerizing display emerged. Under a void lit by golden celestial glow, Six Sacred Races' champions pushed forward. One kin famed for the toughest bodies ever known, paired with another celebrated for supreme mental strength, spearheaded the troops.

Gore and fragmented abomination debris floated in the cosmos as the horde drew ever farther back—until the Root's defiled Worlds finally appeared.

Horrors they embodied on their own.

Like ghastly swellings, two Empyrean Worlds were sewn together, bound by tendrils of meat and corruption. Throbbing bulges linked landmasses. Tainted biomass seas boiled under a blackness smeared red and dark.

Prima Deities had no choice but to stop as soon as those orbs appeared. Nearness alone invited pollution. The twisting radiation from the conjoined worlds could corrupt even godly tissue into fresh monstrosities.

ArchDeities proved sturdier. They kept up the carnage a bit longer, harrying the pulling-back foe. Yet ultimately, even they pulled away. Lacking the bulk of the forces, top fighters from the Six Sacred Races and Scarlet Throne Knights couldn't press on by themselves.

In the meantime, Anark and Meylin kept up their barrage.

They sensed the taint seeping into their own forms. Subtle alterations had already stirred at their skin's fringes.

A knowing look passed between them.

Words held no necessity.

Meylin infused her sword and loosed a wide slash that erupted into a golden gale, veiling Robuke's sight. Radiant

force thundered out, twisting space and masking her partner's

actions.

Robuke howled and heaved his giant axe, demolishing the golden surge

apart.

Via the crumbling radiance, Anark lunged in.

He released a assault brimming with ruinous might—Primordial Void Force focused into one apocalyptic strike.

Yet the onslaught brimmed with rashness.

Openings riddled it.

Robuke's gaze sharpened.

Standing near the Root's polluted worlds now,

vitality rushed back through him. The venomous presence of the merged tainted Empyrean Worlds empowered him, sustaining him.

Direct clash with Anark he braced for.

"ARRGHHH!" Robuke bellowed, his axe glowing with vast energy,

ready to split the True Primordial in two.

In the last instant, Anark's eyes blazed.

Killing intent. Wrath. Hatred. Bloodlust. A flood of dire

feelings surged forth.

That sufficed for Meylin.

Right before Robuke she vanished and reappeared.

Her golden eyes flared as her left hand lashed out, clamping the dropping axe between index and middle fingers.

Rather than halting it—

She turned it aside.

All the force packed in the blade got drawn in.

Robuke's eyes bulged.

For a fleeting heartbeat, a spark danced in them.

Recognition.

Remembrance.

A young man's features with scarlet eyes flashed before him.

"ZNNNNNNNNNN-"

Tissue-ripping noise resounded through the void. Directing the absorbed might to her sword, Meylin slashed.

Her blade hacked through Robuke's collarbone, cleaving it apart. The cut pressed on. Downward it carved, slicing bone, tissue, and twisted core—hacking off close to a third of the Root

Monster's frame. "ARGHHHHHHHHHH!"

Robuke's torment-filled yell echoed across the cosmos.

His leftover power he summoned to flee—diving into the conjoined Root Worlds and slamming down on their fouled terrain.

Cold and resolute, Meylin and Anark observed his flight.

Pursuit they forwent.

They knew the fact: stepping into those realms meant

death.

Triumph couldn't blur their clarity.

Steadily, they scooped up the chopped bits of Robuke's body—treasures of immense worth—and headed back.

As they came, the ranks divided, fighters staring with reverence

and marvel.

For the first time in eons, hope lost its brittleness.

True strength it carried.