Celestial Bloodline Chapter 958: This is an illusion—

Viewing the seven formidable, identical figures rushing in his direction, Nathaniel desperately sought a logical explanation for such a surreal predicament.

"An... illusion... correct, merely an illusion..."

"This is nothing but a phantom—"

The surrounding world faded into nothingness as his body was jettisoned through the expanse. Hemoglobin sprayed from his parted lips as he fought to retain his composure and equilibrium, yet the force of the strike surged to an overwhelming degree.

What ensued was the sharp, harrowing sound of bones fracturing, which reverberated across the Layer of Ancients underneath the unrelenting bombardment of the seven shadow-doubles.

Agonizing shrieks escaped Nathaniel as he attempted to twist and parry, yet every maneuver was greeted by a crushing blow from the direction he chose to retreat toward. He could dodge one, two, or even three, but not the entirety of the calculated, devastating strikes raining down from seven different vectors.

Finally, Nathaniel unleashed a primal roar, drawing upon the absolute limits of his cultivation.

His cyan eyes burned into a deep crimson, and raw veins of Qi began to trace across his skin. His blonde hair transformed into an incandescent red, shifting his angelic facade into the likeness of a demon. Succeeding this change, the serpent sigil between his collarbones pulses with life, manifesting as a coiled entity constructed of tainted energy.

Every one of the serpent’s seven heads, each marked with a haunting lily emblem, hissed and slithered with cold precision, wrapping around Nathaniel to form a protective shell. Immediately, it lunged back at the seven attackers, fangs and talons rending the very fabric of space, each impact radiating enough force to potentially shatter reality.

The air surrounding the serpent roiled, creating a battlefield defined by chaotic and relentless turmoil.

A familiar violet bloom manifested upon the beast’s back, prompting Azazeal to sink his teeth into the gargantuan flesh with a manic, deranged glint in his obsidian eyes. The serpent hissed and flicked its tail, hurling the assailant away. In mere heartbeats, the creature surged in scale, looming like a titan.

Nathaniel remained sheltered beneath its belly, protected by a crimson barrier emitted from the clock sigil scorched into the creature’s skin.

He brushed off his wounds as they healed, teeth clenched, eyes fixed with dark intensity upon the fray.

The avatar of Azazeal that had been thrown into the distance erupted in mocking laughter, lazily gulping down the sliver of tainted energy he had torn from his opponent, smacking his lips with a sadistic grin as he beheld the agony contorting Nathaniel’s features.

The exquisite agony Nathaniel suffered as Azazeal consumed the serpent’s flesh far eclipsed the pain he had endured when his limbs were torn or his bones were pulverized.

Watching the pulsing veins on Nathaniel’s brow with malicious delight, Azazeal’s toneless voice rang out in amusement.

"How long do you intend to hide behind pillaged powers like a spineless insect? Are you already so terrified that you must summon your Celestial symbol? I have hardly begun to entertain myself."

He chuckled like a madman, eyes wide and unhinged, as he charged Nathaniel once more, joining his other manifestations in a frenetic, non-stop onslaught.

Amidst the disintegrating dimension, ancient laws were unleashed as Nathaniel contested the frenzied man, who relied exclusively on primal physical prowess and the law of darkness to assault him like a mindless beast. The spectacle grew grotesque—Nathaniel’s expression of torture only served to thrill Azazeal further.

Azazeal began gnawing at the dark power of the Celestial symbol, devouring it with a hunger as vast as the swirling abyss that surrounded them.

Nathaniel cursed, struggling to annihilate the multitude of Azazeal’s bodies. The Celestial symbol functioned as the bedrock of his power—the singular tether binding him to the End.

Under normal circumstances, Azazeal feeding on such spectral energy should not have harmed him. However, Azazeal was consuming his very connection to the End through this link, turning that stolen power against him and sending agonizing shocks through his meridians.

"You monster!"

He bellowed, his raspy voice trembling with rage, echoing against the crumbling horizon of the realm. Azazeal simply laughed, a chilling resonance that caused the atmosphere to vibrate.

He offered no denial. Instead, he retorted with eyes shimmering with mirth.

"Indeed, I am a monster!"

"I do not claim innocence for the deeds I have committed throughout these ages. But if I am a beast... then what does that reveal about you, who are vastly more wretched? A decaying, duplicitous hypocrite?"

"Or perhaps..."

He lingered on the words, relishing the unsightly, frantic expression Nathaniel wore.

"A beggar who possesses nothing that is truly his own?"

Nathaniel erupted in volume, channeling the combined might of the clock, the purple bloom, and the lily, veins bulging as he blasted three of Azazeal’s forms through the ruins. Instantly, they collided in a whirlwind of motion—a speed that no Celestial in the lower spheres could ever hope to track—each strike more savage than the last.

Tragically, unlike Nathaniel, Azazeal possessed no rhythm or refined technique—there was only raw, unrestrained cruelty. Every blow was calculated not merely to kill, but to crush, to torment, and to dismantle his foe’s spirit piece by agonizing piece.

Deep within the chaotic skirmish that sent tremors even to the exterior Celestial world, the ice throne Kyle had formerly occupied had long since disintegrated, along with every surrounding landmark.

Kyle recoiled instinctively yet again as the serpent’s tail lashed out toward him—the unintended bystander. His complexion was pallid as though he were ill, for he alone understood the colossal burden required to prevent the ancient realm from total systemic collapse.

Had he not intervened, the two titans colliding before him would have long since shattered the boundaries of the Layer of Ancients, their tainted energy spilling forth to feast upon the life force of the Celestial realm. Who could quantify the magnitude of lives that would have been extinguished?

He was certain that even their localized strikes were vibrating through the external world. He could sense nature struggling in its restlessness to repel the shadows encroaching upon the combatants, yet both Azazeal and Nathaniel had grown far too powerful.

Currently, the natural order lacked the strength to suppress them.

Just as it lacked the ability to suppress him.

Kyle grimaced as he dodged a stray gust of power, doing his utmost to avoid becoming collateral in their slaughter.

His previous air of amused arrogance had evaporated as he studied the struggle.

He was forced to concede—they were formidable. Unquestionably powerful. Particularly Azazeal, who had yet to even manifest his Celestial symbol, focusing entirely on terrorizing Nathaniel. Witnessing the conflict ignited his own blood, and he found himself unconsciously murmuring.

"I desire to combat them both."

But he understood that should he interfere now, Azazeal would execute his previous threat without hesitation.

So, he restrained his impulse.

Still, something felt peculiar. Like them, he had reached the End, yet they ignored his existence as if he were a ghost. Even Nathaniel, who had been laser-focused on him earlier when he suspected him of being Azazeal’s ally, seemed to have discarded all awareness of his presence.

"How tiresome."

Regardless, he was perfectly content to remain sidelined. This was a conflict thousands of years in the making, one for which a soul had surrendered absolutely everything. He did not wish to terminate Azazeal before his objective was fulfilled.

It was not motivated by pity... truly, it was not.

It was merely a small tribute to a shattered soul that had lost all it possessed, a subtle acknowledgment in a reality that offered no empathy at all.

After all, the man he despised had once insisted that it was beyond late to alter history, and that there was no room for 'what ifs' in this cruel reality.