Celestial Bloodline Chapter 960: Do you regret it II

While Kyle felt a surge of panic, a hoarse, ragged voice resonated from the center of the gloom. The tone was strained and coarse, imbued with a spiteful, twisted amusement, as if the speaker were mocking himself as much as his victim.

"Hehehe... shriek for me! Plead for mercy! Beg this monster to spare your pathetic life!"

It was unmistakably Azazeal's voice.

His words were immediately drowned out by a piercing, agonizing scream that tore through the surroundings, chilling the very marrow of all who heard it. Even the vacant space within the shadows began to warp and distort.

Kyle peered back, his vision piercing through the gloom in a way no other could.

Far off, enveloped in swirling darkness, one of the seven identical entities encircling the seven-headed serpent—which had now lost four of its heads—was slowly and ruthlessly mangling someone’s heart.

It appeared that after drawing further power from outside the Ancient Realm, Azazeal had instantly devoured four of the snake’s heads. Nathanael’s energy was so abruptly depleted that he failed to channel sufficient power into the Celestial symbol that guarded him.

Kyle watched as Azazeal proceeded to finish crushing the palpitating heart held within his grasp.

Even then, he did not pull back. His obsidian eyes burned with ecstatic madness, and blood dripped like molten crimson from his clenched fist. Around him, his remaining six forms effortlessly tore through the last three heads of the thrashing, colossal beast, consuming them with calculated precision.

Azazeal leaned down close to the tormented man’s ear, his voice sounding like grinding stone:

"This is merely mortal suffering... and yet you are already bereft of hope? Then... what of the agony, the eternal torment I have endured!"

He let out a violent cry, jerking his hand back with such force that blood sprayed into the void. He watched with grim satisfaction as his opponent clutched his hemorrhaging chest, howling in raw agony.

The body of the seven-headed serpent disintegrated, dissolving entirely into nothingness.

The barrier maintained by the clock symbol around Nathaniel shattered into countless fragments, drifting into the abyss like dust before vanishing.

The very darkness that cloaked Azazeal seemed to pulse with wicked delight, vibrating in harmony with its master’s triumph.

Nathaniel’s features were ghostly pale, his crimson eyes bloodshot, and his hair hung in a tangled, perspiration-soaked mess. His once-pristine celestial form, usually capable of daunting those beneath him, now appeared decimated; every backward step betrayed the excruciating pain emanating from the gaping hole in his chest.

Had his powerful soul not been actively laboring to weave a new heart within his cold, dying frame, he surely would have succumbed to the relentless exhaustion and the sheer weight of enduring days of constant assault.

"You... you...!"

He gasped, his voice fracturing under the pressure of fury, disbelief, and a long-buried sensation—dread—as he struggled to hover steadily amidst the darkness.

Azazeal’s lips tilted into a sinister smirk. Although his black robe remained intact, it failed to conceal the malevolent aura erupting from him. His handsome face was marred by jagged, glowing fractures, pulsating with dark energy.

Every patch of exposed flesh was etched with these fissures, suggesting that even his physical vessel was struggling to contain such overwhelming power.

"You... you... what?"

He mocked with icy disdain before breaking into laughter. Nathaniel retreated, desperately attempting to summon his remaining reserves, his frantic red eyes scouring the area for a path of escape. He had drastically underestimated this insane brute; Azazeal possessed far greater strength than he had ever anticipated.

Though Nathaniel could still utilize his soul’s essence to contend, he feared risking the core of his existence. Logic dictated that flight was his only remaining option.

Nevertheless, the humiliation and agony inflicted upon him by Azazeal would be etched into his memory forever.

He would recover, restore his vitality, and muster his allies. Then, he would return to dismantle this madman—name him a devil to all—and compel him to shriek for a quick end!

Every ounce of torment he had suffered would be repaid a thousandfold.

Azazeal’s eyes glinted as he observed Nathaniel's withdrawal, a cruel smile playing on his lips. How could his enemy think of escape when all paths were occupied by Azazeal’s own manifestations?

Did the fool truly believe he possessed the fortune—or the ability—to slip past him?

The arrogance of the thought was laughable.

Azazeal gestured, and the shadows surged forward, ensnaring Nathaniel. He attempted to break free, but the darkness dragged him back with merciless intent.

A sickening, wet sound of flesh being rended echoed through the void, followed by the harrowing wails of a soul being crushed within the black mouth of the shadows. It was a tableau pulled directly from the gates of hell. The architect of this suffering—Azazeal—remained unmoved, his gaze wild and his movements erratic, radiating pure, unadulterated cruelty.

Kyle’s brows furrowed, his hands curling into tight fists. Thoughts raced through his mind—eventually, he would be the one forced to face Azazeal. Against such terrifying power, could he prevail?

For the first time since arriving at the End, he felt a tremor of uncertainty, a doubt regarding the path that lay before him.

He was powerful.

Exceedingly powerful. He was well aware of this.

He harbored no doubt in his ability.

Yet, Azazeal appeared his equal, if not his superior. Unlike Kyle, the power surging around Azazeal seemed sentient, ravenously consuming everything in its vicinity and expanding with every passing second.

Kyle lost the desire to watch further and averted his eyes, his mind effortlessly constructing intricate arrays to contain the growing darkness while he weighed his potential responses. Ultimately, his inscrutable gaze grew sharp.

"If the worst should come to pass..."

"...I will ensure you fall beside me."

Abruptly, his body recoiled as an incredibly soft whisper permeated the wails swirling in the darkness, causing a cold shiver to run down his spine.

"Do you... do you... regret this?"

The words hung in the air, disjointed, as if the dazed speaker were interrogating his own soul rather than addressing another. It sounded as though the final vestiges of his reason were agonizingly questioning the purpose of his journey—why he had endured such suffering, and why the path he had chosen had culminated in this endless torment.

Just for this purpose?

The man received no reply. Amidst the silence, he answered his own query.

"I do not."

With that finality, the noise inside the darkness ceased. The silence was soon shattered by loud, incandescent shrieks: 'It is not enough! Not enough! How dare you! How dare you!!!'

Hearing these outbursts, Kyle realized that their target had shattered so quickly that Azazeal had lost his composure, baffled that someone could break so easily when Nathaniel had not endured even a fraction of what he himself had been forced to suffer.