CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 605: Stanza

With a singular, deliberate motion, Debro sheathed the katana he had just drawn. In that instant, the sky literally collapsed, yielding to his Technique as if the heavens themselves were bound by his command.

A silver deluge of sword-lines materialized, descending upon the forest like a voracious maw, dominating everything within a fifty-kilometer radius. Before the strike even made contact with the earth, the landscape—the towering trees, the rivers, and the soil—began to disintegrate under an apocalyptic pressure, as though reality itself were being methodically dismantled.

Gazing at his creation with a mixture of reverence and pride, Debro marveled at this testament to his mastery. His dark eyes flickered toward Asher, radiating absolute certainty of the boy's imminent demise. This confidence was not born of conceit but of the rigid Wargrave family codes, which strictly governed the growth of their kin.

Throughout the Zarethorn Empire, it was known that the Wargrave Suns and Moons were forbidden from utilizing techniques they had not forged themselves. To rely on borrowed arts was an affront to their principles; thus, the family provided no training manuals, forcing their members to carve their own unique paths toward power.

This raised an impossible question: could Asher, having been an awakener for a mere year, truly have developed a Technique strong enough to withstand such a devastating blow?

In Debro's mind, the answer was a flat denial.

While the Suns and Moons were capable of creating rudimentary arts, their lofty standards and bloodline demanded only perfection. Despite the impossible feats Asher had already displayed, Debro remained convinced that such a level of profundity was beyond the boy—a fatal miscalculation.

Asher watched the colossal strike descend. His heart thundered against his ribs, the specter of death looming as he felt the very river beneath him being erased by the sheer gravitational pull of Debro’s Technique.

During his time in the Star Academy Training Facilities, Asher had dedicated a month to crafting his own rapier Technique. It was simple to create something basic, but he had spent weeks refining a style that reflected his true essence. Now, he was finally testing that culmination of effort in the crucible of battle.

A wide, exhilarated grin broke across his face. Fear and anticipation surged within him, clashing in his veins. He settled into a stable, refined stance, knees dipped, his rapier gripped firmly at his side.

Every stray thought vanished. Silence reigned in his mind. Debro, the academy mission, his own excitement—all faded away until only he and his art remained, the only things that mattered in that fleeting moment.

He unleashed it, shouting the name of his Technique as if engraving it into the laws of Crymora, a strike designed to fell deities and mortals alike.

Lightning, his most destructive element, served as the foundation for this first stanza, embodying raw, unbridled annihilation.

A gargantuan purple dome of ionized energy erupted silently from Asher, expanding to cover the entire fifty-kilometer battlefield.

Changing his posture, Asher lunged upward. The dome shifted into a Domain, manifesting countless lightning-forged slashes that tore through the air, vibrating with an Armageddon-level intensity.

His strike soared to meet the descending sky. As the two forces collided, time seemed to fracture. The world convulsed in hesitant silence before a supernova-like blast erupted, washing over the world of Crymora with absolute ferocity.

Everything in its path vanished. The landscape was not merely harmed; it was obliterated, reduced to nothingness, defying any possibility of reconstruction.

Even these descriptions paled against the carnage, where a vibrant tapestry of colors and shockwaves tore through the horizon. Within a hundred and twenty kilometers, nothing remained but silent, desolate ruins.

Reality itself seemed to buckle, unable to contain the law-shattering destruction wrought by these two titans.

Debro reeled from the shockwave, his body pummeled by the residual energies. He struggled to comprehend the sight before him, his focus trapped on the sheer impossibility of what he had witnessed, even as his own flesh suffered under the brutal backlash.

Gritting his teeth, he activated his Friction Manipulation to divert the tides of destructive force, simultaneously cauterizing his wounds to regain his footing.

Asher, however, lacked the luxury of contemplation. With his Star Form fading, he acted with ruthless immediacy.

He teleported behind Debro, preparing to repeat his devastating lightning strike. It was a kill-or-be-killed moment.

Debro pivoted, his katana flashing to meet the threat, refusing to succumb once more. But then, a voice—familiar yet distant—echoed through the very fabric of space.

There was no blinding discharge of raw power this time. Unlike the lightning stanza, this second phase was defined by absolute silence and the partitioning of space.

It was a strike of clinical, lethal precision.

The air where Debro’s neck resided suddenly severed, leaving no window for parry or evasion. Hearing the delayed echo of Asher’s voice, Debro attempted to dodge using his speed-enhanced reflexes, vanishing from his spot.

As he reappeared, he froze. A bloom of agony flared as his head detached from his shoulders, and a spray of crimson mist painted the air. He realized, too late, that the voice had been a ruse—Asher had spoken only after the strike had been completed, executing a perfect deception.

By utilizing his clone to feign the initial rapier technique, Asher had lured Debro into the opening. The bitter, cursed confrontation of love and hatred reached its violent conclusion, leaving behind only the apocalyptic ruins to bear witness to the magnitude of their clash.

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