CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 649: Azaron Versus Zolthemir-3

Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor’s countenance darkened, his features hardening beneath the crushing impact of the spectacle before him; this onslaught could gravely wound Crownstar Life Rankers without proper safeguards, but Azaron merely strode through it like a gentle gust, completely dismissing the storm’s ruinous power as if it were utterly meaningless.

‘What sort of bodily might is this?’ he pondered inwardly, his thoughts refusing to calm. Indeed, his father, the previous Emperor, had once recounted the sheer absurdity of the former Wargrave Primarch’s power and physical dominance—a pivotal tale that molded his understanding of the Wargrave lineage. Yet beholding it now, unfolding right before him, his mind inevitably returned to those words about the Wargraves, particularly the Primarchs of that horrifying, monstrous bloodline, entities that transcended all sense and rationale.

Azaron stopped in his tracks, his visage stripped of all feeling, his demeanor as serene and aloof as always, as if these events carried no importance whatsoever in his thoughts. He lifted a single hand deliberately, fingers clenching into a fist, then unleashed a punch skyward with brutal, unbridled strength. The instant his fist stirred, a profound hush ripped across the battlefield—no gusts of wind, no alterations in airflow, no apparent ripples; truly nothing occurred, as if existence itself briefly rejected responding to the strike.

Then the effect arrived—not immediately, but as though the world paused in uncertainty, deliberating how to absorb such a blow and etch it into being.

The raging thunderstorm overhead, seething with world-ending wrath, shattered in an instant. That solitary, heaven-rending punch cracked the boundless, unfathomable sky apart. Lightning vanished as if unreal, clouds evaporated into oblivion, the very firmament purged from above by Azaron’s lone fist, spawning an eerie expanse of absolute quiet.

Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor gaped in astonishment, his thoughts reeling to comprehend the scene. Azaron hadn’t merely obliterated the sky; he dismantled the full energy formation the Emperor had woven inside it, crumbling the assault’s core with casual ease, as though it had never been at all.

Ender reappeared in Azaron’s grip once more, only to fade away just as swiftly, retreating to his soul like it had never been called forth. Unlike his clash with Valentine, the assassin guild master—which he had intentionally dragged out for amusement—this encounter demanded no such leisure. No mercy, no extended battle; he would etch utter hopelessness into the Emperor’s essence, then terminate his wretched existence, guaranteeing no others would ever breach those limits again.

Existence flickered for a split second, and in that fleeting instant, Azaron vanished, materializing high above where the Emperor hovered. With zero pause or hesitation, he twisted in midair, driving his heel into the Emperor’s jaw with a catastrophic, bone-crushing blow. Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor rocketed downward anew, his form slicing the air like a flaming meteor before slamming into the ground below—yet on contact, all havoc ceased, the impact’s fury neutralized as he precisely drained the energy fueling it.

The straightforward reason he failed to siphon the momentum from Azaron’s strikes was their blinding speed, outpacing his awareness and reflexes entirely. He simply couldn’t match it, registering only endless torment, surge after surge of merciless agony overwhelming his nerves.

As his boots struck the earth again, Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor’s aura detonated savagely, a roaring blast of might exploding outward while he amassed every scrap of absorbed energy, every ounce of his inner reserves, squeezing and honing it into one dense focal point, ready to discharge it in a cataclysmic burst.

"DIE!!!" he roared at maximum volume, his cry shredding across the battlefield as he thrust his fist straight at Azaron, positioned right in front of him.

Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor surrendered completely in that instant, overwhelmed by utter despair and desperation. As a Crownstar Life Ranker, the vast quantity of energy his bloodline let him absorb and hold was not just immense—it was inconceivable, far beyond the grasp of ordinary minds. If he unleashed it all at once, the entire Empire would vanish, turned to absolute nothingness without a single remnant left.

That was precisely the goal of this devastating strike.

A massive, incalculable torrent of energy exploded outward, surging like a ruinous tsunami of total destruction. It didn't just seek Azaron; it engulfed all in its path, reaching far beyond him. Space cracked and splintered from the immense force, all sound vanished completely, colors drained from the world, and reality itself threatened to unravel. Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor poured his full might into this one overwhelming assault, which would draw Azaron's blood for the first time in decades if left undefended.

Facing the Empire-shattering wave of energy barreling toward him, Azaron stayed utterly composed. He could have easily sidestepped, evading it without effort and letting it rush past, but countless citizens sensed their clash's shockwaves from thousands—even millions—of kilometers away. Should this blast reach them, none would survive; not even his own people in the Wargrave Ducal lands would escape the wipeout.

Though Yveric’s Word Law could manage such a catastrophe, Azaron preferred not to risk it. Deep down, unspoken, he cherished his people dearly.

"You truly are pathetic to the end, Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor," he declared calmly.

His Astra energy roared through his Astra veins more fiercely than ever, exceeding even the power shown against Valentine—this called for utmost intensity. With one thought, his Nebula affinity activated, and from its depths emerged the Void. Without pause, Azaron invoked it, and the Void obeyed instantly.

A profound black void of devouring emptiness invaded reality, unfurling like a force from the darkest abyss. Upon appearing, it consumed all—light, air, oxygen, molecules, space, time—it devoured, obliterated, nullified everything. Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor’s desperate attack slammed into it head-on, but no clash occurred, no battle of powers; the Void simply engulfed it entirely, along with all else in its grasp.

Molten earth chunks, fractured rocks, ruined terrain—all tore loose, pulled inexorably into the growing Void. Yet right as it threatened to spread more, it halted abruptly, locked in place by Azaron’s flawless command, for he had called it forth and alone shaped its hunger.

With the energy wholly devoured, Azaron dismissed the void with a mere thought, and the immense emptiness retreated to its origin. Light flooded back, broken space mended, reality steadied as if the cataclysm never happened.

Silence then blanketed the battlefield once more—heavy, oppressive, total—as if existence itself paused to recuperate from the colossal event just witnessed.