Primordial Sin System Chapter 593 --The Doom Saint (Part 1)

Like fragile glass, the void fractured apart. Beneath Dave's feet, the terrain shifted once more as the token obtained from vanquishing the Void Monarch disappeared in a brief gleam of light.

Solid ground met his landing—yet the surrounding world bore no resemblance to what it had been.

A crimson sky hung above, glowing faintly like an expiring ember. The atmosphere pressed down heavily, completely devoid of sound.

Twisted and shattered angel statues littered the barren wasteland. Fragments of colorful stained-glass panes lay entombed beneath thick ash deposits.

Ruins of what was once likely a grand temple now remained—a relic of forgotten sanctity.

'This spot feels just like those boss arenas from video games in my past life.'

Dave scanned his surroundings before a smile crept across his face.

"They're really setting the atmosphere," he murmured.

A gentle voice resonated from behind a toppled pillar's shadow. Steady. Composed.

"You've come this far, then."

A towering figure emerged into view. Draped in lengthy, billowing white garments—frayed at the arms, charred along the hems.

His expression stayed serene, movements elegant, every gesture resembling a holy ceremony.

Six wings shimmered in his wake—formerly pristine, now marred by veins of tarnished gold.

Above his head floated a halo, not radiant but wreathed in dark, flickering fire.

His eyes parted open. Gentle gold. Yet their tranquility held no mercy—only verdict.

Dave cocked his head. "You resemble a priest from some ancient cathedral. Except far more accursed."

A subtle smile touched the man's lips. "I am known as the Doom Saint Uriel. A name bestowed by those terrified of the unknown."

"And you?" Dave inquired, his gaze sparking with thrill.

"Sermon time, or are we throwing down?"

The Doom Saint lifted his hand. Within it, golden radiance coalesced, twisting oddly—sacred might corrupted. Illumination meant not to mend, but to annihilate.

"No sermon here," he responded. "Merely a straightforward trial."

Fissures split the earth.

Corrupted holy spears plunged from above. Followed by more. Then a barrage. They descended as a lethal downpour—stunning and fatal.

Dave streaked across the sky, evading them effortlessly. Yet one nicked his cheek.

Instantly upon contact, an odd feeling coursed through him. Beyond mere hurt—something weightier.

"...Regret?" he breathed, taken aback.

That fleeting graze flooded his thoughts with a murmur. Urging him to cease battle. To submit. Claiming his deeds had gone too far already.

A grin spread over his face.

"Impressive move."

He lifted his arm. Chaos energy erupted forth, a turbulent vortex repelling the golden barrage. The spears crumbled to powder.

Unperturbed, the Doom Saint advanced gradually.

"Your power remains sharp," he murmured gently. "Excellent."

Dave blinked, momentarily puzzled. "You talk as if you've witnessed my battles before."

"I have beheld many things," the saint replied evenly. "Enough to recognize that strength isn't invariably pure. At times, it dons another guise."

"Skip the deep thoughts," Dave retorted. "Let's hear from your punches."

He lunged ahead.

His footfall splintered the ground as he surged forward. Fist directed squarely at the saint's visage.

Clang!

A luminous shield halted his blow. It flexed yet held firm. Radiance exploded outward between them in a golden blast wave.

The saint then repelled him, forcing Dave to slide back.

"Hmm," Dave grumbled, brushing dirt from his jacket. "Solid guard you have."

"I'm not blocking your path," the Doom Saint stated. "Just gauging your current self."

Dave offered no reply.

Golden chains burst upward from the soil underfoot, seeking to ensnare his limbs. One snagged his ankle—divine force surged through it.

Guilt struck with greater force this round.

Images surged: those he had wounded, moments of excess, decisions bearing lasting wounds.

His grin wavered for an instant. "Not amusing."

Chaos detonated from him next. The chain fragmented, holy essence evaporating into vapor.

"I've changed from before," he grumbled. "So quit dredging it up."

The Doom Saint's gaze sharpened. "Thus, you evolve."

Both palms ascended, summoning twelve apparitions behind him—spectral saints clad in saintly garb, wielding flaming blades each. Faceless, bearing only luminous halos and fiery stares.

"They sacrificed for truth's pursuit," the saint declared. "Now, they shall probe yours."

The spectral saints charged.

Dave held his ground.

The lead one slashed its blade; Dave sidestepped and retaliated. Fist crashed into its torso—it persisted.

Rather, it struck back.

"Not mere phantoms," Dave discerned. "Actual... souls?"

He evaded a swing, launched a kick sending one airborne, then vaulted to smash it earthward with his elbow.

One flanked him; twisting in flight, Dave harnessed its inertia to crash it against another.

Every hit dispersed them into radiance—yet fading cries echoed. Subtle. Remote. Echoing lingering agony.

"That's pretty twisted," Dave grumbled.

"Their choice," the Doom Saint countered. "Service even beyond death."

Dave dabbed blood from his mouth.

"That's loyalty," he remarked.

"Loyalty grows scarce," the Doom Saint responded. "You once evoked it, ages past."

Dave halted. "Sounds like you knew me back then."

Yet the Doom Saint stayed silent.

He moved already.

Abruptly, Dave sensed it—intensified divine force, much more crushing.

BOOM!

The saint bridged the distance, driving a palm into Dave's torso, hurling him into a fractured marble pillar. Debris erupted around him.

No wounds from the crash—but the sensation lingered. That sacred energy anew. As though appraising more than flesh.

Slowly he rose, cracking his neck.

"Fine. Playtime's over."

His chaos presence ignited fiercer. The earth quaked underfoot.

"Held back 'cause your style clicked with me. Now I'm intrigued."

The Doom Saint brandished his blade of sacred light, shadowed deeper. "Prove it, then."

Dave bared his teeth in a grin, eyes alight with raw combat hunger.

"With pleasure."