Primordial Sin System Chapter 594 – The Doom Saint (Part 2)

The crimson sky split apart.

Dave's chaos aura erupted like a massive surge, thrusting away the intense weight of the divine glow. Tiny pits formed in the burned ground under his feet as he shot ahead. This round, no more probing—he was all in.

Halfway through, their fists smashed together—chaos clashing with tainted holy force in a dazzling burst.

The earth ruptured below them.

Whatever structures lingered in the distance turned to dust. The broken statues liquefied from the sheer power unleashed in their collision.

Dave skidded back several meters and popped his knuckles. His smirk widened.

"Now that's what I'm talking about."

The Doom Saint stayed silent. His face remained composed, yet his gaze intensified. Golden lines pulsed on his arm as divine energy swelled once more.

He lifted two fingers—and the heavens obeyed.

A huge circle of fiery golden radiance materialized overhead, rotating deliberately. Within, old angelic symbols twisted, forming like an enormous barrier.

Dave glanced upward. "That's new."

A lone ray plunged from the circle—noiseless and swift. It struck near Dave's feet, fusing the soil into glass.

Then a second. Followed by more.

It turned into a relentless barrage—hushed, accurate, unending. Every ray carried heft. Each one quaked the terrain with sacred might.

Dave bolted ahead, dodging the strikes like a phantom.

"Trying to cook me from above?" he yelled.

He leaped upward, targeting the circle with a punch—yet a gleam blocked his path.

The Doom Saint had arrived first, blade poised in flight. His slash held perfect efficiency, as though time warped to accommodate it.

Dave parried with his arm, but the force hurled him back to the dirt. He crashed down, carving a depression around him.

He rose, brushing soil from his face.

"You fight like someone who's always been strong," Dave remarked. "But you're holding something back."

The saint offered no denial.

"I'm watching," he stated. "Not to win. But to see if your spirit is still the same."

Dave narrowed his eyes. "You keep talking like you know me."

The saint gave a subtle smile. "Maybe I do. Or maybe I just understand power when I see it."

Dave couldn't pinpoint the man's angle, but clearly, death wasn't the goal. That opened space to escalate.

Dave balled his fists. His aura detonated anew, fiercer and wilder. The earth buckled—the fissures raced outward for miles.

"Alright, then I'll show you something real."

He disappeared.

He rematerialized behind the saint.

A single solid blow.

It struck Uriel's flank, hurling him airborne for the first time.

The Doom Saint smashed through ruined pillars, bouncing along the ground until he halted in a skid.

Dust cleared, and he rose again, grinning.

"That strength… it hasn't changed."

Dave scowled, approaching. "You keep saying stuff like that. You testing me for someone?"

"In a way," the saint answered. "You were once a ruler many feared. But some... followed."

"I don't care who I was," Dave declared. "I care about now."

"Good," Uriel replied, lifting his sword anew. "Then fight like the man you are now."

They rushed forward once more.

This time, Dave unleashed fully. His punches blurred faster, every hit rippling shockwaves over the field. The saint countered blow for blow, his blade weaving trails of golden light.

The surrounding air fractured.

In every clash, Dave sensed it—the saint wasn't merely defending. He was scrutinizing. Analyzing. As if victory wasn't the aim, but comprehension of Dave.

Dave evaded a slash, spun, and drove an uppercut into the saint's gut. Golden sparks erupted from the hit.

The saint grunted yet held firm. He pressed his palm to Dave's chest.

"Seal of Judgment."

A radiant symbol ignited, forcing holy force into Dave's frame. His knees wobbled briefly—but then he burst out laughing.

"That's your move?"

He unleashed his chaos aura. The symbol cracked apart.

Dave seized the saint's arm, wrenched it, and yanked him near.

"I've fought monsters, demons, gods. You think a corrupted halo scares me?"

Their gazes locked.

For the first time, the saint appeared… content.

"You haven't changed," he murmured. "That's enough for me."

Dave blinked. "What?"

The saint retreated a step and sheathed his sword.

"You passed."

Dave gaped in disbelief. "That's it? We were just getting started."

Uriel's wings tucked away, the halo's flames softening.

"I wasn't here to kill you. I was sent to judge if you were still worth following."

"Following?" Dave arched a brow. "You're weird."

The Doom Saint let out a gentle laugh.

"In time, you'll remember. Until then… just keep moving forward."

A glow enveloped him.

Dave pulled back on instinct, bracing for a strike—but it never arrived.

The radiance consumed Uriel completely. His tainted wings crumbled to dust, his blade dissolved, and his form dissolved.

Just his serene voice lingered.

"When the time comes, I'll fight for you again. Not as a judge... but as your sword."

Silence descended once more.

Dave lingered there, fists tight, aura raging. Gradually, he eased up.

"Tch. What a strange guy."

He scanned the area. The field lay still, though residual power hummed in the air.

He examined his token.

A new one materialized in his grasp—fashioned like a fractured feather, split gold and black.

"Another victory," he grumbled. "But that didn't feel like a win."

He gazed at the blood-red sky, gradually shifting to dull gray.

Out there somewhere… that saint held significance from his history.

For an instant… Dave nearly recalled something.

He dismissed it and pivoted away.

Stronger foes awaited.

No time for lingering.

........

In another place.

Golden beams filtered through the Temple of Light's stained-glass panes, painting gentle hues across the gleaming floor.

The hush within felt serene… yet hollow.

A robed figure knelt by the doorway, broom in grip, methodically clearing wind-blown petals.

His silver locks bound back. His golden eyes, hinting at a subtle corruption, tracked the broom's steady motion.

Few noticed him.

To others, merely the cleaner. Taciturn. Devoted. First to arrive. Last to depart.

Yet under that tranquil mask, emotion stirred.

Uriel halted briefly, gripping the broom with both hands. He lifted his gaze slowly, peering at an unseen sight.

"You are back…"

His tone stayed hushed, barely audible.

"I can still feel the chaos in his strikes."

He shut his eyes, summoning the visions—the warzone, the blazing judgment circle, Dave's smirk amid shredding sacred assaults with raw might, and the final instant... when Uriel ended the trial.

"Still the same fire… still untamed."

A soft grin curved his mouth.

He rested against the broom's shaft.

"How long since I last saw him like that? Not as a ruler. Not as a god. But just… a warrior."

Steps resounded nearby. He half-turned, spotting a temple knight strolling past.

The knight nodded curtly. "Good morning."

Uriel inclined his head respectfully. "Peace be with you."

As the knight departed, oblivious to the identity before him, Uriel eyed the towering statue dominating the temple—the Goddess of Light's majestic form, glowing and tranquil, lids shut in endless calm.

"She knew," Uriel breathed. "She always knew."

He recalled his initial arrival.

Worn. Exiled. Shattered.

A deity-slayer.

A rebel archangel who rejected his innate order.

Yet… she hadn't rejected him.

Instead, she handed him a broom and uttered solely:

"If you cannot lift your sword for the heavens… then use your hands to keep them clean."

It meant mercy.

But also… restraint.

"Even she doesn't forget," he whispered. "But she forgives."

He resumed sweeping.

One sweep. Two. A mundane chore. Yet it granted him moments.

Moments to observe the world's shifts.

Moments to endure.

Moments… to gauge if his former liege from a lost era could reclaim the journey.

"I'll keep watching," Uriel murmured. "Until the world is ready… or until he remembers."

The breeze stirred anew, ushering fresh petals via the wide entrance.

He cleared them silently.