The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order Chapter 2473 Noah's Flood

The emptiness blazed anew with massive surges of demise and ruin.

The core forces of the Nine Empyrean Suns Alliance gained no backup troops. No fresh battalions surged from concealed realms. No concealed armaments abruptly came to light.

Yet somehow, their strength surged higher.

The cause was straightforward.

A possibility of triumph now existed.

Fighters didn't truly require grand speeches or elaborate tactics. What drove them was resolve—that unyielding faith in success. Even during the bleakest moments, a faint glimmer of hope would be clutched tightly. If they held the conviction that the flow of battle could shift and adversaries could be vanquished, their spirit would ignite fiercely, smashing through personal barriers time after time.

The emergence of a formidable Alpha Omega Overgod from an alien cosmos had delivered just that spark.

The True Primordial and the True Depravita unleashed every shred of their bodily and spiritual vigor and grit. They launched strikes together, zeroing in completely on injuring Robuke. The pain to their own forms didn't matter one bit to them.

Why should it?

Thanks to the Samsara Runic Set and the Depravita Constitution, their physiques held almost endless healing capacities. They could suffer huge torment and brutal gashes as long as they dug even worse damage into the Monster of the Root.

Despite facing two foes alone, Robuke kept his footing.

However, moment by moment, the fight turned tougher for him.

His frame was grotesque and durable, but his recovery lagged far behind his rivals'. Each grave injury he endured chipped away at his fighting strength just a touch—and that slow erosion posed a real threat.

With a savage bellow, Robuke hefted his axe and crashed it into Anark's chest. The hit ripped a enormous gash and flung the True Primordial tumbling back into the void.

In that exact moment, Meylin materialized in his path.

Her sword carved into his shoulder, slicing to the bone and torching the festering tissue in its trail. A scorching mental blast chased the slash, shaking his thoughts for a split second.

Robuke ground his teeth but stayed steady. He shifted his axe to his opposite grip and lashed out in a vicious upward sweep, slamming into Meylin's features and flinging crimson droplets across the emptiness.

But prior to any triumph, Anark returned.

The True Primordial streaked back like a purple meteor and rammed his fist into Robuke's torso, right over the heart. Primordial Void Force exploded on collision, fracturing ribs and hurling the horror spinning through the cosmos, coughing up globs of deadened blood.

That opening was precisely what Meylin required.

Her gashes mended swiftly, bathed in golden radiance that knit tissue and framework. She shot a look at Anark. Nothing was spoken—just a subtle acknowledgment.

They charged ahead as one.

Through each clash, they synced with one another's flow. Their synergy grew sharper, their moments more exact. Beat by beat, they advanced.

Not losing even the tiniest pulse, they continued their barrage.

Their confrontation burned so fiercely that space-time crumbled over and over near them. Existence splintered and rebuilt in wild patterns,

blocking any approach from those beneath Alpha-Omega Overgod rank.

Not that concern was needed.

Over the warzone, the Root's Champions and High Lords clashed in desperate duels against the Alliance's peers. The top fighters of the Six Sacred Races, the Scarlet Throne's Knights, and innumerous bold and dauntless giants released torrents of power that even shocked themselves.

They shattered boundaries. They shrugged off fatigue. They consumed their vital years without a second thought.

Even so, amid their courage and force, the battlefield's balance edged toward peril.

Regarding ultimate elites, the Nine Empyrean Suns Alliance stood equal to the Root.

But in sheer count—they were utterly overwhelmed.

For each Arch-Deity the Alliance deployed, the Root unleashed ten.

For each Primordial Deity, a full hundred marched from the Root. Though the Alliance's champions wielded superior prowess and finer artifacts, raw volume eventually swayed the fight.

The Root's swarms knew no end.

Robuke poured all his might into the fray. Even with vast scars marring his decaying body, a warped grin twisted his lips as he glimpsed developments beyond the skirmish.

The monster legions crept nearer to the Everstrife Empyrean World.

"I may not defeat you two," Robuke spat, his voice laced with poison, "but I will still see your world rot beneath our might."

Anark ground his teeth.

He longed to bellow rallying cries, to command greater effort from the troops—but the reality hit hard. They were already expending it all. Essence. Spirit. Vitality. Lifeblood.

And yet, the abomination surge couldn't be halted.

Robuke thrived on that helplessness.

But when his eyes flicked to Meylin, despair wasn't there.

He beheld icy resolve.

Steadfast waiting.

A silent assurance.

"What is she waiting for?" he pondered.

As that notion flashed through his thoughts, the void over the battlefield started

to shimmer.

At the outset, it was subtle—like remote stars sparkling to life. Then further glows emerged. Scores. Hundreds. Endless golden flecks crowded the heavens like a fresh star cluster.

"It's about time," Meylin murmured gently, her tone serene and measured. Then a call resounded—not just over the battlefield, but through the whole cosmos. It thundered across all reality, as though borne on an invisible stream coursing through every part of being.

"Noah's Flood."

The golden gleams took solid shape.

They turned substantial.

And then they descended. Meteors—myriads of them—cascaded quicker than light. Each blazed across the void with deadly aim,

crashing straight into the Root's masses.

The destruction was cataclysmic.

Gruesome howls rang out over the battlefield as the Root's horrors were shredded by the plummeting stars. The golden downpour bored through tainted forms, crushed skeletons, and obliterated warped spirits.

Thousands perished in each instant.

The emptiness brimmed with bursts of black ichor and tumbling corpses as

the brilliant projectiles kept falling without cease.

The war's momentum quivered.

For the initial time since the Universe Will grew mute, the Root's relentless push faltered.