The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order Chapter 2474 Worlds of the Root

The downpour kept descending relentlessly.

Golden droplets poured ceaselessly through the emptiness, overwhelming the battleground and decimating the Root's monstrous creations in overwhelming quantities. Just one droplet sufficed to slay a Prima Deity-tier horror. Several dozen were capable of ripping an ArchDeity-rank beast into chunks of decaying meat and fading spiritual essence.

It slew without mercy.

The tempest displayed no indications of fading or tiring. It seemed infinite, as if it wouldn't halt until the final remnants of the invading forces were wiped from reality.

Shock and dread widened Robuke's gaze.

On their own, those horrors held no value to him. They served as mere instruments—disposable, brainless manifestations of the Root's intent. Yet assembling such an enormous legion demanded the offering of whole Empyrean Worlds. It involved ceaseless gathering and careful reformation of living forms.

He refused to let it vanish so effortlessly.

Myriad ideas surged in the Root's Monster's thoughts as he frantically sought an answer. He attempted to pinpoint the golden downpour's beginning, to pinpoint its origin, its workings, its vulnerability. He discovered zilch.

He couldn't even figure out its source—how could he halt it then?

A heavy wave of irritation and looming loss wrapped around his core.

'Retreat!' Robuke bellowed, his cry rumbling the emptiness.

For one frozen instant, the Root's swarm halted.

Then they followed the command.

The horrors contorted in mid-air and started pulling back to their realms. Champions and High Lords broke off from their foes, falling back in orderly ranks amid the devastation cascading upon them.

It proved a staggering spectacle.

The fighters of the Nine Empyrean Suns Alliance gaped in astonishment. This marked the initial direct triumph over the Root since the Scarlet King's disappearance.

'KILL!' Anark's shout boomed through the void, yanking them to the present.

The blaze in their souls exploded.

They charged ahead like predators pouncing on injured quarry, ripping into as many fleeing horrors as they could before escape. Swords gleamed. Sacred arts burst forth. Battle shouts resounded in fractured dimensions.

Anark and Meylin stayed far from passive.

Instead, they emerged as the most savage hunters there.

Discarding all protection, they lunged at Robuke with wild intensity. They disregarded the toll on their forms and the gashes tearing their skin. They hacked and battered the Root's Monster with ceaseless rage.

Blow after blow landed on Robuke as he withdrew. He knew full well that isolation on this field would spell his end.

Fury and loathing boiled inside him, building like a tempest on the verge of unleashing.

Yet he compelled himself to hold it back.

He sensed Meylin's stare fixed on him—icy, vigilant, scheming. She awaited the tiniest slip in his temper. The merest flaw.

He denied her that chance.

Throughout the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe, a grand and breathtaking vista emerged. Members of the Six Sacred Races pressed on beneath a darkness lit by golden stellar glow. One lineage, celebrated for holding the mightiest corporeal forms in creation, and another, legendary for unrivaled mental prowess, spearheaded the forces.

Crimson liquid and broken pieces of horrors floated in the cosmos as the swarm drew further away—until finally the tainted Realms of the Root appeared.

They embodied horror themselves.

A pair of Empyrean Worlds had been sewn together like hideous swellings, joined by tendrils of tissue and decay. Throbbing protrusions linked landmasses. Seas of tainted organic mass roiled under a darkness marred by black and red hues.

The Prima Deities had to stop the instant those realms appeared. Mere proximity threatened contamination. The poisonous presence radiating from the merged worlds could warp even godly tissue into fresh monstrosities.

The ArchDeities proved tougher. They carried on the massacre a bit longer, pushing the withdrawing foe. But ultimately, even they pulled back. Lacking the main force, not even the elite fighters of the Six Sacred Races or the Knights of the Scarlet Throne could press forward solo.

In the meantime, Anark and Meylin kept up their attack.

They detected it—the taint seeping into their own frames. Subtle alterations had started at the borders of their skin.

They shared a significant look.

No speech was required.

Meylin empowered her blade and released a wide slash that expanded into a golden tempest, blocking Robuke's sight. Brilliant

force surged out, warping the void and hiding her comrade's

actions.

Robuke bellowed and swung his enormous axe, smashing the golden surge

to pieces.

Amid the crumbling radiance, Anark plunged ahead.

He delivered a blow of vast ruinous force—Primordial Void Force gathered into one crushing hit.

But the move was imprudent.

It brimmed with gaps.

Robuke's gaze sparkled.

Now positioned near the Root's tainted realms,

strength flooded back into his form. The vicious atmosphere of the combined corrupted Empyrean Worlds bolstered him, nourishing his essence.

He readied himself to clash with Anark directly.

'ARRGHHH!' Robuke howled, his axe flaring with tremendous might,

ready to cleave the True Primordial in two.

In the last moment, Anark's eyes flared.

Killing intent. Wrath. Hatred. Bloodlust. A deluge of dark

feelings poured forth.

That sufficed for Meylin.

She shifted instantly before Robuke.

Her golden gaze burned as her left hand thrust out and gripped the falling axe with her index and middle fingers.

Rather than halting it—

She diverted it.

All the force held in the armament was taken in.

Robuke's eyes bulged.

For the shortest flicker, something stirred in them.

Recognition.

Remembrance.

He caught sight of a youth's face bearing scarlet eyes.

'ZNNNNNNNNNN-'

The noise of ripping tissue rang through the void. Directing the consumed force into her weapon, Meylin slashed.

Her blade sliced through Robuke's collarbone, dividing it. The cut didn't pause. It plunged lower, chopping bone, meat, and tainted core—slicing off almost a third of the Root's Monster's

form. 'ARGHHHHHHHHHH!'

Robuke's tormented wail echoed in the cosmos.

Using his leftover vigor, he fell back—plunging into the merged Root Worlds and slamming onto their defiled ground.

Meylin and Anark observed his flight, their expressions cool and firm.

They held back from chasing.

They grasped the fact: entering those realms meant death.

Triumph wouldn't blur their clarity.

Steadily, they collected the chopped pieces of Robuke's form—priceless treasures—and reversed course.

The troops divided as they approached, soldiers eyeing them with reverence

and amazement.

For the first time in epochs, hope seemed solid.

It felt genuine.