The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 2101: The shooter’s identity

The darkness came without warning.

It struck like a meteor — sudden, absolute, and merciless. Before Meylin or Amazo could comprehend what was happening, the impact hurled them both in opposite directions.

The sword was wrenched from Amazo’s chest as his body flew backward. Jets of golden blood erupted from the wound, the damage so immense that the light in his eyes dimmed, his consciousness slipping away into the deep black of a coma. The fact that he was still alive after having his heart pierced was proof of how monstrous his vitality truly was.

Meylin, on the other hand, barely survived the blast. The strike nearly pulped her body, her limbs twisted and bones groaning under the strain. Only the burning resilience of her Depravita Aura and the life force coming from the Scarlet Throne kept her from collapsing entirely, its light knitting her flesh together.

Her vision blurred, but Meylin clenched her teeth, forcing the haze away. Her breathing steadied; her mind sharpened.

Then she saw him.

A man stood amidst the broken light of the chamber, a tall figure cloaked in shifting shadow. His face was hidden behind an obsidian mask. From his back sprouted tendrils — dark, writhing things of corrupted matter that twitched like serpents hungry for flesh.

Meylin’s eyes hardened instantly.

"Black Mask."

Her voice dripped with venom. The name alone was enough to twist her stomach with loathing.

It was bad enough that she had just faced Amazo, one of the most powerful Archdeities of the Freedom Path, but now the second-in-command of that same faction had appeared — right when her body was broken and her strength fading.

Black Mask’s laughter echoed through the chamber, a deep and oily sound that made the air shiver.

"Well, look what we have here," he said, spreading his arms. "Meylin — a True Depravita. And, more importantly..."

His tone turned sharp, filled with hatred that sizzled like acid.

"...the partner of that bastard."

The last word came out as a hiss. The tendrils behind him trembled violently, dripping with black energy.

Meylin’s expression turned cold as ice. She could feel the malice radiating from him, the foul hunger in his aura — and it made her sick. Yet, her disgust only seemed to thrill him more.

He tilted his head, his voice lowering into a mockery of sweetness. "Now, little muse... be a good toy and lie down."

The only answer she gave him was a glare so sharp it could cut through steel. Killing intent surged from her like a frozen gale, so potent that even the shadows quivered.

She burned her essence, forcing her regeneration into overdrive. Her left arm regrew in a spiral of violet light, flesh and sinew stitching themselves together with a hiss. Abyss and Hell shimmered back into her hands, their edges trembling with restrained power.

Taking a slow breath, she activated the Eye of Gluttony on her forehead. It flared open, drinking in the lingering energy that still hung thick in the air. Her power swelled, not to its full strength, but enough to fight.

Black Mask’s laughter deepened, guttural and cruel.

"Ah, still defiant. Good. That makes this fun."

He blurred forward. The tendrils on his back elongated, twisting into massive spears of corrupted matter that screamed through the air.

Meylin moved, though every motion sent pain lancing through her body. She bent and twisted in ways that defied gravity, using The Flow to slip through the gaps of the attack. The spears carved through the air, exploding on contact with the crystal floor. The impact alone was enough to shake the chamber, but she kept moving — flowing, evading, waiting for an opening.

Her body screamed with every step. Her breath came ragged. Blood ran from her lips.

But she endured.

When the rhythm of the tendrils faltered — a flicker in their pattern — she saw her chance.

Meylin lunged forward, weaving between the black spears like a shadow caught in starlight. Her twin blades flashed in unison, crossing at his neck like silver scissors.

For an instant, she thought she had him.

Then something burst from his chest — a massive tendril, as thick as a tree.

It struck her full-on.

The blow launched her across the chamber, slamming her into the crystalline wall with bone-cracking force. Blood sprayed from her mouth as she crumpled, her vision flickering in and out.

Black Mask’s laughter filled the air once more, giddy and vile. "You almost got me, little one. Almost."

Meylin tried to rise, but her legs gave out. Her body trembled, the damage too severe.

One of Black Mask’s tendrils shot forward, coiling around her neck before she hit the ground. It lifted her effortlessly into the air, holding her aloft like a trophy.

Her feet dangled inches from the floor. The pressure on her throat tightened until she could hear her bones creak.

A wave of twisted satisfaction rippled through his aura. He leaned closer, his mask reflecting her pale, defiant face.

"Don’t worry," he whispered. "There’s still plenty of fun to be had. And when I’m done, I’ll make sure he feels every bit of it."

Even as her vision darkened, Meylin’s eyes remained sharp, burning with cold fury. She said nothing, but the look she gave him was enough to silence even the laughter for a heartbeat.

He chuckled again, low and dark. "Still defiant. I like that. Now, let’s—"

"ZNNNNNNNN!"

The air split with a piercing crystalline sound.

The tendril strangling her exploded into fragments.

Black Mask froze, his body jerking as the shock of the sudden blast hit him. Shards of corrupted matter rained down, hissing as they dissolved into black mist. Meylin fell to the floor, coughing violently, one hand gripping her throat as she gasped for air.

Black Mask’s head snapped toward the direction of the shot, fury blazing in his soul, as he recognized the shot. It was the same one that saved the Scarlet King.

Recognition hit him like a hammer.

"YOU!" Black Mask roared, his voice raw with disbelief and hatred.

Meylin turned her head weakly, her vision clearing just enough to see the newcomer. The shock that seized Black Mask echoed within her chest as well.

The newcomer stepped into full view, his aura filling the chamber with a warmth that cut through the lingering darkness.

It was a young man — graceful, composed, and terrifyingly radiant. He had white hair, crimson eyes, and a radiant smile.

Her lips parted in disbelief.

The one who had fired the shot was none other than the Crimson Exarch.