Chapter 1942: Black Sky Dominion!

Azazel clenched his teeth. The drain of his ability was horrifying. Every heartbeat inside this realm of stillness came at a cost, and now, with the wounds Cain had inflicted, the price was far steeper. His body ached with every movement, his armor fractured in multiple places, yet he didn’t slow.

He flashed forward, a shadow of lethal intent, and in an instant stood before the Primordial. His sword flared with a cold, pale light as he shifted into a striking stance, the blade angled toward Cain’s neck.

"Thump!"

The Depravita was ready to strike when sound had cut through the silence, shocking him to the core

A heartbeat.

That was impossible. In this frozen realm, there was no movement, no sound, no life but his own. Yet the steady, resonant pulse echoed in his ears, and it came from inside Cain’s body.

Azazel’s eyes narrowed. "What is this?"

Before he could think further, a jolt of primal warning screamed through his instincts—louder and more urgent than anything he had ever felt. Danger. True danger.

He moved to strike, his blade cutting through the suspended air—

—and Cain’s eyes began to glow.

The Primordial moved.

Within the gray world, where no one else should move, Cain’s left forearm rose to intercept the sword. The clash reverberated like a muffled explosion. Before Azazel could adjust, Cain’s right fist shot forward, smashing directly into his helmet. Metal dented inward with a sharp crunch.

The stillness shattered instantly.

Air molecules began vibrating again, and the frozen sea below roared back to life. Cain’s words, uttered before being plugged into the grey world, were finally released from the prison of stopped time and rang out like a war cry.

"Ninth Gear!"

Azazel didn’t have a moment to dwell on the words before the storm hit.

Cain’s body swelled as if every vein had been flooded with molten power. World Strength poured into him in torrents, the sheer force of his heartbeat fracturing the sky around them. Blood vessels burst one after another under the strain, but he didn’t care. His gaze was fixed on the enemy before him.

The first punch came.

"BOOM!"

Then the second.

"BOOM!"

Then the third, fourth, fifth—each heavier, faster, sharper than the last.

Azazel reeled as fists rained upon him in an unbroken chain. Cain’s speed reached a whole new level under Ninth Gear, no longer even measurable; his hands blurred into streaks.

The Depravita’s psychic-forged body resisted annihilation with every ounce of its immortal constitution, but the bloody smile spreading across Cain’s face made it clear—he would not stop until there was nothing left to resist.

Punch twenty. Punch forty. Punch sixty!

Each blow carried not just the strength of the last, but more—the destruction compounding exponentially, rising to a crescendo. The air rippled like water under the relentless barrage.

Punch ninety-nine. Cain stopped.

There was only enough fuel left for one more strike. He intended to make it count.

He drew his right arm back. Gravitational force from his Inner Universe spiraled into his fist, pulling the very fabric of space toward it. The weight of World Strength compressed around his knuckles, Star Power detonating through his veins. The sky darkened, an ocean of blackness swirling around his arm, streaked with radiant threads of starlight so bright they seemed to eclipse the heavens themselves.

"Black Sky Dominion!"

The roar echoed across the firmament as Cain drove his fist forward.

The punch plunged into Azazel’s head, shattering his skull. The force sent the Depravita hurtling downward at a speed and momentum that defied reason.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!"

"RUMBLE!"

The impact struck the ocean with such violence that water rose in walls tens of thousands of kilometers high, blotting out the horizon. The shockwave rippled across the entire Everstrife Empyrean World, making the continents tremble.

No one else could have survived that. No one—except a True Depravita.

Cain’s breath came ragged, his chest heaving, but his eyes never left the ocean below.

In seconds, a shadow rose from the depths.

In the blink of an eye, Azazel was back in the sky. His body was a ruin—the barrage had shattered every bone, ruptured every muscle, and collapsed every organ. The final strike had literally caved in his skull, leaving a jagged hole where the brain should be.

And yet... he stood.

The wounds began to close, muscle and bone knitting back together. The gaping cavity in his head slowly sealed over, armor plates reforming like liquid metal. Depravita flesh and blood were born from psychic force itself; as long as they had energy, they were functionally immortal.

Cain clenched his fists. Every drop of damage he had fought so hard to inflict was mending before his eyes. But the fire in his gaze didn’t dim. Red flames burned within his pupils, hotter and brighter than a supernova. He knew the truth: Depravita could be killed—not by flesh or bone being broken, but when all their energy was gone, when their soul finally collapsed.

Azazel’s fingers tightened around his sword hilt. His eyes flashed with rage for a heartbeat... then calm returned. He inhaled slowly, steadying his breath, before speaking.

"I underestimated you, Primordial. I did not believe anyone in this Empyrean World could withstand the power of my Eternity Breaker. Yet the universe..." His voice trailed into a grim smile. "...is full of surprises."

Cain said nothing. He only watched, weighing every syllable, every movement. This man, even after being beaten like a broken doll, even after having his skull crushed and his mind rattled, still held his composure. That made him dangerous—more dangerous than anyone Cain had ever faced.

The killing intent in Cain’s heart grew. Behind him, the phantom of the Primarch of Conquest Leviathan manifested.

It loomed like a living continent, a being larger and more terrible than worlds.

Azazel gazed up at the colossal phantom. His eyes glowed faintly, and in the air behind him, his own manifestation began to take form—a fusion of dark majesty and psychic horror, its features half-hidden in shadow.

One could only see draconic majesty fused with abyssal monstrosity. A serpentine torso braced by multiple clawed limbs. Vast, membranous wings arched from its back, their edges curling like the folds of an unholy shroud.

"We both have cards yet to play," Azazel said at last, "but unfortunately..." His gaze shifted toward the distant horizon. "...it seems we’ve drawn too much attention. Continuing this now will only hinder the fight, and I will not be able to fulfill my purpose."

He locked eyes with Cain one final time.

"We will see each other again, Primordial."

His body dissolved into a stream of psychic power, then shot into the distance, vanishing at a speed even Cain could not catch.