The Invincible Young Master

Chapter 253 - 253 - Fiend Lord Azeroth

When the last ripples of distortion finally vanished, the void fell into an unnatural stillness.

There were no remnants of the attack left behind. No shattered fragments, no fading traces of miasma.

Only Reynold remained, standing alone in the endless emptiness.

Fractured light wrapped around his body in slow, uneven pulses, yet his posture was relaxed, his breathing steady, as though the clash that had just ended had been no more than a passing disturbance.

Then his eyes lifted.

Far above him drifted the remaining dark sphere. Its glow no longer held the might it once possessed. Instead, it pulsed weakly, unstable, like a dying star struggling to maintain its form.

Before Reynold could take another step, the space before that sphere cracked open without a sound.

The void split apart like brittle glass.

From within the crack, an enormous serpentine head forced its way out. Two vast crimson eyes, each as large as a small star, flared with naked fury as they locked onto Reynold.

Its scales overlapped like drifting continents, dark and dull, carrying an abyssal sheen that swallowed light. The moment its head fully emerged, a crushing pressure rolled outward, heavy enough to suffocate thought itself.

Then another crack opened.

And another.

The void tore again and again, each fracture giving birth to another colossal serpent head. They were identical in shape, yet each radiated its own killing intent, sharp and distinct. The emptiness trembled under their combined presence, as though reality itself was being stretched past its limit.

When the Eighth head appeared, the tearing finally stopped.

Eight immense serpent heads now hovered across the void, spread wide in a vast arc, surrounding Reynold from every direction. Their gazes converged on him, burning with unrestrained hatred.

Each one was vast beyond reason, its sheer size rivaling mountain ranges, their presence pressing down like a boundless ocean.

Had such beings descended beneath an open sky, the world beyond would have collapsed in moments. Nations would have fallen. Continents would have shattered. All life would have bent beneath their shadow. This was no longer a creature of the ethereal manifestation realm.

A true calamity, an existence far beyond mortal understanding, one that demanded fear, reverence, and submission simply by existing.

Yet Reynold showed none of those things.

He raised his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the full sight before him. Despite the crushing pressure bearing down from every side, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"So," he said calmly, "you've finally decided to show your real body."

"Fiend Lord Azeroth."

Within the records of Human Emperor's era, there was a passage that spoke of a nine-headed serpentine fiend.

It was described as an abomination without limit, its growth unending, its flesh regenerating no matter how much was destroyed.

Among all the enemies the Human Emperor had faced across his reign, only two had ever driven him to the edge of defeat.

The Mother Witch… and this creature.

The records said that during their ancient battle, the Emperor had managed, at terrible cost, to sever one of Azeroth's heads.

Even then, killing it had proven impossible. Its body refused to die, endlessly repairing itself, growing stronger with time. No method of annihilation could keep up with its regeneration.

In the end, there had been only one choice.

Seal it.

At the height of that war, the records claimed, Azeroth's true body had stretched across an entire continent, its massive coils blotting out the horizon itself.

And now, that fiend's Eight colossal heads stared down at Reynold, crimson eyes burning with unrestrained fury as the void trembled beneath their presence.

The sealed calamity had awakened.

"You are worthy," Azeroth intoned.

Its eight voices overlapped, merging into a single thunderous declaration that rolled through the emptiness like collapsing worlds.

"Truly worthy enough to die in my presence."

The crimson eyes fixed upon Reynold burned brighter. There was no mockery in them now. Only acknowledgment.

"For a mortal to ascend so far," Azeroth continued, its tone carrying a trace of respect, "to force his way into a celestial state while a false divinity tears his flesh apart… you are only the second being in all of history to truly surprise me."

A slow, heavy breath rolled through the void.

"Now I understand why that little vessel dared to threaten me. She claimed her brother would come. That he would avenge her."

Reynold's lips curved slightly.

"You've mistaken me for someone else," he said calmly.

A deep, rumbling echoed from Azeroth's many throats.

"Then it must be the other one," the fiend said dismissively. "It makes no difference. Once I am fully free of this place, I will find him myself."

"For destroying my divine stars," Azeroth declared, "I will wipe out everything connected to you. Your bloodline. Your allies. Your legacy."

Its eyes narrowed. "Nothing will be left behind."

Reynold's gaze did not waver.

Be it man or a beast, among ascendants, the road ahead was harsh and absolute. Upon stepping into the ethereal manifestation realm, one condensed their accumulated power into stars within their inner world, secondary cores that governed life, matter, and existence itself.

To advance beyond that stage was to refine those stars into divine stars, each one an embodiment of law, authority, and personal truth.

And he had burned one of it's divine stars with his flames.

The two celestial spheres revolving above Reynold's head, slow, steady, solemn, like a king's halo, were not truly his.

They were copies.

Reflections torn from another divinity and forcibly bound to his will. A path that devoured its traveler even as it granted power.

"Now," Azeroth said, all eight of its colossal mouths opening as one. "Perish."

Deep within those gaping maws, light began to gather.

At first it was wild and unstable, barely contained, spilling outward in chaotic waves. Then it compressed. Layer upon layer folded inward, crushing itself tighter and tighter.

The immense glow shrank, becoming smaller with every breath, yet the pressure it radiated multiplied. Space around it fractured, folding inward as though reality itself were being squeezed to its breaking point.

Reynold's face turned serious.

He did not hesitate and brought out his artifact sword.

The instant his fingers closed around the hilt, the weapon answered. This time, it was different.

The blade no longer felt sealed or restrained. Radiant light surged along its length, ancient inscriptions flaring to life one by one, as though the sword had been waiting, enduring, for this exact moment. This was its true state, its authority finally unlocked by Reynold's ascent.

He gripped it with both hands, planting his stance as the fractures of light beneath his skin blazed brighter, crawling across his arms and chest.

"Sword," Reynold said softly, his voice calm despite the annihilation forming before him, "let me see your strength."

The blade responded.

Its glow exploded outward, erupting into a towering pillar of blinding light that surged upward through the void, piercing layer after layer of darkness as if it meant to split the heavens themselves.

Above him, the two divine stars trembled, their rotations speeding up, their radiance deepening in answer to the call.

Across the emptiness, the sphere of destruction before Azeroth had shrunk to a fraction of its former size. Its surface quivered violently, the pressure within it so dense it distorted everything around it.

Then,

FWAAA-

The sphere was released.

It fell toward Reynold like the verdict of a fallen god.

The condensed sphere tore through the void, crushing space as it descended. Cracks spread wildly in its path, spiderwebbing across reality itself, entire stretches of existence shattering like thin glass unable to bear its weight.

Reynold felt the annihilation rushing toward him.

He raised his sword high above his head.

The pillar of radiance bound to the blade surged upward in response, roaring brighter, denser, as if the sword were drawing a final breath before releasing everything it had left.

"Sever the world before me," Reynold said, his voice calm amid the collapsing void.

"Absolute Cut."

He brought the blade down.

For a single, stretched moment, time halted.

The descending sphere of compressed divinity and the rising blade of light met at one infinitesimal point. There was no clash, no explosion, only a silent tear, as though reality itself had forgotten how to react.

Then sound vanished.

Color followed, draining away until nothing remained but pale emptiness. Space fractured outward from the point of contact, layer after layer of the false realm collapsing in on itself.

The warped flatlands, the fabricated skies, the twisted laws enforced by Azeroth's authority, everything folded, cracked, and disintegrated, breaking apart like brittle glass reduced to dust.

When sensation returned, Reynold found himself drifting in an endless white.

There was no ground beneath him, no sky above. Direction meant nothing. Distance could not be measured. It felt like standing on the blank page left behind after a story had been violently erased. The ruin lord's constructed world was gone, leaving only this empty aftermath.

The divine glow around Reynold flickered.

Only then did the weight catch up to him.

A heavy fatigue seeped into his limbs, sudden and overwhelming. The fractures of light beneath his skin dimmed and flared unevenly, their rhythm broken.

He lowered his gaze to the sword still in his hands.

Cracks spread across its once-perfect blade, branching outward from the edge, faint motes of light leaking from each fissure. The sword trembled, not roaring with power now, but holding together through sheer resolve.

"You did well," Reynold said quietly. "Thank you."

As if in answer, the blade released one last gentle shimmer. Then it began to break apart.

Its form unraveled into countless points of light, drifting away like fireflies before fading into nothingness. When the final fragment vanished, Reynold's fingers closed around empty air.

Then he lifted his head, his eyes sharpening despite the exhaustion weighing him down.

"Well then," he murmured into the boundless white, "one down… seven to go."

Far in the distance, something stirred.

A massive shape emerged from the haze, descending slowly, relentlessly, as though gravity had returned for it alone.

One of Azeroth's serpent heads, cleanly severed, fell into the endless whiteness, its colossal form rotating as it sank.