Chapter 1204 A Celestial Angel
Arthur's Kingdom of Wrath tore open, and a wave of vengeful spirits crashed into the Empyrean's monstrous creations. Each soul screamed for the justice they'd been denied, their raw fury a weapon against the cosmic abominations. It wasn't a battle of tactics; it was chaos incarnate, a clash of wills that shredded the very fabric of reality.
The Empyrean reveled in the destruction; his eyes wild with a madman's glee. "These creatures embody entire worlds I've devoured! Your pathetic rebellion is nothing against such power!" He held up the glowing cage – the source of his monstrous minions – a cruel trophy collection of broken realms.
Suddenly, the Empyrean's focus shifted. "Ah, so the alchemist escaped? It matters not. He cannot hide from my sight!" A sinister smile touched his lips. "I'll simply paint a trap, a vision in the past, something he'll walk into blindly."
Arthur's heart twisted. He knew the power of time manipulation, the despair of walking into a pre-laid trap. A rage so absolute exploded within him that the clashing spirits faltered for a moment.
"You dare threaten those I protect?" Arthur's voice was the rumble of a volcano moments before eruption. "I've defied fate itself – do you truly think your schemes can stop me?"
His power surged, black lightning crackling in the air, infused with the fury of the storm. The world itself shuddered beneath his will. "You obsess over the worlds you've broken…" He took a step forward, the ground beneath him shattering. "…perhaps it's yours that will crack first."
A mocking laugh cut through the chaos, the Empyrean's twisted visage a mask of arrogance. "Foolish outsider! You have yet to see the true breadth of my reach."
He raised a gnarled hand, and the battlefield itself seemed to still. The spectral clash faded, as did the writhing, cosmic abominations. The very air thrummed with a new, alien presence.
A figure coalesced from the swirling temporal distortions – not a monster this time, but a slender form draped in shimmering silk. Massive, feathered wings, pure as freshly fallen snow, unfolded behind her. Yet, it was the face that chilled Arthur – a mask of perfect, emotionless metal, hiding an unsettling beauty. This was no creation of stolen starlight, but something far more potent.
"Behold," the Empyrean rasped, a tremor of unholy delight in his voice, "an emissary of Devaheim – a celestial being bound to my will. You have faced one of their kind before, yes? Shackled by the pathetic curses of the Red Tower, weakened, diminished." He sneered. "This one knows no such limitations. Here, in this world, she is as close to a goddess as a mortal could comprehend."
It was no wonder that the seer knew what Arthur did in the Red Tower, because he was, well, a seer. Arthur was more surprised to see something from Devaheim in his world. Arthur stood his ground, his Kingdom of Wrath a seething echo beneath the surface of his controlled fury. Yes, he'd fought an angel before – a nameless warrior of Devaheim – and victory had come at a terrible cost. But that victory was a hollow shell. Back then, the Red Tower's curse leeched at the angel's power, turning it into a shadow of its true self. This creature, unbound and unleashed, was a different beast entirely. It was a testament to the Empyrean's monstrous reach, a divine power twisted for his own dark purposes.
Arthur scoffed, a humorless laugh bubbling from his throat. "A goddess? Please, old man. I've stared down a goddess and lived to tell the tale. What makes you think I'll tremble before a glorified errand girl?"
Black lightning tore across the heavens, no longer merely his, but a storm summoned from the heart of the world itself. Reality buckled, the ground groaning in protest. "You brought a celestial to this fight," Arthur snarled, his voice laced with a terrifying promise. "Then watch as I bring down the storm!"
As the first bolts of his unbridled wrath crashed down, the angel moved. She was not merely fast, but as insubstantial as moonlight, shifting and dodging with an impossible grace that mocked the laws of physics. Arthur's lightning, potent enough to pulverize mountains, seared empty air, and the Empyrean cackled in delight.
The angel didn't merely attack; she struck with the conviction of a celestial judgment made manifest. A longsword, slender and impossibly sharp, materialized in her hand. Moonlight seemed to cling to the blade, promising not a wound, but an annihilation of the very essence of Arthur's being.
The first blow was a flicker in the storm-wracked sky. Yet, as the angel closed the distance, Arthur didn't dodge, didn't raise his own defenses. He simply… reached out. Two fingers, clad in crackling black lightning, plucked her blade from the air as one might pluck a flower. Time seemed to stutter. The angel, a creature of impossible speed and devastating power, was frozen in place, held immobile by the sheer audacity of the gesture.
The Empyrean's laughter died in his throat. Arthur grinned, the expression less human and more like the baring of teeth by a cornered predator. His golden eyes locked onto the angel, an eerie glow that pierced the metallic mask.
A tremor ran through the celestial form – not an uncontrolled shaking, but a subtle ripple of genuine fear. She tried to pull back, her wings a frantic blur, but Arthur's two-finger grip held firm. Each flickering bolt of the black lightning was a whisper of promised destruction, a power that pulsed not with temporal disruption, but with something…hungrier.
"You see, little bird," Arthur's voice was a rumble echoing the black stormclouds, "I'm not just a defiance against your masters. I'm a defiance against existence itself. You were made to enforce order, to be a cog in their grand celestial machine."
With a flick of his wrist, the angel was flung aside, her celestial sword shattering into glittering motes that the storm consumed. She scrambled to recover, wings beating desperately, seeking to escape the storm's heart and his terrible gaze.
Arthur let out a booming laugh. "Fly, little angel! Fly back to your masters in that gilded cage you call Devaheim. Tell them I sent you."
He raised his other hand, and the lightning around it coalesced. It wasn't a lance, not a familiar bolt, but an orb of pure annihilating energy crackling with unconstrained potential. The air itself wept at the strain, the ground buckled in protest under this concentrated fury born of an unbound will.
A smirk bloomed on Arthur's face. "And send them my regards."
As the world-ending blast surged forward, the angel didn't fight. She didn't scream, didn't raise any futile defenses. The space around her warped and shimmered, and in a blink, she vanished - snatched back to her celestial realm not through skill or power, but by a desperate plea to whatever gods listened to a failed emissary.
The orb of destruction dissipated harmlessly into the churning black clouds. Arthur lowered his hand, and for a moment, the only sound was the relentless beat of the storm, every rumble a promise that this clash was far from over.
Silence fell like shattered glass upon the ravaged Giant Garden. The Empyrean stood frozen, his eyes wide behind the swirling temporal distortions clinging to him. His moment of triumph had curdled into a shock he couldn't fully comprehend.
The angel… she had fled. Not in a tactical retreat, but in sheer, unadulterated terror. A celestial being, the embodiment of divine order, had broken beneath the unbridled fury of the outsider.
"Impossible…" he choked out, the manic energy that had pulsed around him faltering. "It took ages… lifetimes of study, forbidden bargains struck, sacrifices I cannot even name…all to forge a link, a sliver of control over one of their number… and you…you.."
His rant was cut short as the air thrummed with fresh power. Arthur wasn't pausing, wasn't giving the Empyrean a moment to recover or summon some new monstrous trick from his seemingly endless arsenal. He descended, no longer merely a man, but a titan clad in black stormclouds, the Kingdom of Wrath made manifest.
"You spoke of broken worlds, old man," Arthur's voice boomed, echoing the ceaseless thunderclaps. "I'll give you a glimpse of one that refuses to shatter."
He didn't unleash a single devastating lightning bolt. Instead, the gates of his spectral kingdom swung wide once more. A torrent of vengeful souls poured forth, not a mindless wave this time, but an organized force infused with Arthur's own relentless will. Each soul clutched bolts of raw, crackling energy within their spectral hands – chaotic projectiles shaped from the black stormclouds, potent enough to rip holes in the very fabric of reality.
The Empyrean, his godhood shattered, faced a devastating counterstrike. No escape, no time for magic. The Kingdom of Wrath, a storm of spirits and lightning, slammed into him, threatening to consume everything.
This was the wrath of a man who would defy any god, break any chain, and burn the world to ash if it dared threaten those he swore to protect. And in that singular moment, as reality buckled and howled around the clashing titans, the Empyrean of Yalen knew one chilling truth: he had awoken a monster he could not control.
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