"She's fast. I am no match for a Demigod. Her speed, strength—everything is far beyond mine."
Evan had known from the start that the fight would turn one-sided.
She was just a champion, at the last stage level, attempting to defeat a being with celestial energy coursing through them.
Although Demigods could wield celestial energy, their bodies were not yet capable of fully containing it.
They had not undergone the transformation to ascend as deities.
Their bodies were only slightly stronger than those of champions, which meant they weren't impervious to injuries or vulnerabilities such as poison.
However, they could harness small amounts of celestial energy—just enough to enhance their physical abilities further.
The true destructive potential of celestial energy became evident only when a god unleashed their full power. Such power was comparable to the devastating force of an atomic bomb.
This was why celestials were not to be underestimated, especially when they went rogue.
When a celestial sought bloodshed, it would inevitably result in an epic and gruesome massacre, leaving even the bravest in awe.
The gods might not sit at the absolute top of the hierarchy—that position belonged to the supreme ones—but those beneath them were expected to worship and obey without question.
Defiance meant certain death.
Earlier, just after Evan had left the restaurant, the tension between them grew palpable, making the air heavy and oppressive.
It was a chilling and dangerous sensation, akin to having a sharp blade pressed against your neck, threatening to slice through flesh and sink deep into the veins.
"If you think I was sent here by Zeus, then you're gravely mistaken," Velen said, her voice low but brimming with intensity.
"Every godslayer seeks his head."
"His tyranny and merciless slaughter nearly rival the atrocities you committed in the celestial realm."
The anger Velen had suppressed was evident in her tightly clenched fists. Her knuckles whitened, her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood.
A yellow mist surrounded the wounds, healing them almost instantly.
A thin mist steamed out from Azrael's wounds, then faded, leaving his skin unblemished.
"Normally, I couldn't care less what Zeus does," he muttered.
"He could burn this planet to ashes, for all it matters to me. But orchestrating my death? My revenge on him is inevitable."
Azrael's voice remained eerily calm, though flashes of his own death kept replaying in his mind—the sudden darkness as his head was severed from his body.
The memory often struck him out of nowhere, forcing his eyes to shut tightly before he could push it away.
"Zeus may not have been the one to strike me down," he continued,
"but when I finally reach the one responsible, his suffering will echo through history for centuries."
Azrael turned his gaze to Velen, who had been circling around his words, as if weaving tension between them.
"So, enough games. What is it you want from me?" Azrael asked, his patience thin.
He knew that when someone took this long to speak their mind, the request would be one not easily accepted.
Velen smirked. "Straight to the point, are we? Very well. Join me. Together, we'll bring down Zeus and Ventus. They killed you, didn't they? Seems fitting that we take our revenge."
Azrael looked at him, unbothered. "I don't need your help," he replied bluntly. "But I do need an army. So, tell me—what's the catch? Why do you want them dead?"
The primary purpose of the Godslayers was to eliminate celestials who disrupted the balance.
Yet, the mere mention of Zeus ignited a palpable fury in Velen.
His rough expression betrayed him, and each muttered word under his breath only added to the tension.
Tracing his lip movements, Azrael clearly caught the words, "I will kill him." muttered with intense malice.
Azrael was certain now—Velen harbored deep animosity toward Zeus. And Velen, in turn, knew that Azrael was the only god capable of matching Zeus, both mentally and physically.
Velen had gathered information about the dark god Azrael from a celestial he had killed.
Though the god was weak, having only recently ascended to godhood, he had lived long enough to witness Azrael's reign.
During his interrogation—if the harsh torture could even be called that—the celestial spilled everything Velen needed to know.
The truth unraveled easily, as if the god were a fool.
Even though the celestial could have fought Velen for hours, perhaps even emerging victorious, the battle was over before it began.
A Godslayer's aura was devastatingly effective against gods, instilling a primal fear that eroded their confidence.
To the celestial, Velen's aura made him seem like a god at the last stage of ascension.
But in reality, Velen wasn't sure he could even survive a fight against a first-stage god. His aura had won the battle—not his strength.
That was the true monstrosity Azrael had created.
"I am not joining some dangerous god's army that will only end up harming humanity. Why don't I just kill you right here?" Velen growled, drawing his sword in a flash.
The movement was so fast that it seemed instantaneous—until he realized it wasn't fast enough.
Before Velen could comprehend what had happened, Azrael was already inches from his face.
A crazed smile spread across Azrael's lips, their faces so close that they could almost kiss.
His glowing red eyes bore into Velen's soul, unblinking and full of menace.
"Eclipse Dominion," Azrael whispered softly.
[-20%]
[Recovery Time: 5 Minutes]
Suddenly, the world shifted. Darkness enveloped everything as if they had been transported into the void itself.
The tables and chairs they had sat on were gone.
Azrael now hovered mid-air, still staring at Velen with an unnerving intensity.
Velen gripped his sword tightly, his palms slick with sweat.
The air felt frozen, making it difficult to breathe.
He could feel the suffocating weight of Azrael's gaze pinning him in place.
He wanted to look away, to move, to breathe, but he couldn't.
'What is this entity? I can't move my body! Those eyes… they're the cause.'
'I'm in trouble. I'm vulnerable right now. If he attacks, I won't be able to defend myself. This is bad—this is very bad!'
Azrael had activated a skill that had won him countless battles in the past—a skill powerful enough to isolate and stop the very flow of time itself.
*****