“Ungh!” Birand hung in the air, failed to dodge, and took the Celestial God’s torrent head‑on. The surge slammed him down, a mountain pinning stone.

Birand roared, palms dug into the earth, trying to shoulder that pressure like Atlas and force himself upright.

His left side was molten, smoking like a vent; Birand’s face twisted as he half‑knelt.

Edlyn poked the stunned Akenachel at her side. “Hey, you said Birand surpassed the Celestial God. Why’s he getting strung up and pummeled?”

Akenachel paused, mind fogged. “Uh… maybe his Law isn’t his own, so he can’t wield it. Hm… right now it’s raw power, no roots.”

Edlyn rolled her eyes, annoyance sparking. “What even…”

Across the field, Birand fixed on the Celestial God’s flow, raised his left hand, and a searing geyser burst from his palm.

The Celestial God frowned, raised his right hand, snuffed the crimson surge, then aimed at Birand, palm out, and clenched—an invisible vise.

Birand coughed blood; his body ballooned, swelling like a storm‑cloud under pressure.

Just as the Celestial God was about to mash him flat, like dough under a fist—

He bellowed, teeth grinding, limbs flung wide; crimson fire spilled from his left eye, flooding the molten half like a tide.

At the peak, the crimson surge erupted, shattering the lava like a shell. Then that strange crimson power took over his entire left side.

His left half shed the lava; he roared as his frame shrank back. That side became pure crimson flame, no longer mottled rock and fire.

When the left half fully became energy, the Celestial God stiffened, a chill spreading.

He realized the cage could no longer bind Birand; the bars melted like frost in sunlight.

Birand spread his left hand, feeling torrents inside; he gave a grim smile. “Figures. Without this form, I’d drown under you.”

After that, they stood apart, stunned, eyes locked like sheathed blades, as even the wind held its breath.

After a long beat, Edlyn’s patience frayed; she poked Akenachel. “What’s with this staring contest?”

Akenachel gave a wry smile. “If I knew, I wouldn’t just be an archangel.”

Edlyn sighed, letting the moment drift like smoke, and kept watching.

Time blurred; when the seven archangels on the ground finally steadied like candles relit, Birand’s smile turned cruel.

At last, the Celestial God staggered a step and toppled into the waters of the Spring of Life, like a star falling.

Birand howled with laughter. “Ha ha ha! As expected, the Abyss didn’t lie. Ha!”

The Celestial God stared at Birand, shock rippling like cold water.

He felt his divinity and Law seeping away, like sand leaking from a broken hourglass.

His voice faltered, like wind through hollow stone. “What’s happening?”

“Without your Law meddling, killing you’s easy,” Birand laughed, and his left hand flowed into a crimson blade like liquid fire.

He lunged at the Celestial God sprawled by the Spring, a hawk stooping on prey.

The Celestial God grit his teeth and lifted both hands, a last bulwark like twin pillars.

A massive repulsion surged at Birand, like a tidal wave of reversed wind.

Birand’s crimson blade carved through it, cleaving the force like silk.

He jeered, “Like the Abyss—your true body won’t wake, so you send an avatar? Ha! You won’t beat me today. Die, god!”

The Celestial God watched his holy light thinning like torn gauze, and Birand already in his face; shock numbed him.

His heart stumbled. I’m… losing? For no reason? Nothing happened, and I’m still losing?

The light thinned, drifting away like ash.

Birand raised his blade and drew a red arc for the god’s neck, like a falling moon.

The holy light vanished entirely. A woman stood revealed, stunned, gazing at Birand’s charge, mind blank like white snow.

She could only wait for the blade, like a rabbit under a falcon’s shadow.

Edlyn hopped in shock. “What—what—what— She’s a woman?!”

Akenachel gave Edlyn a look, like a city lord eyeing a village bumpkin.

Before the Celestial God, Birand’s grin bloomed. A heartbeat later, he frowned at his left hand, its blade scattered by some unseen force.

“Oh hey. Just in time—almost late. My bad,” a voice chimed, light as wind.

Birand turned, eyes snapping like cold flint.

He stood on the steps nearby, right hand’s index and middle fingers pointed like a forked bolt at the dissipated blade.

He’d sent some unseen energy, a silent arrow, and snapped Birand’s blade.

“Who are you?” Birand growled, voice like gravel. His severed left arm budded back, flesh like molten wax.

He laughed. “Who I am’s not important. But can I ask you to spare the girl over there?”

Birand raked him up and down with a hunter’s gaze.

His hair was black and white in alternating strands, tied in a front side ponytail, white tips draping like frost over his shoulder. A butterfly mask hid his face. Two longswords crossed on his back like wings.

He wore plain traveler’s garb, laziness hanging on him like dusk. He stood about Birand’s height, Adam’s apple visible. A man.

The exposed half of his face seemed to smile, yet the curve was wrong, like a crescent with a crack.

He looked harmless, a paper lamp in rain, yet he’d snapped Birand’s manifested arm like a twig.

Irritation pricked Birand’s brow. Who was this guy?

Resolve hardened in him like iron. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t stop Birand.

“So what, a girl moved your heart? Playing the hero to rescue the beauty?” Birand sneered.

He waved fast. “Whoa, nope. If I fall for her, someone might kill me…”

Annoyance flared. “What do you want? If you’ve got nothing, move,” Birand said coldly.

He sighed. “Fine, I’ll keep it brief. This state burns out fast,” the masked man said, shoulders loose as willow.

In the next heartbeat, before anyone could blink—

He whisked out the blue longsword and severed Birand’s left arm again, then sent a palm strike like a crashing wave.

Birand stalled, and the palm hit him like thunder, sending him flying.

He sailed away from the collapsed Celestial God, distance opening like a tear.

The masked man offered a hand toward the Celestial God. “May I ask your name, miss?”

A strange ache tugged. A name? No one had asked in eons.

Something in her loosened. “Yulia,” she said, as if pulled by a thread.

“Good, Miss Yulia. Please heal your six Angels; we’ll need them,” the masked man said, bowing.

Birand seized the opening; his new left arm flowed into a sword. He blinked behind the masked man and thrust for the heart like a comet.

The blade passed through him clean, and the masked man began to fade like mist.

Irritation sharpened. “An illusion?” Birand frowned, then slashed behind him.

Clang!

His strike met the masked man’s blue sword, a deafening clash ringing like sky‑iron.

Frustration bit down. “Damn that sword!” Birand snarled and kicked for his gut.

The masked man drew his other green sword and chopped at Birand’s foot, a jade flash like lightning.

“Hmph!” Birand snorted, breath like smoke.

He still planted a kick in the masked man’s belly, blasting him away like a kicked drum.

But the green blade’s light bit into Birand’s foot, a cold bite like winter.

It sheared off his lower body, clean as a guillotine through rain.

Shock jolted him; Birand’s face finally shifted.

A thread of fear tugged. What in the world were those swords?

The masked man tumbled through the air, then steadied, rubbed his belly, and chuckled. “Badass, as expected!”

Meanwhile, Celestial God Yulia rose from the Spring’s waters and moved to the Angels, like moonlight crossing a lake.

She lightly touched each Angel’s forehead, a dew‑soft blessing.

The Angels slowly closed their eyes, like petals folding at dusk.

He knew Yulia was healing the Angels, but Birand ignored her and flew for the Spring of Life, hunger like a tide.

With no Celestial God to bar him, all he needed was to sink into the Spring’s heart like a stone.

But the sudden, mysterious man barred his path again, a shadow crossing the sun.

The masked man tapped both swords to the ground, and the world flipped like a painted scroll.

The place shifted into the First Heaven District.

Suspicion narrowed his eyes. Space shift… or illusion?

Unease pricked him. Why did his Law keep failing around this man?

“Not that easy, Birand. How about a couple rounds?”

Rage snapped. “Move!”

Birand roared, voice like thunder over cliffs.

His crimson blade already met the masked man’s twin swords, sparks flying like meteors.

They traded blows, wave after wave, and neither yielded; balance hung like a scale.

A weirdness seeped in. Birand’s senses twisted.

Unease deepened. It felt like fighting a mirror.

“Hey, bro, chill—everything’s negotiable.” The masked man’s sword‑qi swept like storm lines and cut Birand into three pieces.

The three pieces shuddered and knit back together in midair; Birand reformed and slashed at the masked man.

“Die!”

They collided at light‑like speed, streaks crossing like shooting stars.

Each clash tore the Celestial Realm, opening vast rifts like black rivers.

They ignored the wounds in the sky and kept trading cuts, like hail on iron.

There, after Yulia healed several Angels, a white‑haired girl appeared beside her, wearing the same mask, like a twin moon.

She smiled, warmth like spring. “Leave the rest to us.”

Curiosity and caution tangled. “You… who are you?” Yulia asked.

The masked girl paused, fingers on her chin like a painter planning a stroke, then turned her gaze to Edlyn.

“Hey, guess what I’d say,” she teased.

Surprise pricked her. Was she talking to me?