Chapter 22: Head‑on Collision.

While Birand and the Celestial God trade blows like storm against cliff, Abyss slowly withdraws the hand that barred Eli, like night pulling back its tide. He feels a force in the young man that makes even his shadow tremble, like frost biting bone.

At a node above time and space, a man in a silver cloak scans the scene, brow furrowed like a drawn bow under moonlight. His gaze sweeps like a hawk over valleys.

“Abyss Edward, Celestial God Yulia, Netherworld Ghoulia hiding in shadow, Hero Birand, Divine Lord Eli, and Guardian Edlyn all converge,” he says, voice light as drifting snow. “Quite the gathering, though most aren’t at their peak.” He smiles like a knife’s thin gleam.

He draws a broken shard of a sword, the blade chipped like a winter reed, and tosses it down toward Eli like a falling star.

Unseen by Eli, the sword shapes a scabbard of its own, like bark around sap, and clasps to Eli’s back like a sleeping hawk gripping a branch.

Eli’s aura surges like wildfire up a ridge; that sudden rise is born of the blade’s breath.

Abyss says, voice low as an underground river, “You want to go. I won’t stop you.”

Eli glances back, his eyes cool as rain on slate. He hesitates, heart thudding like a drum, then says, “Wait. One more person’s coming.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know them yet,” Eli says, gaze sharp as a blade-edge, tone prickly as thorns.

Abyss frowns, silence deep as a well. He too senses a strange power racing here like thunder rolling over plains.

It’s a pity he’s only an avatar, a moon in water, not his true general’s body; otherwise, fewer waves would break the shore.

The silver‑cloaked man smiles, a crescent under cloud, snaps his fingers—snap—and vanishes like mist at dawn.

Moments later, Edlyn rushes in wearing Demon King black armor, plates dark as obsidian under low fire. Eli casually passes her a mask, light as a butterfly’s wing. She fits it on, glances at Eli, and asks, “What’s the play?”

“Not yet. Wait till the Celestial God slips a little,” Eli says, calm as a lake before rain. “Then we step in.”

“Oh.” Edlyn nods, obedient as night to stars, and moves aside like a shadow settling.

Eli watches Birand fall back step by step, like a tide receding from jagged rock, and his brows knit like storm clouds grading darker.

Abyss had told him Birand should crush the Celestial God’s avatar, like a boulder rolling downhill. So why does it look like Birand’s about to lose, like a candle in a gale?

Birand’s hands become flaming long blades, twin comets blazing through smoke, unleashing power not his own like borrowed thunder. The Celestial God handles and suppresses it with holy calm, like snow smothering sparks.

Birand staggers yet resists, teeth bared like a wolf in sleet. He raises his left hand, and a searing energy gathers from the void like desert heat pooling into a mirage.

Eli’s eyes brighten, a lantern lit against dusk, and a smile tugs like spring wind.

At last, the gathered force erupts from Birand’s hand like a geyser breaking stone.

The Celestial God’s face hardens like marble. She lifts her right hand and releases waves of sacred light, pure as winter sun, to purge that red energy like rain rinsing blood. Then the holy power turns parasitic, drilling into Birand’s flesh like ivy into old brick.

Birand’s expression grows grave, jaw set like iron. He pushes his own force to dissolve that bizarre invading energy, like salt into frost.

Eli frowns, worry tight as a knotted cord. “No good. At this rate, the Celestial God will use that same force to erase him before he draws it in,” he says, voice low as mountain wind.

Edlyn nods, agreement soft as falling ash.

The Celestial God reaches toward Birand’s position, palm open like a net, then clenches tight like a trap snapping.

Birand coughs blood, red as autumn leaves; his body swells like a bellows overfed.

Just before he’s squeezed into a meat patty, Eli draws the Jade Seal Sword. The blade hums like a hidden stream. He secretly siphons away half the Celestial God’s energy in the air, stealthy as a fox through wheat.

The strange energy that was caged bursts through the blockade like floodwater breaching a dam and rains down toward Birand like crimson hail.

Birand seizes the chance. He roars, sound rough as grinding stone, spreads his limbs wide, and drinks the red energy of the void into his body like a desert swallowing storm.

It’s too much. It spreads from his left eyeball like ink in clear water, filling that half‑molten body with surging heat.

At the limit, the crimson energy detonates the magma flesh like fire bursting a kiln; then the mysterious red power replaces the left side, raw as fresh lava turned flame.

His left half is no longer magma. He roars, a volcano taking breath; his frame shrinks back to normal size like a tide calming. The left half becomes pure crimson blaze, clean and fierce, not mottled magma.

Abyss extends his hand, blackness smooth as deep oil. Pure demonic qi slips under the roaring red light like a snake under reeds, slides into Birand’s body, and shields his soul from ruin like a night cloak over embers.

Eli glances at Abyss with a faint smile, cool as moon on water.

Abyss meets the look with warning, eyes sharp as a raven’s beak.

When Birand’s left half is fully energy, the Celestial God pauses, stunned like a deer hearing an old song.

She realizes her cage can’t hold him now, bars thin as frost. In that instant she senses something familiar, a scent from a distant spring.

Birand extends his left hand, riding the surge inside like a rider on a red stallion. He laughs, bleak as wind on cliffs. “Without this state, I’d lose to you soon.”

Abyss suddenly laughs and rises, a black comet off the ground. He hovers above the infinite firmament and looks down at the Celestial Realm like a hawk circling a white plain.

He sweeps his gaze across that realm. Angels he once saved now emit eerie sigils, glowing like fireflies in frost.

Abyss carves script into air, strokes crisp as chisel to stone.

Countless sigils tug at the angels’ inner power like threads pulling silk, and gather overhead like storm clouds knitting.

A satisfied smile touches Abyss’s lips, thin as a blade. He points his index finger at the Celestial God like a judge naming the sentence.

Endless runes turn transparent, glass on dawn, and rush toward her like a school of clear fish, slipping straight into her body like rain into soil.

Her face changes color, shock cold as sudden snow. “What’s happening?!”

She feels the laws around her weakening, pillars softening like clay in rain.

Birand laughs madly, uproar wild as thunder. “Ha ha ha ha! As expected—Abyss didn’t lie!”

The Celestial God stares at Birand, surprise bright as a struck bell.

“Without the interference of law, killing you’s too easy,” Birand says, laughter hard as flint. His left hand becomes a crimson long blade, and he swings at her like lightning cleaving a tree.

She grits her teeth, both hands raised like twin shields.

A massive repulsive force floods toward Birand like a winter squall.

Birand cuts it apart with the crimson blade, shattering wind like dry reed.

He sneers, words cold as iron. “Like Abyss, your true self can’t wake. You send a clone? Then you’re doomed to lose today. Die, God!”

She watches her holy light thin, a cloak fraying in salt wind, while Birand rushes in like a boar through brush. She freezes, mind blank as white chalk.

She’s going to lose? To nothing that happened? To a shift like sand slipping underfoot?

Light fades, pale as a dying dawn.

Birand lifts his blade to draw across her neck, steel whispering like a winter crescent.

The holy light vanishes. A woman stares at the charging Birand, eyes dazed as a lake under fog. She can only wait for the blade’s arrival like a leaf for frost.

Abyss looks at her and blanks for a heartbeat, memory soft as old dust. Yulia appears as she did eons ago, before she became the Celestial God, a spring face under deep time.

As if hearts aligned, Eli draws his long sword. In a blink he’s before Birand, a flash like a swallow. His blade sweeps and shatters Birand’s energy blade like surf breaking glass.

He spins a flower of steel in midair, arc bright as a comet. Behind a butterfly mask, his long hair flies like ravens and snow, and his aura chills the bones like night wind off ice.

“Who are you?” Birand asks, wary as a stag in thorns.

Black and white hair interweave in order, strands braided like yin and yang. A side‑front ponytail sits like danger in a salon, white tips draping his shoulders like frost. A butterfly mask hides his face. One sword rides his back; one rests in his hand, both quiet as sleeping swans. He wears a traveler’s clothes, plain as road dust. His height nearly matches Birand’s. He has an Adam’s apple, a sign clear as a ridge line—he’s male.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Eli says, smile light as drifting petals. “But can you spare the one behind me?”

“Do you even know who that is?”

“I do. The Celestial God,” Eli says, fingers smoothing the Jade Seal Sword like rain over jade. “Kill her, and chaos follows like locusts.”

Birand frowns and scans him up and down, gaze a measuring blade.

Edlyn arrives in the same breath, smile small as a crescent. She forges a memory like a goldsmith shaping fire and slides it into the unconscious Archangel’s mind like a letter under a door. It’s a scene her future self must witness, a seed kept for spring.

Eli glances at Edlyn and chuckles, warm as lamplight. “Wife, what are you up to?”

“Nothing. Just clearing a doubt,” Edlyn says, smile neat as lace.

“Mm.” Eli sheaths his sword, metal whisper soft as falling grain, then feels a strange power at his back like a cold hand. He turns, surprised as a startled bird. “Thias? How are you here?” He shakes his head with a helpless sigh, wind on grass.

Likely the same as when he beat the foreign invader, a pattern repeating like waves.

He burns to know who keeps sending Thias back to his side, curiosity flickering like a blue flame.

Yulia looks at Edlyn and Eli, confusion clouding her eyes like evening mist. “Who… are you two?”

Eli smiles. “Celestial God, we’re here to save you. Don’t ask so much,” he says, voice calm as spring water.

“Even the Celestial God couldn’t beat me. You think you can?” Birand scoffs, derision sharp as sleet.

Eli steps forward and anchors Birand’s explosive killing intent like a mountain catching wind—immovable, granite calm.

“Sorry. You misunderstood,” he says, tone mild as tea yet firm as oak. “I mean I can. Not we can.”

Edlyn eases back one step, faith set like a stone, trusting Eli with her whole heart, bright as a home fire.

Eli looks at Birand. He lowers the Jade Seal Sword, the blade heavy as a promise. “I’ve craved this fight for longer than I can say,” he breathes, hunger old as winter.

“Oh?” Birand’s surprise flickers like a moth near flame.

“At your peak, and me at mine,” Eli says, smile thin as steel. “Only that duel can decide how the fate between us ends.”

“You… have ties to me?” Birand asks, puzzlement loose as drifting ash.

“No ties, avenger. Nothing between us,” Eli says, head tilted like a curious fox. He holds the sword crosswise, and his aura climbs like a storm building over black sea.

His wounds seal under that surge like snow over tracks; now he’s stronger than when he faced the foreign invader, power coiling like a dragon in cloud.

Left hand holds the Jade Seal Sword; right hand grips Thias, twin fangs under moonlight.

Eli smiles, bright as a drawn blade. “Come,” he says. “Life and death—one cut to decide.”