Celestial Bloodline

At the same time, outside a huge golden castle floating in the vast expanse of dark space—surrounded by many other towering castles that glimmered in the distance—the noise of countless agonizing screams echoed like broken records across the vast void.

The agony they felt as they were crushed was beyond anything one could imagine.

The deafening silence that followed was broken by a boisterous laugh, laced with thrill and chilling, dark excitement.

Azazeal floated at the very heart of the chaos, his dark hair drifting in the still air.

His obsidian eyes, each glowing with two purple slits in the middle, were hollow yet burned with purpose as they locked onto the laughing false version of himself. His lips stretched wide into a twisted smile.

Around his still figure, six imposing, tall, breathtakingly ethereal figures hovered in the dark void—each identical to him, each drenched in the deep crimson blood of the many Celestials they had mercilessly slain.

Their presence radiated madness and wrath, the aftermath of a desperate path Azazeal had carved out for vengeance.

Two and a half years ago, after waking up in the dark, foul-smelling place where Kyle had discarded him like trash, he had made a choice no sane being would consider. He shattered his soul into seven pieces, each piece cast out to grow, to hunt, to evolve—becoming stronger at a pace no one in the Celestial Realm could ever hope to match.

He killed. He stole.

He hunted for forbidden treasures.

He burned sacred Celestial abodes to the ground and devoured natural laws, forcing even the skies above this pristine realm to mourn with storms of blood and ash.

He wandered across more than one-tenth of the Celestial Realm, driven by a singular, burning obsession—power and strength.

There was no rest, no peace.

Only the need to grow stronger.

The craving was so all-consuming that he no longer cared about anything else—not even his sanity or soul, both weakening under a pressure far beyond their limits.

But it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

Not pain. Not death.

As long as he could stand equally against his so-called dearest friend—the one who betrayed him—and give that bastard a fate worse than death, he was willing to pay any price, even if it meant destroying himself.

After all, he was already dead inside. So, what was the point of trying to survive?

He would go all out to reach his goal.

Azazeal glanced at the bloodied, crushed bodies strewn across the grand staircase descending from the floating golden castle—their souls scattering in terror. Tilting his head with a twisted smile that sent shivers through even the powerful, fleeing souls of the winged Celestial guards his fake bodies had slaughtered within the Rulers' Domain, he spoke in a dark, yet bewitching voice.

"Where is he?"

The impact was immediate.

His voice froze everything and everyone around him. The purple and crimson aura that radiated from him was unlike anything else—similar to Kyle's in its pull, yet far, far darker. While Kyle's aura inspired devotion in the hearts of the weaker Celestials who saw it, Azazeal's demanded enslavement.

It completely gripped the minds of all the Celestials who even thought about serving him, drawn in by his ethereal yet eerie aura.

Yet Azazeal had no interest in enslaving those who had once served that bastard.

So, as his voice faded, the Celestial aura surrounding him surged outward, instantly wrapping around the necks of every fleeing soul, suffocating them with pure dread.

The winged Celestials, once the powerful guards appointed to watch over the Rulers' Domain, now shrieked in terror, their cries echoing through the vast, starless void.

"I said, where is he?"

This time, the aura radiating from Azazeal erupted outward. In the very next moment, the towering golden castle in front of him—a symbol of power and majesty—shattered and was obliterated, reduced to dust.

The golden fragments scattered through the air, sending shockwaves of pure horror through the countless powerful Celestials silently witnessing the chaos from afar.

They had already branded Azazeal—this unknown dark Celestial—a madman. Not only had he dared to barge into the Rulers' Domain and slaughter the guards in their absence, but now he had taken it even far—obliterating one of the tallest and grandest castles, belonging to one of the strongest Rulers in this part of the Realm: Nathaniel.

He was insane. Who else would dare to make enemies of the Rulers so openly?

They all watched in silence as nothing remained of the once-glorious castle. Not even the servants or the souls of the dead inside had survived—each one obliterated, reduced to nothingness before Azazeal.

One of them shook his head.

"He's going to meet an ending worse than those Celestials who were cast into Hell's Layer. Foolish. Why stir such chaos? With more time, he could've ascended from the peak of the 6th stage to the final 7th stage—becoming an esteemed Ruler himself."

The old man released a sigh.

"After all, even at the peak of the 6th stage, he's still leagues below the Rulers—a single blow from them could easily kill numerous Celestials at his level. This pitiful Celestial… why has he chosen such a doomed path?"

Many Celestials near the old man nodded their heads in agreement upon hearing his words, yet none made a move to intervene in the chaos Azazeal was unleashing.

They were not Rulers, nor did they involve themselves in the affairs of the Rulers or their intricate politics—let alone concern themselves with the matters of others.

They were old Celestials who spent their days in deep meditation or slumber within secluded space pockets they had crafted—endlessly attempting to break through the bottleneck that hindered their progress, a limit no amount of power or treasure could overcome, as if nature itself had denied them the right to ascend any further.

They only interfered when someone dared to extend their senses near their secluded space pockets—punishing those Celestials who broke the unspoken rule forbidding the use of one's senses in the Celestial Realm. Ca+t-c*h& the f*orm+att$e^d [email protected]@ at M%|#V|@LEM_.PYR.

However, their old hearts jolted when, from behind the seated old man who had just spoken, a familiar, chilling voice echoed.

"Right? Such foolishness."

Azazeal caught the old man by the neck just as he tried to flee before his very eyes. The elder thrashed, only to gasp as his life force was relentlessly siphoned away. His eyes dilated as the dark figure behind him whispered coldly and without emotion.

"So chatty. You seem far more informed than the others. Why don't you tell me where the person I'm looking for is?"

The old man clawed at his hand, trying to unleash his natural laws, but every attack was swallowed by the swirl of purple and crimson energy surrounding Azazeal. In the end, he could only choke out a few words.

"The La...yer of the three Ancients...!"

Azazeal raised a brow.

"I was wondering why I didn't find a single Ruler around. Turns out those bastards all went to grow stronger in that ancient place that opened two years ago—after the Hell's Layer ceased to exist for some reason..."

He tightened his grip on the old man's neck. When he vanished, all that remained of the old man was dust. Those who witnessed it shuddered and fled in fear. To think the old man was at the peak of the 6th stage of the Celestial rank, equal in strength to Azazeal—yet he was slain with such terrifying ease.