Cain did not allow himself to be distracted by the bloodshed raging below. It was true that he enjoyed control and growth in his domains, but this was not the ti to play the hero. Every second spent ddling in local conflicts was another second for Azazel to plot against him. And if the Depravita won... the fate of the Everstrife Empyrean World would be far darker than anything this continent had ever seen.
With that thought anchored in his mind, Cain continued flying across the land, the wind screaming past him as he pushed his speed to the limit. He crossed jagged mountains, endless battlefields, and oceans whose waves glowed crimson under alien skies, until finally, he left one continent behind and entered another.
His destination was the Necrosol Continent.
The na was fitting—almost painfully obvious—once one looked upon it. A perpetual mantle of clouds blanketed the entire sky, but it was split in two halves as if the firmant itself had been carved down the middle.
One half was absolute darkness, thick with the aura of death so potent that even most Divine Cultivators could not fly through it without being dragged down and smothered. The air there was heavy, oppressive, as though the weight of millions of extinguished souls lingered in every breath.
The other half was radiant, majestic, overflowing with an essence of life so vibrant it seed endless. Its glow washed over the land like a constant dawn, breathing vitality into the soil, the rivers, even the stones themselves.
Cain’s flight carried him toward the source of the death aura first. After a few more hours, he finally reached it—his true destination.
Before him rose a mountain of such staggering scale it seed to pierce the very roof of the sky. The summit was lost beyond sight, vanishing into the dark clouds. The entire surface flowed with a fusion of fla and darkness that rippled like molten stone yet burned with an unnatural cold. It was less a mountain and more a colossal, silent monunt to oblivion.
They called it the Finger of Death.
The na wasn’t particularly creative, but Cain had no interest in poetic titles. His eyes shifted across the horizon—and there, in the opposite direction, he saw its counterpart: another impossibly vast mountain, almost identical in shape, but suffused with overwhelming life and vitality. Its glow was brilliant and majestic, a pillar of golden light that seed to hold up the sky itself.
That was the Finger of Life.
Together, these two mountains were responsible for the life-and-death mantle of clouds that covered the entire Necrosol Continent. And they were not just natural wonders—they were the headquarters of two fearso Oga Lord-tier organizations.
The Finger of Death was ho to Amon’s Witchcraft Heaven. The Finger of Life belonged to Archdeity Bael’s Brightmarch Heaven.
The idea of two Oga Lord-tier factions establishing their strongholds on the sa continent was absurd. The territorial nature of Archdeities was legendary; most would sooner burn half the world than share a holand with an equal rival. And yet, for reasons no one had fully uncovered, Amon and Bael had done exactly that.
The result had been predictable—countless clashes between their organizations, battles that shook the skies and poisoned the seas. The two Archdeities themselves had fought more tis than history could rember, yet after millions of years, neither had been able to prove themselves superior. Neither could drive the other out and claim sole dominion over Necrosol.
At first glance, it might seem that Cain should approach Bael. The Archdeity of Brightmarch Heaven radiated life, which, to the naive, might suggest kindness or at least openness to diplomacy. But Cain knew better.
From the stolen mories of the World Breaker and the Lord of the Last Step, Cain understood Bael for what he truly was: a headstrong, prideful being who despised being told what to do. Worse, he would almost certainly resist the promulgation of the Scarlet Path within his territory—unless he was subjected to imnse pressure and intricate sches over a long period.
In truth, Cain found it easier to manage a homicidal maniac obsessed with power than a self-proclaid savior who secretly murdered anyone who irritated him. And so, Amon—dangerous, unpredictable, but straightforward in his malice—was the better choice.
His decision was made before he even set foot on the continent.
Cain hovered in the air, his gaze fixed on the Finger of Death. A small clone of psychic power erged from his Soul Dinsion, its form translucent but radiating intent, and began to drift toward the mountain.
Unlike with Divine Sea Heaven, Cain intended to maintain a low profile this ti. If Brightmarch Heaven didn’t realize he was eting with Amon, all the better.
It did not take long for a spark of darkness to erge from the mountain. It floated toward him, growing larger and larger until it flared open into a flaming portal. The depths of the gateway were impossible to see; beyond was only a void of burning shadow.
Cain smiled faintly. Without hesitation, without fear, he stepped forward. The battle with Azazel had made it clear he was not invincible, but that didn’t an he would sell himself short. His power was still at the peak of the world, and if this was a trap, he would simply tear it apart—and claim a new soul for his throne.
Fortunately, no such trap awaited him.
On the other side, Cain was t with the sight of a massive dark do, its interior swirling with overwhelming energy. The air was thick with arcane power, almost liquid in its density. At the center of the do stood a man.
He appeared to be in his middle years, with striking black hair, eyes like polished obsidian, and a long dark robe embroidered with runes that shifted and writhed as though alive.
Cain’s brows lifted slightly in surprise.
The man noticed—and smiled.
"What you saw in our last encounter," he began, "was my Natural Inherence. It’s like a battle armor fused directly to my body, exponentially increasing my resilience and the potency of my spells. It can even rge with my Alter-Ego, enhancing its strength to... rather enjoyable levels."
Cain’s gaze narrowed. He had expected Amon to be open to negotiation, but his deanor was far friendlier than anticipated—almost disarmingly so.
Amon caught the flash of suspicion in Cain’s eyes and chuckled.
"Hahaha. It seems even the mighty Scarlet King can be surprised."
The smile on his face widened, and his voice lowered, carrying the weight of certainty.
"You and I," he said, "have more in common than you think."
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